Kamen Rider Build - New World Turf

by TheBundesligaFan

Summary:

A new world, a new set of rules to adapt to and alot of shenanigans happening. Sento and Banjo become employees in Tracen as a means of getting by, (Anthologies) (Set Sometime after New World Grease)

Notes:

A new world, a new set of rules to adapt to and alot of shenanigans happening. Sento and Banjo become employees in Tracen as a means of getting by, (Anthologies) (Some time after New World Grease)

(Note - For spelling and grammar checking, i've used AI with explicit instructions of preserving my style of writing and only changing sentences with huge errors. I hope it doesnt deter you, I don't have much friends that are Beta Readers.)

Chapter 1: Employed! (Banjo & Sento I)

Notes:

(Note - For spelling and grammar checking, i've used AI with explicit instructions of preserving my style of writing and only changing sentences with huge errors. I hope it doesnt deter you, I don't have much friends that are Beta Readers.)

A prestigious school for Umamusume—girls mystical in nature—all of whom attend this prestigious school full of incredible characters and prospects in their own craft. A school full of hotshots and veterans, Tracen is the greatest at nurturing these Umamusume. But with its prodigies come quirks—quirks which normal teachers usually can't deal with on a daily basis. With quirks unconventional to the human mind, unconventional recruits are favored.

And nothing is more favored in this school than Sento Kiryu and his supposed assistant, Banjo Ryuga.

Within a room in the teachers' lounge, Banjo found himself toiling within it as he looked at a rather smug Sento, waving a small stack of printed papers, delivering him the news of their employment.

"What assistant!?"

The quiet and clear morning sky was shattered by a bellow from a man indignant about the position a certain someone gave him. Thankfully, the campus was clear of students, and only faculty heard the commotion.

His superior, if you could even call him such, laid his papers on the table; it was the autobiography of Kamen Rider Build, and above it were their résumés, with one big red mark on it. They were accepted by Japan's biggest Tracen.

"My assistant, Musclehead," Sento clarified. "You wouldn't be here if you weren't assigned such, because you don't have my capacity as a genius! Oh yeah, apparently they want us to start tomorrow. They sure are impatient for greatness."
He tried to irritate the indignant assistant even more by trying to ruffle his hair, but it just got slapped away before it even reached him. As stubborn as he was indignant, he found himself standing as he grabbed and read the résumé Sento had made for him. He found one of his eyes twitching unconsciously, irritated.

"So that's why you made the résumé yourself; it's so you can actually go out here calling me an assistant!"

Sento skipped to the water dispenser for a cold cup of water.

"Isn't that what you are nowadays?"

"Uh... Yeah, I guess so... But I don't wanna. It's below me." Banjo sat back down on the couch with the paper laid on the coffee table, legs spread out like a tired man on a long day. Sento gave him a cup of water while setting his on the table.

"But it wasn't below for the old you, yes?" Banjo just had a look Sento would know as an 'Are you kidding me?' look on his face. It always looked amusing on him...

"I was broke. I needed it for my fiancée. And you know damn well it got me framed as a criminal. I don't like that stupid job title anymore."
Sento pulled out his clunky phone as he sent over details of their job in their recent employment.

"You better know how to like it then. It's a job that can get us something, unlike those stupid rackets you've been doing and selling whatever junk you get in my lab as some kind of action figure prop. All of that isn't befitting of me," Sento snarked. Banjo nearly huffed in response as he felt the rumble in his pocket.

"You're the one making me sell those useless and DANGEROUS junk you usually make!" The musclehead stood up with an annoyed groan as Sento let off an offended "Oi!"

"Whatever, I'm getting some air. Just yell when it's time to go home or something." Banjo started walking to the exit of the lounge as Sento reached for a pen and notebook stored in his rather long khaki coat.

"Yes, don't get lost." He bluntly quipped as he started writing.

"Shut up."

Banjo opened the door, stepping into the hallway, running before pushing through the exit. The gust of fresh air hit him as he stepped outside. He breathed deep as he heard the trees sway as the winds blew through them. It felt refreshing—lovely and comforting compared to the cold air of the AC in the lounge. He always felt a tinge in his spine whenever the cold air hugged his body.

Not out of sensitivity to colds, but to what he experienced: the Faust labs, their experiments, the bullshit Evol had done and the manipulations he pulled in the old world, The Pandora Box, and the walls that separated them all with the cold war that came with it, creating the infighting that destroyed this country—he's reminded of it all, and he's glad nearly all of those are gone in this new world, a world where Japan is well.

Before he could simmer in the air by the fields, he felt a small bite on his ass, akin to a mosquito but even more painful. He yelped in pain as he turned around and saw his ever-loyal companion built by Sento: the Cross-Z Dragon.

Naturally, he didn't react well.

"Oi! That fucking hurt!" he hissed as he grabbed the dragon, angry. Subsequently, it spewed its blue flames indignantly after being caught, prompting him to release it, which caused it to create a rather annoyed tune.

"Well, sorry, it was pretty important for the both of us," Banjo apologized as he let it fly out of his grasp, immediately forgiving the attack rendered to his ass. Remembering to check for cameras (as Sento would always drill into his head after Killbas happened), he craned down his shoulder lightly, allowing the semi-sentient gadget to land on his shoulders. As much as he wasn't a fan of this slightly smarter gear, he preferred them not bite-happy, he had to respect it—or it would bite or flame his ass.

