1 A Strange Circumstance

Horse-girls. Blessed with incredible speed and stamina, they are born to run.

These horse-girls have existed since the ancient times, especially well-known and adored greatly among mankind. Furthermore, these horse-girls are reckoned to be reincarnations of racehorses from another world, sharing their names.

Many believe their fate is to forever run towards their goal.

In spite of this, what is it actually?

That is simply something they need to discover for themselves.

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Chapter I: A Strange Circumstance

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The mellow yellow of the rising sun bathes Henrik with delight. He draws up his eyelids, staring at the lick of sunlight that manages to squeeze through the narrow gap of the window cover for a moment. A quiet breath rumbles its way out of his throat, as he starts sitting upright in his bed, filling his lungs with air in a long, deep breath, curling a corner of his mouth.

Yet his gaze soon grows blank. The aching that has been plaguing him in recent years, slight and somewhat irritating, soaks into his bones and muscles, eliciting a low grunt from him. Henrik rolls both his shoulder blades, cracks the stiff joints. The popping noises emitted from each crack are the music to his ears, all the while the tensions within him are released blissfully.

He let out a contented sigh. His left hand reaches the cane placed against the edge of his bed, as his right hand grasps, and moves the blanket away. He gets up with a yawn, scratching his belly, leisurely proceeds to the bathroom with his right leg limping somewhat, though it doesn't prove to be much of an obstacle, nor bothers him in the slightest.

Straightaway after finishing a cold shower, Henrik gets dressed and finds himself standing before basin, looking at himself in the reflection on the mirror. He touches and rubs his chin, lightly, shifting his head to get a better view under his chin.

With a toothpaste in his right hand, he squeezes the paste on his toothbrush before putting the latter into his mouth, brushing his teeth—

"...What the?" Henrik pauses as soon as his tongue tastes the flavour in his mouth; strawberry. "I never bought any strawberry-flavored toothpaste before, did I?"

Confused, Henrik squints his eyes while he picks up the toothpaste, checking its brand. Definitely not the usual one. He lifts his gaze up, only to wide-eyed looking at the brightly-lit bathroom. He blinks once, then twice, then thrice. The bafflement only swells more and more within his mind, now that he's fully awake. Henrik puts the toothpaste down, grabbing his cane placed on the wall next to him, and instantly heads outside. The anxious footfalls consume his surroundings.

"I don't like this," he mutters under his breath grimly. "I seriously don't like this. Not at all."

Soon, Henrik stops moving, stands still in his spot, motionless, as he gazes across the Spartan-furnished bedroom. He stays in silent, only makes his way towards the broad window of this airy room, tightly clenching the grip on his cane and relaxing. Wetting both lips, he grips the curtain, breathing out deeply, before he opens the cover wide open.

He almost drops his cane the moment his eyes land on the tower painted in red and white which looks awfully resembling the Eiffel Tower in the distance, though smaller and shorter. Seeing no other options, he reluctantly pinches his cheek, hard, with everything he got.

Childish. But it tends to work. Usually.

"...Calm your ass, Henrik," he says. His tone is as dry as the desert sand. "You've gotten yourself in situations far worse than this. But just how on God's green Earth did I end up on this end of the planet—Argh!"

Out of the blue, Henrik winces, hissing harshly. He drops his cane, clutches his head, feeling like being pounded repeatedly by a sledgehammer in the back of his skull, as his nose starts bleeding nonstop, trinkling like a faucet that hasn't been closed properly.

"P-Pain...?!" he croaks, puzzled. "But... how? Not that I mind it, though—Argh. Christ..."

His breaths increasingly grow heavy, grating. Until he takes a deep breath and evens his breaths, slowly but surely. And before he realizes it, the throbbing suddenly disappears, just as abrupt as its sudden appearance. The pounding in his head stops, along with the bleeding. Henrik let out a quiet grunt, steadily lowering himself to the timber floor and sitting with his back upon the bed. Fixing his gaze to the window, contemplating the bright blue sky.

Then he laughs. Then it settles down to a chuckle. And finally, it ends with a bitter grin. Which he shakes his head with his gaze softens. He faintly sighs, almost sounding... relieved.

"Huh. I'll be damned," Henrik notes airily. "I actually fucking died."

