Horse Girl, Your Friend is Fighting Her Way Out of the Horse Racing Track

"This is probably her first real run, so let her run freely... It's not the time to use tactics and theories to suppress the racehorse girl's love of running."

On the track.

Poetry and wine were unaware of the conversation between the two.

She felt as if she had broken free from the heavy shackles of her body, and her soul trembled with every push of her feet.

The wind howled.

She was somewhat addicted to the feeling of her heart pounding and her blood rushing and burning in her veins.

The first lap ended quickly.

She had already run more than half of the white fence in the middle of the meadow.

But what follows is a warning signal from the body.

"Huh...huh..."

Breathing becomes heavy and labored, as if a ball of fire is being inhaled into the lungs—a sign of insufficient oxygen supply.

My thigh muscles also started to feel slightly sore and swollen, as lactic acid continued to accumulate.

Her recent run had exhausted most of her strength.

'Too fast.'

The brain, which had been saturated with poetry and wine, quickly calmed down from the brink of oxygen deprivation.

In her past life, when she worked on an assembly line, her greatest skill was calculating efficiency.

If you exhaust yourself in the first half, the rest of the work will only be more difficult.

'If I keep pushing at this speed... I'll either lose speed on the last corner, or I'll run out of energy and crash.'

Can't fall down.

She silently gritted her teeth, her eyes hardening.

While running at high speed, she began to try to adjust her running posture.

Poetry and wine consciously relax the shoulders, increase the depth of breathing, slow down the originally rapid pace, and instead pursue the length of each step.

P.S.: Theoretically, if I have time tonight, I will update another chapter this afternoon.

Newcomer: Chapter 21 Shows Some Strength (I've actually been adding extra chapters for three days in a row)

This subtle change was immediately noticed by professionals in the distance.

Nanban's eyes suddenly lit up, and he couldn't help but clench the tactical board in his hand.

"Oh? It actually self-corrected?"

His tone was full of surprise.

"For a newcomer without professional training, being able to identify problems while running at high speed and quickly try to master pacing techniques... this kind of 'race intuition' is very rare."

Rudolf nodded in satisfaction, his eyes showing even greater admiration.

The competition is entering its final stage.

The last 400 meters.

Before poetry and wine, only one straight road remains.

Poetry and wine felt a metallic taste in their throats, each breath like a bellows being pumped.

Sweat streamed down my forehead and into my eyes, stinging and blurring my vision.

But she could still see clearly.

See clearly at the finish line, where the Rudolf symbol stands like a landmark.

'Huff... huff...'

There's still room for improvement.

She said to herself.

The speed reduction adjustment I made earlier worked; all that energy I'd been saving was for this moment.

"Run!!"

She let out a silent roar of anger in her heart.

The already somewhat heavy legs were infused with strength once again.

The final kick explodes!

The previously steady speed surged again.

The surrounding scenery—green grass, white railings, and a school building in the distance.

All of them turned into blurry streaks of light that flashed past my eyes.

She wasn't running; she was burning.

Fifty meters.

Thirty meters.

ten meters.

The unwavering determination to get through turned into a final sprint.

"clatter!"

The figures of poetry and wine, like a red and white whirlwind, with a whistling airflow, suddenly passed over the prominent symbol beside Rudolf.

The inertia carried her forward for several dozen meters before she gradually slowed down and stopped.

"Click".

Minamisaka pressed the stopwatch.

He stared at the frozen time on the screen and took a deep breath.

Then he clapped his hands vigorously, his voice filled with genuine joy:

"Two minutes and fourteen seconds!"

"For a newcomer running the 2000 meters for the first time, this is a remarkably good result!"

to be frank.

If this result were placed in a regular G1 or even G2 race, it would be difficult to even qualify, and the team would be left dozens of miles behind.

The problem is, Poetry and Wine is a complete newbie who just enrolled yesterday and even just received his running shoes.

There were no tactics, no pacing instructions, and everything relied on instinct and self-correction.

Her achievement is enough to demonstrate her exceptional talent.

Nanban calculated the data, his eyes gleaming with eagerness:

'Once her characterization is fully complete, coupled with systematic physical training and tactical instruction…'

He looked at the black-haired girl who was bent over and panting heavily in the distance.

'This is... a rising star.'

After the finish line.

Poetry and Wine, hands on knees, gasped for breath.

It felt like my lungs were filled with scalding hot sand, and every breath was accompanied by a burning, stinging pain.

A faint taste of blood rose from deep in my throat.

Sweat streamed down his face, pooling at the tip of his chin before dripping onto the grass and being instantly absorbed by the dry soil.

Poetry and wine failed to notice the excited look in Nanban's eyes, as if he had discovered a treasure.

At this moment, all she could hear in her world was the sound of her own heart pounding, as if it were about to burst out of her chest.

A tall figure blocked the sunlight.

Rudolf symbolically walked to her side.

A hint of concern flashed in her purple eyes.

She reached out her hand, her palm warm and reassuring, and gently patted Poetry and Wine's trembling shoulders.

"That's great, but you can't stop right after strenuous exercise."

The president's voice was gentle, but it carried an unquestionable tone of command.

"The blood is currently pooling in your lower limbs, and a sudden stop could cause cerebral ischemia. You should straighten up and walk a few steps slowly now."

The touch on his shoulder made Shi Yujiu freeze.

For her, this physical contact made her feel an instinctive discomfort.

"I know."

She kept her head down, her voice hoarse.

The next second, Poetry and Wine subtly shifted their bodies, and with the movement of straightening their backs, naturally let Rudolf's hand slide off their shoulders.

Without looking at the other person's expression, Shi Yujiu, with legs that felt like they were filled with lead, began to slowly stroll along the edge of the meadow.

Rudolf looked at the hand hanging in mid-air, but instead of being angry, he smiled helplessly.

She withdrew her hands and crossed them over her chest, quietly gazing at the dark-haired figure.

……

About thirty minutes have passed.

Poetry and Wine sat on a bench by the field, tilting his head back to gulp down the last mouthful of mineral water.

The cool liquid slid down the esophagus into the stomach, slightly soothing the heat in the body.

"Have you rested enough? Let's continue."

Under Minami's gentle questioning, the second round of testing began.

The next projects are a short 1200-meter grass race and a mile (1600-meter) test.

However, this time the process was not as amazing as the 2000 meters; in fact, it could be said that it was... somewhat embarrassing.

"?!"

The whistle blew.

Poetry and wine surged forth once more.

During the 1200-meter sprint, she felt a strong sense of discomfort.

Short-distance tracks require an extreme burst of energy starting from the very first second of the race; it's a deadly rhythm that demands every muscle to explode instantly.

Poetry and wine are desperately trying to speed things up.

But her body, like a precision engine accustomed to long-distance cruising, simply couldn't unleash its full power on the short track.

The rhythm is completely messed up.

My pace can't keep up with my mind, and my breathing can't coordinate with my steps.

"Huh...huh..."

When she crossed the finish line of the 1200-meter race, the time stopped at a number that was neither bad nor excellent.

The next 1600 meters was about the same, only slightly better than the 1200 meters.

She couldn't find that sense of control she had when she ran the 2,000 meters, and struggled to find her rhythm throughout the race.

Test complete.

Poetry and Wine stood at the finish line, his face pale, his chest heaving more violently than when he had just finished the 2000 meters.

Nanban looked at the data on the stopwatch, then at Shi and Jiu, whose faces were full of resentment, but there was no disappointment on his face.

He gently shook his head, put the stopwatch back in his pocket, and said softly.

"Don't make that face, Poetry and Wine classmate."