Looking around for the final time, he glanced at the dragon on his shoulder, somewhat annoyed.

"Couldn't you be patient?" The dragon just replied in a tune. He was told that the tunes it made usually meant something, but he wasn't really that technically smart. Still, he trusted his instinct and common sense.

"I'm gonna assume you're not gonna change at all."
And it made a rather affirming tune as it flew away and did its own thing. Still, confusing piece of mechanism biting him as a coded way of response.
Banjo just contemplates on kicking Sento's ass for making these things in the new world much more sadistic than before.

His own self-recollection was interrupted by a whirl of electronics and wheels. Looking in the direction of the sound, he found a student on a Segway—white hair, with horse ears and tail, a rather strange set of accessories, and properly cut hair with Tracen's standard purple uniform, carrying a school bag and riding a gray Segway into school grounds nonchalantly.

"Good mornin'," she greeted in English. He dumbly just nodded.

"Uh. Mornin'," he responded. Even after seeing them so many times, it sure still felt weird seeing Umamusume.

Are Segways allowed in this campus?

---

Umamusume. Horse Girls.

Though he had been nearly branded insane and a creep after a few days in this new world due to their sudden inclusion—and the lack of animal counterparts—they were girls with the features and physicality of horses, yet still with standard human intelligence, anatomy, and compatibility between humans. A new addition in the world they now resided in.

As strange as it was, he is very much thankful it isn't at all a problem with what they had to deal with in a few years or so.

Still, as much as it was very sudden and rather surprising for the two, it wasn't their problem at all, As he and Banjo were bankrupt, nothing in their pockets other than their gear and some junk. They got by as nomads. And when they tried to bet on horses, these were the sights they saw—women with horse-like features, running swiftly on the track. And strangely enough, no betting was allowed—at least not in a traditional sense.

(He recalled there are apps that allow you bet on horses illegally, but they dont have any service at all.)

He still remembers Banjo's cries of frustration when his plans to gamble on horses went up in smoke.

Sento still remembers how stupid that idea was, putting everything to an animal to get rich? Hilarious and very onbrand for the Prince of Protein.

They carried on with their days, living off odd jobs, getting by with just enough food each evening. Eventually, they managed to live comfortably in this world—and more fortunately, they did so through Sento's creations, which Banjo sold on the streets as a local unlicensed vendor. Though he's not going to lie: that Killbas incident was one of his biggest blunders...

Who would've known selling a weapon greater than Cross-Z would end in said weapon threatening the world?

What a blunder, what stupid man would ever do such a thing?

Still, it ended well. Evol in his revival from the incident went away, and the friends he once had returned in this new world thanks to the Pandora's Box, and thanks to Team Build reuniting, their biggest concern became paying rent for the warehouse they called home and trying not to get involved with the other members' lovelifes.

Eugh...

Still, all was well.

Then, a blisteringly loud slam came down on him. The lounge door burst open like a tornado came trying to tear it down. Sento's writing came to a halt as he turned to face the unexpected visitor.

Thankfully, nothing was broken. The one who had caused the ruckus? Unexpectedly, The Chairman's ever-calm and loyal secretary, Tazuna Hayakawa.

"Oh." Spurred by the sudden aggressiveness, Sento felt compelled to greet her. He stood up and his pen and paper landed on the desk clattering loudly.

"Hello, Ms. Tazuna," he greeted with the most respectful decorum he could muster as a new employee.

"Hello, Sento-san. I hope I haven't intruded," she replied, her tone professional.

Sento shook his head. "Oh no, you have not, I was merely writing my lesson plans in my notebook—nothing much is happening. What brings you here, Tazuna-san?" Although he was somewhat uneasy after her abrupt entrance—literally—he still responded with full professionalism. He didn't want to take any chances. Getting fired on his first day would be embarrassing.

"I'm here to remind you to do well in teaching the students in Tracen tomorrow," she began, voice like a general issuing orders. She then listed protocol after protocol and Sento listened. Though something out of the blue came up for Tazuna.

"It may seem abrupt," she said, "but new hires must be reminded—especially those... with unverified backgrounds." Sento gave a short nod. Still listening intently. "Just ensure your lessons stay within bounds. No unauthorized experiments. No unstable chemicals. No inspiring reckless behavior."

Her eyes narrowed. "Tracen has no room for accidents. Or surprises." She paused, a gaze sharp came to the Physicist, intending to warn him.

"It's strange to start with a warning, I know. But you have no records. No achievements. Nothing but 'Genius Physicist and Polymath'—according to the Director." She listed off. He knew suspicion when he heard one, but he stood cool.

"She accepted you. Not because of your résumé, or your claims. But on a hunch. Something she's never done." This surprised Sento. Hired out of a hunch... How silly.

But it's terrific! How interesting.

He offered a bemused smile toward the secretary. Confident, yet not so much to be overbearing, he had learned his lessons in his days as a nomad.

"Then I suppose I'll just have to make sure her hunch is right." He's egoistic, never stupid. "her trust she has put on me is clear as day, Tazuna-san. I shall honor it as a great man of science." His bemused smile transformed into a confident smirk as he boldly declared his soft challenge. He will exceed her expectations, his ego will wont allow for any disappointment"

Tazuna regarded him for a moment. No change in posture. No break in eye contact. But there—just for a second—her shoulders relaxed.

Barely.

"A convincing answer. We'll see if your actions match it." Her tone hadn't shifted. But it lacked the edge from before.