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For a man who saw himself lying motionless on the ground, on his very pool of blood, Henrik doesn't seem to so upset with it. On the contrary, his death patently takes the many weights off his shoulders, as though he is now truly a free man once more, once for all.

Though, that being said.

"How the bloody hell am I still here, then?" he questions himself, spraying some bleach solution he found in the bathroom on the blood-stained spot before wiping it spotless with a towel.

Henrik, still hanging around with lots of questions in his mind, hums, seemingly lost in his train of thoughts as he stares aimlessly at the now-clean floor. Trying to figure out how all this seem to be possible in the first place. Yet the more he mulls over, and comes up with more assumptions, each of them is either baseless or downright ludicrous, his mind is only greeted with only more questions and uncertainties, not the answers he is needing at the moment.

"Either way—" Henrik takes his cane, rises to his feet with the red-soaked towel "—my memory is still a fog right now. No use trying to determine what's going on if all I got is a blank paper. Might as well go with this flow and see where it takes me. That said, what do I do now...?"

Instantaneously, his stomach growls, making him snort out a chuckle.

"Breakfast first, it is then."

Washing and letting the towel dry in the bathroom, Henrik returns to the bedroom as he wonders if this place has anything for him to wear to go outside, aside this casual clothing. But he stops in his track. His gaze moves to the desk, with a raised questioning brow, spotting both a phone and a wallet lying on the top.

"They weren't there before, were they?" he muses, cautiously getting closer so as to take a closer view. "And these are mine. But how...? Jesus. This is giving me unsettling vibes."

Hesitantly, Henrik reaches the phone, pressing his thump on the dark screen. The screen lights up in a flash, showing a shot of him dressing in a combat-geared uniform, smiling softly with his fellow comrades by his sides. All directing their beams towards the camera, wholeheartedly, like a bunch of kids before their Christmas presents. Henrik curls a corner of his mouth, but he soon notices a message notification ringing at the corner of the phone.

He taps open the message, which reads: "Second chances do not come around regularly."

Simple and brief, and understandably baffling him. Before his mind could even process, his ears pick up a quiet thud on the table. He turns to the source of the noise, almost drops the phone as a large sealed-folder just materialized out of thin air.

Henrik puts down his phone, calmly, and proceeds to pinch his cheek again, harder.

The phone vibrates, drawing his attention. He taps and mouths the newly-received message, "The folder contains everything you need. Finance would not be a problem. From now on, your bank account in this Earth is managed by Mitsubishi UFJ Financial Group. Your bank deposit is equal to your total net worth in your old Earth, plus that 'thing' in this device."

"Huh. Okay...?" Henrik trails off, as he looks at the message with horror in realization, sweat trails across his cheek and drops off his chin. "Did you say... it also includes 'that'? Oh, Lord. Is it going to actually...? Please, for the love of God, please tell me it doesn't."

Like a possessed man, Henrik frantically searches for the bank app, if there is any, which comes as a relief to him as soon as his eyes land on the sought-after icon. Without thinking, he instantly opens the app, logging in with his username and password—which works—and swipes to his bank account balance section.

He drops his phone this time.

"It... fucking does! You shitting me?!" He gawks at the 11 digits in US dollars; his brow twitching; frowning. "For fuck's sake. The last thing I need right now is to have a bunch of investigators and agents speaking in a language I don't understand and asking me what's my source of income or where the hell I got all this money from!"

The phone vibrates with another message: "The issue has been already taken care of. Language barrier is not going to be a problem either."

Then, like a shot, an electric jolt charges through his mind. Henrik winces, taking his seat on the chair and setting his cane to the desk, scratches the back of his head, his brows furrowing.

"I suppose... that meant something?" he muses, before shrugging. "Still and all, this all feels nice, the second life and, well, not having to worry about money. But just who are you really?"

The phone remains silent. For a short moment, there's no reply. Then: "Someone who takes pity on souls like you, Mr. Kaiser. You are simply one of the trillions whom I found."

Henrik snorts. "Pity? Haven't heard that for a while. But seriously, what's the catch here? Living in that godforsaken hellhole of a battlefield for half a decade taught me a lot of things. Stuffs like this, they don't come cheap. There is always a but. Like how I wanted to get out of that life."

