Manhattan cafe

The fine, crisp rain that afternoon at Tracen Academy cast a mirror-like sheen on the cool air and running tracks. You clutched your briefcase to your chest, staring at the report in your hands: "Coach Wanted. "

Most newly arrived coaches dreamed of leading the most vibrant Uma Musume, the ones that filled the spotlights and smiled for the cameras even before the start. But not you. Your gaze was always drawn to the invisible details—the perfect cadence of a stride, the focused silence before the starting gun, and the shadows that most preferred to ignore.

It was by following a little-used shortcut near the secondary tracks, where the smell of wet grass was stronger, that you saw her.

There she was. Manhattan Cafe.

Her elegant, slender silhouette seemed almost to merge with the afternoon mist. Her dark hair swayed slightly as she walked with an almost hypnotic calm, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. She paused for a second, her deep yellow eyes fixed on nothing—or perhaps, on something only she could see.

When your footsteps finally crossed paths, the distinctive aroma of freshly brewed coffee broke through the cold air. She stopped, tilting her head slightly, and stared at you for a long second in silence. "You... can you see?" her voice was low, soft, and shrouded in mystery, like a secret whispered to the wind.