"Thank you, I shall be on my way, good day to you, Sento-san. And I apologize for any undue scares I've bought with me." Gently, she opened the door, Onward to her usual tasks. Sento sighed a breath of relief

"She sure is scarier than most people ive met..."

Chapter 2: A way Forward (Banjo & Sento II)

Summary:

Banjo and Sento's days were filled with new activities, trying to teach children the beauty of physics and science, and overall trying to make things fun in class. But it isn't the same for Banjo, being the less enthusiastic one (roped in as an assistant and all). In his efforts to make things interesting, he found himself looking after a trainerless girl with guts that reminded him of what he used to be. Before everything went crashing down.

Notes:

Despite characterization and dialogue being my least confident skills (I Had to Rewrite this 2 times and considered changing this intended chapter), This had to be done. I was consdering to expanding it to 10k but I stopped at around 7k because I am taking too long, and I've rewatching Build and the Anime to refresh and it did the opposite and I kinda wanted to scrap this again. But no, I say again, this has to happen. This is basically Banjo looking for a way forward and meeting a Particular Pink girl running her heart out along. Very Banjo-Centric chapter. Despite everything, please enjoy.

Banjo's days were, simply put, rather boring.

Being an assistant to Sento was something akin to fetch-quest hell, always retrieving things Sento left on his premises, all so he could talk about his "greatness"—or something like that. Banjo couldn't be bothered to know more. He just liked his day's pay from the job.

Maybe, if he had the choice, he would have picked being a janitor over being Sento's assistant, just so he wouldn't be going back and forth from their house to the day job.

Nonetheless, he couldn't really complain much now. He had the job, and like he usually did, he had to endure it. Banjo carried a doohickey in his hand, casually tossing it up and catching it without any degree of care.

He didn't know what it did, but he didn't want to hang around to find out. Right now, Sento's class was over, and Banjo was carrying it back home after a good day of teaching.

Currently, Tracen was saturated with activity—mostly because it was time to go home. Everyone was scrambling to save precious daylight, but Banjo took his time to roam his workplace. He had never had the chance to do so with all the work given to him.

The place he was most curious about was the local Tracen racecourse, A place usually filled with Umamusume, where they train, and prove their worth to trainers, wanting to scout the next hotshot Runner enrolled within the Academy. As common as Umamusume were, he had never really seen them race. Now he was curious about how things worked in their own world.

Banjo peered down the hill, spotting a trainer and his trainees. They were huddled together in front of the trainer, his hands holding a clipboard and reciting what was written on it while the girls listened—some of them, at least.

There was one in the dirt, on the inner oval of the turf. She ran earnestly—pink-haired, dirty, with gritted teeth—yet it felt like she was having fun. Just pure fun, with a dose of grit from a self-made challenge.

Banjo glanced at the group. It seemed their discussion had ended; the trainees nodded before dispersing, setting themselves on a starting line, and setting off to do their training. When Sento said they ran as fast as horses, he wasn't kidding. Banjo wasn't really good at measuring speed, but he could tell they were much faster than the pink-haired girl.

Maybe because they were veterans? Banjo could assume so, but in his honest opinion, it seemed more like she is the rookie, making her do her own thing instead of pitting her against the veterans of the sport.

She ran one more lap before panting, her hands on her knees, clearly tired. She wiped sweat from her brow before walking to the railing. Shouldn't she be consulting her trainer on her time or for advice?

Curious, Banjo jumped down the slopes, landing on the grass, his steps concealed by the turf. Walking to the trainer, he found him checking off some sort of list on his clipboard.

Banjo raised his hand and patted the trainer on the shoulder, eliciting a jolt of surprise from the man.

"Hello," Banjo greeted as he felt the trainer jump. The man turned his head to the stranger, startled, yet responded.

"Hi?" he spoke nervously, spooked and wary. He held his clipboard close to his chest, trying to keep his plans to himself. But Banjo didn't care—he wasn't a trainer.

Banjo hummed at the sight of the horse girls doing their laps at their own pace. This looked more like a warm-up than proper training.

"Are these trainees yours?" Banjo asked as he observed their astonishing pace.

The trainer nodded, relaxing when he saw Banjo meant no harm—and when he noticed the man lacked the badge trainers carried.

"Yes," he said. Banjo caught a slight uptick in his pitch, his pride half-hidden in his voice. "These are my trainees. As you can see, we're starting our training here today."

He looked at the Umamusume before him, a small smile creeping onto his face at their performance.

Banjo nodded, understanding. "I see." He pointed to the pink-haired girl on the dirt turf, looking at the trainer curiously.

"Is that one yours too?" he asked, curious why she was isolated from the rest.

The trainer looked at where he'd pointed, and seeing the girl, he shook his head. Though after shaking his head, he donned a soft expression. "Urara-chan, huh... No. She's not appointed to me." His voice was coated in a rather wistful tone.

Banjo's lower lip pouted upward. He lowered himself, his arms crossing and laying on the cold rails, his chin resting atop his arms. "Why so?" Banjo inquired. "Ain't there, like, a lot of teams in this school for her to join?"

The trainer shook his head. "It isn't that easy. The trainer must scout the trainee rather than the trainee join the trainer." Banjo's eyes locked on the trainer, his head shifting sideways as his ears and the side of his head were cushioned by his shoulder.

"Did she get the chance to prove herself or something?"