"Live the life you want," whoever on the other side of the phone replies almost instantly. "I merely ask you to do that in order not to waste my effort planting your soul, and your body, as a part of this Earth. The process was quite time-consuming and overly-complicated."

"That sounds... sketchy, not going to lie," Henrik deadpans.

"Believe what you want to believe," they response. "I do not fault you for not trusting me. Be that as it may, I concur you did say you always wanted to be a teacher before you were drafted into service. Let this be your chance to enjoy the life of a normal person."

"How do you... of course, you already know who I am."

"And one more thing. In this Earth, while it is not so different from yours, there is an important dissimilarity. There are unique individuals who are widely known as Horse-Girls."

"Horse... what now?"

"You will meet one of them before you know it."

"I don't even know how to teach—"

"I need to go soon. There are countless others who need me out there," they say. "A word of an advice? Your dream might have been crushed, but you can use that pain to help others to realize and achieve theirs, like the horse-girls. Forever run towards their goal, that is their fate. Yet many do not know what it exactly is. Help them. And who knows? Perhaps the extinguished fire within your heart will return."

Henrik opens his mouth. Yet no word manages to come out, as he stares at the message.

"All the best, Henrik. Enjoy this second chance to your fullest. No regrets."

Before Henrik could say anything else, the message disappears, to his confusion. Before long, he got notifications stating the recent messages are deleted. Staring at the phone, he exhales a deep breath, rubbing both eyes with his forefinger and his thumb, closes the bank app. The man leans his back to the chair with his shoulder slumping, keeping his aimless gaze to the phone.

Henrik lightly rubs his right knee. In a moment, he straightens his posture, retrieves the folder as he opens and pulls out the contents inside. A driver license, health insurance card, along with all the necessary papers to help him start his new life; and he seems to understand them quite well, much to his surprise.

"I guess that's taken care of," he says to himself, raising a brow as he pulls out more documents, letters, and reads them. "Let's see. A letter about... accepting 'my' teaching position in Tracen Academy. And those must be the teaching materials. Goddamn, my new job is already decided before I even got a say in this."

Henrik places the letter down, having his right elbow on the top, leaning himself towards slightly and rubbing his face. He let out a tired sigh, chuckling. "Then again... I did say I always wanted to be a teacher. I suppose this is be careful what you wish for, huh?"

His stomach then growls again, fairly louder in this instance. Henrik opens the phone, noting the date is all wrong; day, month, year. Saturday, 4th of March, in the year 2017. He takes a quick gaze at the letter. Monday, 4rd of April, is going to be the entrance ceremony.

"Japanese students get into school in April. So, I have a month to prepare," Henrik muses. "Right then. Should grab some food and check out how this Tokyo differs from mine."

Grabbing his cane, Henrik rises from his seat, unhurriedly heads to the closet and slides its door open. He blinks, pleasant surprise written all over his face, as he eyes the set of clothing hanging on the racks, including the accessories. 'At least I don't have to waste money on new clothes,' he notes with a faint smile, his eyes quickly browsing through the available options.

Within minutes, Henrik stands before the standing mirror. Fixing his favourite beige trench coat, he then turns his attention to the tie, under the white collar, though he decides to remove it after a short moment of pondering, reasoning to himself it'd be too formal for a weekend. Henrik has his hands smooth the fabric of his charcoal waistcoat, and pants, adjusting the cuffs and collar, as well as testing his umber dress boots' fitting.

"Looks presentable enough," he remarks, lifts his gaze upward, to his hair. "A bit long. And quite already greyed. Just when was the last time I got a proper haircut?"

Henrik sighs, scratching his head, only to notices a faded strand stuck to his palm the as soon as he brings his hand to his sight. Which seems to make his eyes twitch for some reason. Although, he sighs again, running his fingers through his hair before he takes his cane and starts making his way to the bedroom door. Once open, he is welcomed by the view of a delightfully roomy living room, pleasantly-furnished and illuminated by the sliding glass door to the balcony. In the same space, an equally pleasantly-furnished kitchen with the necessary utensils, fitting with a small bar counter for three people. Across his bedroom, another door made of oak like his; he assumes it is for the guest room.