The trainer nodded. "I was there. I scouted some students myself." He stared at the turf at his feet, something akin to remembering something pitiful. "She's there, dead last in her group. Her grit made me want to cheer for her."

He then stared at the girl, still resting, his eyes filled with a mist of admiration. "Everybody did." Unable to stop himself, he sighed, like a weight was being lifted from his shoulders. "Everyone cheered for her, but she didn't get scouted."

Banjo hummed, understanding. "I can see that well..." With a short huff, he stood straight.

"So she's that bad, huh?" Banjo looked at the girl too. She was there, smiling brightly, hyping herself up before starting to run again.

The trainer nodded. "Yeah, for lack of a better word... —sorry, Urara—but she's incredibly untalented." His words were true, but he could feel nothing but weight on his heart. Saying the truth does hurt sometimes.

"She's woefully underpowered," he continued. "Her short legs make short strides, and her leg speed is at best average." He looked at her—happy, with gritted teeth, tackling the unstable course. "Her endurance is much more prominent than most of the participants, and she doesn't falter even when she can't catch up."

He closed his eyes and nodded as he spotted the girls round the bend, completing a lap.

"It hurts to say it, but..." He hesitated. Banjo could see much guilt within him, yet he let him process it. The trainer huffed.

"She doesn't have talent... she just has grit." Banjo looked to the girls on the turf, comparing them to the girl, Urara. It was true. Being inside the turf course, the dirt course was bound to be much shorter—maybe a sprint's length. Yet she looked slower and performed worse than the trainees.

"At least you're honest," he commented. "She just runs there, every day, huh... Seems stubborn." Banjo looked over. He managed to see her slip slightly before recovering into a burst of acceleration.

"Yeah..." the trainer confirmed. "She comes here every day, runs her laps, and tries. No matter what." She finally finished her lap, looking much more tired than before as she wobbled her way to the railing for support.

"We all watch her, and we all know she has a good heart. It's just… it takes more than a good heart to be a champion."

"She's a good kid, though. A really good kid." A silence settled between the two men, punctuated only by the distant thud of metal cleats on turf. Banjo stood up, looking at the trainer with a certain conclusion brewing in his mind. He understood the trainer's point well.

"Can I go an' see her?" The trainer could only look at Banjo with curiosity.

"Hm? You may, but may I ask why?" the trainer prodded, curious yet healthily vigilant. Banjo stared at her. He was reminded of the innocent he failed to save in the old world—it lingered. He wondered, what do they feel? Is this what Sento looks over?

He knew how to protect, but didn't know what it meant to guide them, to be in the eyes of this trainer. He was curious to see what it felt like to guide, but he wants To see through the eyes Yui and Sento go through in his own way, and he knows well that he wouldn't do it the way Sento already has something in his back pocket if he tries it that way.

Slowly, he gazed at the horizon where the trees swayed.

"Just... curious. I have someone that is a teacher." He scratched his head. "Well, both of 'em are my friends, and I am curious—want to see through their eyes."

The trainer hummed, understanding. "Oh... So you have a teacher as a girlfriend?" the trainer assumed.

Banjo had a rather skeptical expression on his face, yet he shook his head. "More like close friends to me, really."

But then he shuddered—a tingle like sharp spikes running up his back as his face formed a disgusted look crossing his face as he cringed badly at the thought. "And Sento's not girlfriend material," he muttered to himself. He had just imagined Sento as a woman, and that sent shivers down his spine.

The trainer nodded. "So you want to see through her eyes, I assume? What it's like to be a teacher?"

"Yeah." It was Banjo's simple reply.

"Right." The trainer looked over the progress of the girls. It seemed like they were on the last lap. Looking close, it looked like they were on their last legs as they entered the bend.

"I don't really know your inner reasons as to why you'd try to get your head into those eyes of theirs." The trainer watched the group—one had a huge lead compared to the others. The first one passed the checkered flag, and the trainer immediately tapped the button on the stopwatch resting in his hand. Its timer now counted down.

"But I will allow it. Haru Urara needs plenty of hands on her back to support that kind of grit and smile she has." A few seconds later, all of the trainees finished, and his stopwatch stopped ticking upward. He looked at the stopwatch, nodding to himself. "An improvement," he muttered.

He looked up, seeing Banjo stare at the girls recovering from their recent run, his hands now in his pockets. He tapped Banjo on the back to get his attention. "Go on, the girls are done with this part of their training. Please treat her well."

Banjo hummed in acknowledgment. He casually hopped over the rails, his hands still in his pockets as he jogged off through the turf.

But then he slowed to a casual pace as he neared the inner railing of the dirt course. Up close, it looked like she was resting well. Dirt marred her tracksuit, and her cleats were clobbered with the course's dirt. She sat on the railing of the dirt course, swinging her legs without a thought.

"Hello." He spoke, rather softly for his usual demeanor. The girl turned around, curious. She beamed as she saw this stranger, still unafraid and friendly.

"Hi!" she greeted back. Her eyes looked unique—pink, with five petals forming a flower. It felt innocent, yet very lively. With her demeanor, appearance, and way of speaking, it fit her well.

"A-Are you alright?" he started, though in his head, he started reprimanding himself. He's not this awkward around children. She tilted her head, somewhat confused.

"Yes! I am taking a small rest after that nice run I just did!" she exclaimed, rather proud of her achievement. "I bet I even beat my time in this course!" Her bragging was well heard. Banjo could only nod, although rather dumbfounded from this interaction, somehow not feeling himself.