Henrik gazes across the living room and the kitchen. His eyes land on the foyer, noticing the keys laying on the stand next to what appears to be the front door. Giving the apartment a final glance, something he already deduced from the layout and how high his place is from the bedroom, he retrieves the keys, exiting the apartment, locks the door before pocketing them.

Henrik walks along the softly-lit hallway, humming to himself. As he closes in the elevator, feeling up for a slight change today, he ignores the lift, instead taking the stairs and heading down to the ground level, each step seemingly feels lighter than before.

"Still," Henrik mutters with a slight frown, "becoming a frigging billionaire overnight isn't exactly what I wanted. I mean, money is good and all, but what the hell am I supposed to do with this amount when even I, myself, never use it that much in the first place then? Not to mention, this much wealth could potentially break the economy if I'm not careful... Oh, bloody hell."

His frown deepens, for certainly good reasons.

"Charities...?" He rubs his chin. "Nah, I don't trust those cocksuckers. They always do something with their donors' money behind their back. After all, a sad reality is that they do make a suitable mean for corruption and fraud as most enterprises. If I'm going to do charities, I need to do it on my own terms. Straightforward and no fucking around—"

Henrik suddenly pauses. His expression looks lost and deep in thoughts.

"Why the hell did I start to care so much about money?" he questions himself before he chuckles with an unsettling awareness. "Of course, money is power. I have lots of power in my hands and I have no clue what to do with it. Lots of power means lots of responsibility, whether I like it or not... Never thought one day money actually intimidates me."

Henrik laughs, sounding unpleasantly bittersweet.

"Good Lord. I'm actually terrified," he admits, before his grin settles into a worried gaze. "I need help immediately. I'm no businessman. I cannot manage this money alone."

Henrik expels a frustrated sigh from his nose, grunting. In an instant, he controls himself, putting on a deadpanned gaze, as he resumes his pace downstairs. His eyes flat, together with his lips, as though this is, by all means, NOT the first time he has to address situations like this.

"This new life, it just has to start with this... menace, doesn't it? It is what it is, I suppose."

Like a wise man used to say, if you don't know what to do with your life, let it take you where it takes you and just improvise the hell out of it. Probably not the best advice, yet at least to Henrik, it works wonder for him. Well... most of the time anyway. Ultimately, for now, this much wealth isn't doing him any good.

Henrik, reaching the ground level, exits the building through the front double door. Outside, he is instantly greeted by the brisk winds of the spring, blowing into his face and shifting his coat. A deep breath, beaming as the yellow sunlight washes over him pleasingly. The crowns of the trees standing surrounding the park, before his building, rustling slowly and mellowly; their limbs and trunks sounding, softly, in the wind. On the street, people walking by, as children going with their parents, all looking ecstatic and heading towards a same direction.

'Interesting. Where are they going with such excitement, anyway?'

Curious, Henrik decides to follow the small crowd after a moment of pondering.

Without question, Henrik draws attention to himself, as everyone seems to sneak a glance at him and his towering figure, which bounds to happen. Henrik pays no heed to such gazes, instead he occasionally flashing a friendly smile at the kids who point at him, stare in undisguised awe. Soon enough, he emerges from the neighborhood streets, reaching the avenue—which is bustling with cars and a few motorcycles here and there.

"Doesn't look that different," Henrik remarks, looking at the buildings on both sides of the road, until his eyes cease, his gaze plastered at a massive TV display that covers a whole side of a mall, briefly wide-eyed watching what is being aired, "...except that, obviously."

A race. Like a horserace. But instead of horses racing against each other, he is seeing girls with a pair of horse-like ears on top of their heads and a horse-tail, dressed in different manners of outfits, as if cosplaying, sprinting towards the goal line. All faster than any Olympian athletes he has ever seen before. Absurd in many ways, that it is.

Then again, he himself died, but is still alive, somehow.

Whilst the commentary is heating up as these horse-girls approach the final stretch of the course, Henrik's attention shifts to a particular horse-girl, cladding in green military-styled dress—and her purplish-red eyes. The sharp, and keen gaze, similar to a living magnet that attracts attentions, unwavering, focusing on only one thing: the finish line.

And in the blink of an eye, she suddenly accelerates in a stunning burst of speed, and moves forward from the middle of the group, as she, one by one, leaves her contenders engulfed in the dust, effortlessly, without breaking even a sweat...

...before she crosses the finish line in a dominating fashion.

The entire avenue explodes in cheers and shouts, taking him by surprise.

"And the lass doesn't even look winded. What a monster," Henrik says, utterly impressed by the hell of a spectacular performance, to which he catches the satisfied smile on her face when she slows down and starts waving at the enthusiastic crowd in the racecourse, as the cameras all start to focus solely on her.

"Got to say she has that... kind of irresistible charm. No wonder she is popular," Henrik remarks, glancing at the crowd cheering for her around him. "Yup. Quite popular. And those thighs, them are quite something else, don't they?"

A knowing grin slowly creeps on his face. Henrik rubs his chin in approval.

"I know, right~?!"

Henrik raises a brow, curves his head to his side, and eyes the horse-girl standing next to him. A sparkling visible in her sky-blue eyes, gaping in wonder, like there is only that horse-girl in her mind. Her amber-brown horse-tail, its color matching her ponytail hair, wagging side to side like a happy puppy. Her hair is highlighted with a long white steak in front of her bangs—

--which is similar to the horse-girl he had his eyes on.

'Are they related?' Henrik wonders, spotting some striking resemblances between the two, as he glances at the horse-girl next to him and the one in the TV, back and forth.

"She's amazing, isn't she~?" the girl says, eyes still sparkling, fangirling all over the place.

"True," Henrik agrees, comically serious. "I want to sleep on those thighs."

"Me too—" the girl shuts her mouth, with her face brightening up in red, before she snaps to him, almost whiplashes her head, with her horse-ears pointed. "P-Pervert! J-Just what're you thinking about?!"

Henrik, in return, scoffs. "Please. Thighs like those are God's gift. Men and women always debate which one is superior, breasts or ass. But they do not realize the bliss when you come home from a long day and plant your face on those heavenly meats. Mama! I miss the sensation~!"

The horse-girl droops her ears, warily peering at him while she instinctively takes one step back, shuddering and recoiling, either out of cautious or fear.

"Though, I could tell she is a hard-working lass," Henrik continues, grinning admiringly. "It isn't easy to pull off that kind of legs. It needs dedication to training; and a butt-ton of exercise to keep them in shape, let alone building more muscles. I have to say, she truly earns the mad props and respects. My respect."

The horse-girl's tail waggles slightly, as she drops her "guard", beaming broadly. However, for a reason, her beam instantly drops and is replaced with a clear look of horror. She hastily looks to her watch on her left wrist. Her face pales, significantly, blanched-white, as though she just saw a ghost.

"NOOOOO! They're gonna be sold out soon!" she cries.

The girl takes off rushing down the walkway in a blur of speed. Henrik looks on to the silhouette that is slowly getting smaller and smaller, until the horse-girl vanishes off his eyesight. He has his attention back to the screen, now switched to the post-commentary part, which does not interest him in the slightest. His stomach growls, reminding him of something important.

"Right. Breakfast. Where should I go now?"

...

...

...

"There's none here either..."

Henrik cannot help but drop a concerned sweat. Here she is, the fangirl horse-girl, squatting on the floor before him, hugging both knees together, and planting her face into them. With a dark could hovering over her head, which seems out of place. Both her horse-ears and her horse-tail drooping, looking just like a sad puppy.

"You all right there, lass?" Henrik asks, worried, yet receives no response nor reaction.

Curious to know what put her in this state, Henrik lifts his gaze upward, lays his half-lidded eyes on the sign that reads "out of stock", along with a photo of what appears to be a toy figure of the horse-girl who curb-stomped the earlier race, plastered on the glass surface of the shop.

"...A rare edition, by any chance?" Henrik asks.

In response, the horse-girl nods weakly, still burying her face into her knees. Henrik takes notice of the girl's breathing, heavy; shoulders raising up and down quickly; while her clothes, a hoodie and shorts, drenched in her sweat. Sweats cover her slightly-red face and her slender legs.

"You ran looking for it all morning, didn't you?" Henrik reckons dryly.

She gives him another weak nod, evening her breaths.