"Yeah, that's great. Is there a reason why you're training today?" he inquired, bending down slightly, his hands behind his back. She nodded. "I am training for the next Track Meet! I gotta get strong so I can beat other racers and finally get a win!"

"Ah..." he uttered. "That's good, I see," he said, not really knowing what to say. Sento was usually good with advice on all sorts of things. He just knew how to work out. He racked his brain for answers—something running-related, anything at all. So much so that he actually closed his eyes to think. The girl could only stare, confused as to why the stranger all of a sudden just closed his eyes.

Then he remembered her running form. While earnest, it wasn't at all optimal—she was too upright, catching too much air resistance.

"Have you ever tried doing a different running style?" She nodded; she looked proud too.

"My way of running? Um... No? I don't really think so," she thoughtfully replied. Now Banjo at least had a ground to stand on when talking to her. Continuing this streak, he cleared his throat, somewhat looking to the side, his eyes not really making contact with her.

"Uh, well, it's because the way you run seems, uh... not that good, from what I can say." Her eyes widened and her mouth uttered a short, "Oh~"

"Are you King-san's trainer? She always teaches me the correct first-rate form, but I don't really remember much..." she muttered. Banjo seemed to have a grasp of what her character was like: simple-minded, stubborn, determined, yet upbeat despite her failures. If Sento were here, he would've compared her to him—A smaller Banjo, but childish, much more simple-minded, and less protein-oriented.

"Oh no, I am not, but I do help a teacher or two" He cleared his throat "But that doesn't really matter, I am here because I want to talk to you." He sat next to her, a fair distance away to maintain personal space for her and himself.

"I am Ryuga Banjo," He smiled, raising his hand forward, pulling it out of his hand and offering it as a handshake "What's Your name?" He asked. She then smiled in return.

"My Name is Haru Urara! And I am gonna do my Best!"

---

The door creaked open, hinges screaming in protest. Sento glanced up from hanging damp clothes on the support beams and made a mental note: buy more WD-40.

Banjo stood in the doorway, caked in dirt, clutching the item. Banjo's nose is assaulted with the usual dryness of the Shed, then the smell of newly washed clothes came in too, the body now urging him to clean himself. His state immediately caught Sento's eye.

"What happened to you? You look like you ran through a cow parade," Sento quipped, hands on hips, an amused smirk tugging at his face. He stretched out a palm expectantly. Banjo fished the container from his pocket and dropped it into Sento's waiting hand. Without another word, Sento bounded over to his cluttered workbench. Fullbottles littered the surface in organized chaos, the Genius Fullbottle sitting dead center like a crown jewel.

"I'm taking a wash," Banjo muttered, his drained voice echoing off the walls of their makeshift home, a small warehouse to be particular, held together by steel truss painted in white to at the very least make the place more homely. The place didn't have much, There were beds at the side of of the house and there was his workbench at the other end, cluttered with all sorts of fullbottles and tech stuff that didn't make much sense to a normal man.

Sento hardly looked up. He swept aside the mess of bottles, leaving only the Genius Fullbottle. Slotting the container into its receptacle, the Fullbottle hummed to life, siphoning the Phantom Liquid. A holographic display flickered up: purity levels, chemical stats, the works.

Sento skimmed the data, then exhaled, tension draining from his shoulders. "Low purity… good. That's a relief."

He dropped into his chair and rolled back from the bench with a sigh. All day, the thought of a contaminated spring beneath Tracen had gnawed at him. But with the numbers in front of him, the fear of it degenerating into Nebula Gas finally eased.

"That's one thing off the list," he muttered, spinning lazily in his chair—only to stop dead when he spotted Banjo's dirty clothes dumped on the floor by the only room with privacy, the Washroom. His eye twitched. He'd already scrubbed this place once today—though "scrubbed" was probably too generous a word.

"Banjo! Get your clothes in the chute. Don't be a snake!" Sento barked, the echo bouncing painfully around the shed. From the bath came a disgruntled grunt. "I will!"

Sento shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "The kids back at Tracen are easier to deal with…" he muttered. Banjo eventually emerged from the comfort room, a white towel wrapped around his waist. Sento immediately swiveled away, cringing.

"Get dressed already!" he complained.

"Shut up! You told me to get my clothes." Banjo scooped them up from the floor and bolted to his room. A few moments later, he returned in a plain white shirt and black shorts—perfect for lounging around their little shed of a home.

Sento, meanwhile, had drifted half-asleep in his chair, chin propped on his fist. The armrests squeaked with every slow breath. Up close, Banjo noticed how ragged he looked—his eyes bagged, hair fraying out of its neat bowl-cut shape. Stressed, worn down. Banjo huffed. Sento had fun teaching those kids, and aside from the usual ego trips, it was the happiest he'd ever seen him. Maybe the most fulfilled he'd ever be. Fighting for ideals wasn't fun. This, Banjo figured, was Sento's kind of reward.

"If you don't know it yet, Banjo—I can feel you staring," Sento mumbled tiredly. Banjo's cheek twitched. Without a word, he smacked him on the head.

"OW!" Sento yelped, jolting awake and rubbing his scalp. "What was that for?!" Banjo ignored him, walking over to the workbench where the container and the Genius Fullbottle still sat connected. He picked them up, tilting his head as he examined the intricate device. His brow furrowed.

"Seriously, what the hell is this thing even for?" he asked, turning the items over in his hands, the bottle now inert. Sento recovered from the assault, looking over with an uninterested look.

"I've added new functions to the Genius Fullbottle," Sento said matter-of-factly, sliding over in his chair. "I've implemented a—" he plucked it from Banjo's hands, studying the glass screen "—potency meter for any Phantom Liquids we come across. The one inside this—" he tapped the connected container "—is Phantom Liquid."

"Why would you build something like this?" Banjo snapped, snatching the bottle back, clearly upset. "I was tossing this crap around for hours!"

"Oh, don't be such a baby." Sento rolled his eyes and tugged it away again. He disconnected the container from the Genius Fullbottle, a low chime reverberating as the siphon shut down. With a metallic clang, he tossed the empty container onto the workbench. "I made it with proper precautions in mind. I'm the genius here, not you."

He huffed and wheeled himself past Banjo, smug even in his exhaustion, and set the Genius Fullbottle safely aside. "I built it with you in mind, Banjo. I knew you'd toss this thing around like a toy. Be grateful."

Banjo just scowled, but Sento shifted gears. "So… how'd your day go?" he asked, leaning back, voice deceptively casual.

Banjo sat down at the desk, fiddling with the discarded container. He thought long and hard, trying to shape an answer that wouldn't get picked apart.

"…Remember Yui?"

Sento blinked. "Yui Mabuchi? The one who's mad at you half the time?" Banjo huffed and nodded, eyes still on what he was holding. "She's a teacher," he muttered. Then he glanced at Sento.

"And so are you."

Sento hummed, listening. 'Wonder what's in this protein brain's mind...' He thought to himself, yet attentive as his smile softened.

"I've always protected people. Put myself first. But this world… it doesn't really need me anymore." For once, the usually hot-blooded Banjo looked deep in thought. Something Sento didn't expect to see here in the new world.

Banjo narrowed his eyes at Sento, his hot-blooded nature sparking again. He raised his hand and prepared to toss the container before Sento raised his own hands, trying to block an incoming projectile and placate him.

"Banjo!" Sento threw up his hands, scrambling to block. "Don't you laugh, damn it! I'll chuck this at your head!—I've seen that damn look on you before!" Banjo barked, his temper glowing hot, though a bit of embarrassment seemed to mix with it.

"I'm not laughing!" Sento said quickly, defending himself as he lowered his hands. "I'm just… surprised. I mean, thinking isn't exactly your specialty." He spoke with sincerity as he leaned forward, eyes curious now. "Why now?"

Banjo growled, but held himself back. He huffed, wrestling with the words.

"I want…" He hesitated, then pushed forward. "I want to see what it's like for you two to teach people." Sento stared. Banjo didn't stop.

"All I've ever done in most parts of my life is fight." He looked down at the container again, knuckles tightening around it. "I fought in the ring for Kasumi, for myself too. I fought for love and peace, for ideals that sound noble as hell, But it was always the same as you always say Sento—I just punched first and asked questions later."

He set the container down on the workbench with a dull clank.

"In this place… fighting's not the first option anymore. It's quiet. Peaceful." His hands closed, fist into palm.

"I don't know what the hell to look forward to anymore." He stared at his balled fist, yet it relaxed, tension slowly released as his fingers spread open. Sento hummed.

"So that's why you went home dirty," Sento observed as he stood up from his chair, trudging to the desk. He grabbed the container and tossed it in the cabinet built into the desk. Sento had a knowing look, his smug disposition replaced with a rather warm yet amused smile.

"You found something to do, huh?"

Banjo nodded. He glanced at Sento, an expectant look on his face. "You know the Umamusume, right? The girls that attend your class and train for racing in their free time and all?"

Sento nodded.

"Yes yes, I know them. I'm gonna assume you tried to be a trainer?"

Banjo looked wider-eyed than before.

"How the hell did you know?" he said, surprise in his voice and face as Sento just closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Tsk tsk… Banjo, it doesn't take a genius to know. Unless you work at a farm, you wouldn't get that dirty here in the city." Sento looked at him with a side-eye, a smug smile on him as usual, trying to inflate his ego over trivial things. He walked over the seat, grabbed and dragged it near his partner and sat on it.

"Which student?" he said, pointing a finger at him. Banjo just slapped it away. "Nothing to say really... just a middle schooler with no one looking over her, and somehow talentless."

Sento beamed, familiar with the description.

"Haru Urara, isn't it?" he said with confidence, resting his head over his fist, the armrests creaking.

The only thing that came out of Banjo's mouth was an exclamation—"Haaah?"—of surprise.

"How the hell did you know that?"

Sento went off again, clicking his tongue as he now sat with one ankle resting on the opposite knee. "You know you shouldn't be surprised. It's way too easy to show off with you around."

Banjo felt a vein grow on his cheek as he grit his teeth, resisting the urge to smack him silly.

Reaching into his coat, Sento pulled out a pile of papers with pictures stapled to them. "Ah, thanks to you, Banjo, I managed to remember to get rid of these." He patted the stack of papers in his hand with the other. "Copied Dossiers of the students under my curriculum. Well, only as a substitute." He began sifting through the files before landing on the one he was looking for.

"Here's her file." He got off the reclined backrest of the chair to reach for him. Banjo grabbed the papers, then began skimming through them.

The file contained her data: who her parents are and their backgrounds, her school records, and her running statistics, presented in the Japanese rating system. From what he could see, all lines concerning her running ability were rated rather horrible. Remarks from analyists plagued her papers, only wishing for her first win, while some that prefered perfomance, had much crueler words to describe her.