Breathing out a light sigh, Henrik lowers himself and sits next to the girl, leaning against the glass as he watches the flows of people walking through the mall. The two sits in silence, no one speaks, until Henrik breaks the ice.

"Is that... horse-girl someone famous?" Which prompts the girl to cock her brow, regard him with a "are you serious" of sort face. "What? Why looking at me like that? It's a legit question."

"Have you been living under a rock!?" she exclaims in utter disbelief. "How could you not know her? She's straightforwardly the greatest horse-girl which Japan has ever seen!"

"Is that so?" Henrik says. "Let's just say I have no interest or whatsoever in horse-girls until very recently. Although, with sweet-looking thighs like hers, it doesn't come as a big surprise."

"Would you please stop?!" the horse-girl cries; her face turns beet red, darker than a tomato.

Henrik snorts. "That being said, do you mind introducing me to her?"

The horse-girl looks at him for a moment. Before long, she sighs, taking in her breath sharply, as she puts on a serious gaze, even proud, smiling brightly. "Very well. Listen carefully, okay? She is Symboli Rudolf, known as the 'Emperor', and one of Japan's leading horse-girls. She is the first undefeated Triple Crown, and the first Triple Crown winner ever since the introduction of Racing Grades in Japan. In other words, she is an icon of Japan's horse-girl races!"

"...Symboli Rudolf." Henrik tastes the name within his mouth, nodding. "From the look of it, this Triple Crown thingy is a big deal, right?"

"It is!" the horse-girl affirms. "Only eight have managed to achieve that honor so far."

"So, are you going to be the 9th?" The horse-girl blinks, visibly surprised, by the question. "I am well-aware of the look you gave her when you were watching her. She isn't just your idol. She... Symboli Rudolf is your hero. And you want to be like her one day, don't you?"

"How do you..."

"...I used to be like you, once upon a time," Henrik replies softly, briefly clenching his cane while he rubs his right knee. "Though, unlike me, you could still make it a reality. I, on the other hand, abandoned my dream a long ago."

The horse-girl stares at him, which she turns her gaze forward. "You're right. I wanna be a strong and cool horse-girl like Symboli Rudolf-san!" she states with a toothy grin.

"So that's your goal?" Henrik asks with a raised curious brow.

"Yup!" She gives him a peace sign, grinning, ear to ear. "I am gonna enter Tracen Academy this April and work my way towards being the best horse-girl in all over Japan!"

Which Henrik chuckles wholeheartedly. "Then I shall say Godspeed, lass. It will be a long road ahead, but anything can be achieved with enough conviction," he says, before something clicks in his mind. "Right. Almost forgot. What's your name, by the way?"

"Tokai Teio, the future Triple Crown winner!" she introduces herself, puffing out her chest.

"Henrik Kaiser," he says, "a future teacher in Tracen. A pleasure to meet you, champ."

Tokai Teio giggles, scratching her head. Though, she soon stops, gaping at Henrik, who starts to stand up and stretch his back with a satisfied sigh. "E-Eeeeeh?! Seriously?! You're gonna teach in Tracen Academy?!"

"You make it sound like you don't want me to be there."

"N-No. It's not that," Tokai Teio clarifies. "I-It's just how are you going to teach in a school that is built to specifically train the best horse-girls in Japan without knowing horse-girls?!"

Henrik recalls the teaching materials, shrugging. "I'm a simple Math and Language teacher. They were hiring. I applied, they accepted, and... here we are. Just as simple as that. Other details are irrelevant; though I need to research more on horse-girls if I'm going to be a part of the pack."

"U-Unbelievable..."

"In any case, you, Tokai Teio, look like someone who hasn't had anything in their belly yet. And I, myself, am quite famished. Would you like to join your future... sensei for a breakfast? I could use some company. The meal is on me, by the by," Henrik offers, reaching out his hand.

Tokai Teio ponders, before her stomach growls slightly. She then allows a bright beam on her face and takes his hand, letting him gracefully pull to her feet. "I'm never gonna say no for free meal! And please look after me from now on, Kaiser-sensei!"

"Just call me Henrik."

"Henrik-sensei!"

Henrik simply chuckles, shaking his head in amusement. "Whatever, champ."

Perhaps this second life might be interesting, after all.

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