'So what they said is true. She's that horrible,' he thought to himself. While the running and attempted training didn't go well, he thought it was because of his lack of experience and not knowing the trainee much. But this cemented it. She was the worst here. While it seemed bleak, there is some glimmer of hope, yet it didn't come from her ability, rather its her ability to gain supporters, to earnestly earn fans with her similarly earnest yet helpful nature

"Honestly," Sento started as he began spinning around his chair absentmindedly, "it's a miracle the girl got in here. Apparently her admissions officer at Kochi liked her a lot, so she got inducted to this school."

Banjo just stared, but Sento raised his arms in rebuke. "Hey, I'm not gonna expel a kid just because she's bad.

"She is indeed way below the rest. She's been doing horribly in her exhibition races, doing quite an average number in school. But I'd agree with the officer though, she is pretty swell." He looked at Banjo, curious.

"But why her?" He shook his head. "Well, besides trying not to coach someone with a future, why her?"

Banjo looked at her photo, a smile she always donned on her young face. He remembered her running. He remembered her story. After some thought, he tossed the file back to Sento, and with it came his answer.

"I want to…" He racked himself up, carefully picking his thoughts, assembling them in a way he could convey. "I want to see this kid succeed."

Sento nodded, keeping quiet.

"I think that's gonna be my way forward." He reasoned. "She's bad in every way. Reminds me of myself when I was with Kasumi." His hands together, a fist in a palm, softly pressing. "I didn't earn well, but she still stuck with me. Hell, I fucking threw my whole career away for her. I always wondered why."

"And you too." He looked at Sento, dead in the eye, observing him before continuing on. "And Yui." He once more stared at his hands, one holding the fist, his thumbs feeling the grit and callouses of his knuckles. "I don't get how you two have fun teaching those children. It looked like it gave you purpose for real." He threw his hands up, halfheartedly. "Hell, I wanted to feel what you two were feeling in that classroom."

"Was it fun?" he asked. "Is it good?"

The shed went quiet. The only sound was the faint hum of the Genius Fullbottle on standby.

"I don't know how the hell to ask ya', so I just—" he motioned to the chute, where his dirty clothes were thrown into—"threw myself into that." Sento shook his head. Standing up from his chair, he raised his arm and patted both of Banjo's shoulders, smiling.

"You should probably get a Trainer License, Banjo," Sento advised.
"Huh?" Banjo uttered.

"I can't really answer your questions. My joy of teaching comes from myself. And Yui must be the same too." His hands slid off his shoulders, entering his own coat pockets. "You should give yourself a trial at doing this. Because going in all willy-nilly like you usually do isn't gonna cut it."

Banjo was about to blow off like a hairdryer before Sento stopped it with just his index finger, planting it at his lips to shush him.

He balled his hand into a fist and pounded it over his heart. "I learned my love for teaching them," he said, his voice completely stripped of its usual smugness. "Even if they're rambunctious and chaotic."

Sento glanced at the workbench where Banjo sat. "I'd like to arm them with the knowledge of how the world works—physically and chemically. Hell, even mentally and emotionally, and with building friendships too."

His gaze drifted to the open drawer, where all of his Fullbottles were stashed. A red and blue one glowed, resonating with him, and he smiled at the sight.

"It's also to give them a chance to fight for their ideals," he continued, his sincere eyes locking with Banjo's surprised ones. "They may be alone or not, may they have ideals as grand as I am, or as weak as my ideals of love and peace—Because within them is a heart that can fight for their own ideals, to create a world of their own. They just don't know it yet!" He bumped Banjo's chest with a fist. "That is why I teach!"

He huffed, a happy but annoyed sigh, the familiar monologue about his "lofty ideas" of pacifism concluded.

"Anyway." He tapped the back of his hand on Banjo's chest like a knock on a door, walking past him as he picked up a few Fullbottles on the ground. "Try giving the idea of yours a try, Banjo. Maybe you'll find your way forward." He grinned. "I'm proud of you for thinking to stray from just punching people for a living," he added cheekily as he tapped his back, congratulating him.

Banjo's lip twitched. He sighed too. "Fine." He looked at the clock that hung from the wall. It's late. "I don't know how to start though," he said. But Sento had confidence.

"Just ask the director!" He responded with a smile. As if contacting the director herself is a simple task itself, "It's very simple. Do you want me to teach you the ways?" He smirked as he wrapped his arm around his back, his hand holding his shoulder. Banjo just felt irritated as he hopped off the desk and shook off his arms.

"I can fucking do that myself, thank you very much!" he rattled off.

"Interesting. You are growing as a character now!" He fake sniffled. "God has finally read the great me's message…"

"Shut the hell up!"

---

Tis' a new day for Tracen. The sun was at its peak, and classes continued still. Many in the school waited attentively, yearning to run on the turf again. Banjo, with nothing better to do, stood by the side of the door, waiting for Sento to finish his session. Though he tried to pose like a bodyguard at first, boredom quickly won out, and he dropped the facade, leaning against the wall like a delinquent.

Nothing of note usually happened here. When Sento was at his usual job, Banjo just stood around, not really doing much other than using his phone, browsing whatever the internet gave him, and playing games while trying to keep the noise down.

Today, Sento had been deployed to the Middle School section of the Academy. Their usual science teacher had fallen ill, so Sento was sent in as the substitute. Thanks to the less serious nature of middle school classes and the lower difficulty of the material, the scientist approached the class with more fun than lessons, keeping things lively.

Banjo could hear their excitement from outside.

"Now that I have taught you the very nature of physics, allow me to demonstrate how it's applied!" Sento's voice carried through the door. Not long after, cheers and shouts of awe erupted from the middle schoolers. Must've been the result of one of his flashy demonstrations.

As Banjo stood there, listening, he tried to fight off his boredom—at least without resorting to shadowboxing or being an obnoxious distraction. Thankfully, the bell rang, signaling the end of Sento's session.

"Sorry, class, it's the end of the session." Some students whined, clearly enjoying his style of teaching. "Anyway, if you have any questions or find yourself struggling with the subject, do meet me in the faculty office during my free time. See you all next time!" The doors slid open, revealing Sento walking out with his hands full of belongings, which strangely, included a bicycle wheel with a rope tied to it. He glanced at Banjo and jerked his head toward the room.

"Fetch the bowling ball, if you will." Banjo huffed, flicking his head like a delinquent. "Osu."

Stepping into the room for the first time, Banjo immediately felt the stares. He didn't care much—until a voice cut through.

"Oh! Banjo-sensei!" He turned, grabbing the pole used to hang the bowling ball of all things, and spotted a familiar figure.

"Oh, Urara-chan." He greeted her casually—then double-took. "Urara-chan!?" His voice cracked with disbelief as he stared at the pink ball of positivity sitting at her desk. Tilting his head, he muttered, "So this is your section, huh?" The surprise still lingered, though he really should've expected it. Sento's dossier did say she was middle school level.

"Yes! Are we gonna train later?" she asked, eyes shining with excitement. Reluctantly, Banjo nodded. "Yes. Please sit down," he said, already cringing from the unwanted attention he was drawing. Haru cheered.

"Yay~! I really do have a trainer now!"

Banjo cringed even harder. "Oi, Urara-chan, please be quiet," he muttered, trying to keep things discreet. But it was too late. The students in their curiousity began asking questions to themselves. Mostly whispers filled the room—about how Haru Urara finally got herself a trainer, how legitimate he was, and even congratulatory remarks.

Before Banjo could linger any longer, Sento's voice echoed through the hall.

"Banjo! Let's go, don't fraternize with the students or we'll be in trouble!" He yelled, his voice progressingly getting lower and lower. Banjo is more than happy to take that escape ticket, carrying the stand and the bowling ball out of the class room and into the halls, catching up to Sento. Who is now about to take his first steps, that only made Banjo run off

"OI! SLOW THE HELL DOWN, SENTO!" he shouted, but it fell on deaf ears.

"Damn it!" Banjo cursed in frustration as he sprinted after him. They descended down from the 3rd floor with gusto, Banjo struggling with the added un-ergonomic weight and the heat of the high noon. He lagged behind, but luckily for Banjo, Sento was stopped by Tazuna. She courteously greeted them, letting Sento through—but she stopped as soon as Banjo took his first step onto the ground floor.

Banjo looked at the secretary, curious yet still pressed with urgency.

"Uh, hello, Tazuna-san." He greeted, Tazuna nodded, Though her animosity seemed to be much more intense than before as she peered through him, yet she is courteous and professional as ever "Good Evening Banjo-san. Please don't yell while in the hallway" She greeted with a stern warning. She then she gave the right of way.

"Sorry!" He apologized a quick bow, running off following Sento from the distance. Though thanks to his enhanced physiology, He managed to catch up from the brisk scientist with a huff. Before Banjo Knew it, they're at the Faculty, where most Teachers lounge, having their own desks to use.

It's Mostly full of white and gray cubicles, It's a rather quiet place, Which is required as they do most of the non-school work or to relax after a session in class. it's pristine white palette giving way to coffee stains marred on certain tables, with dreary papers and colorful coffee mugs filling the place of some semblance of color.

"Just drop them by the door Banjo" He can only feel his back thanking him, as he felt it free from the weights subjected to it. Banjo huffed as he entered the Air Conditioned room, feeling refreshed from the breeze.

"Thank goodness" He huffed as he sat on Sento's seat. Infront of him is the school provided laptop sitting atop the white desk with a bunch of necessary items for school and office work.

The first thing Sento did: Go to his cubicle's White board, where all of his Physics calculation Take place. Calculating what exactly? He didn't know well. Heck, Most people probably couldn't read whats entailed on the whiteboard. And so, he mind his own business, looking to chill in the cool Faculty room.

Sento glanced at the tired Banjo and shrugged. He didn't really mind, he isn't gonna use it yet. Though unbeknownst to Sento, Banjo found a neat peace of note, blending well with the white desk of the faculty office. Banjo tilted his head. He picked up the piece of folded paper, unfurling it to reveal a formal letter addressed to Sento.

Bothering not to read it, he tapped Sento's shoulder while holding the piece of paper in hand "For you, Sento" Sento hummed. Looking over his shoulder, he spotted Tracen's logo at the start. It indicated that it was a serious letter. He plucked it from Banjo's hand and began reading, his eyes squinting slightly.

"What's that about?" Banjo asked, trying to take a peek. Sento tilted his head, his lower lip pouting as he read the letter.

"Nothing much. Just a scheduled meeting I have to attend with the director later," he explained as he folded the letter in half, setting it on his table. Banjo shrugged, taking the letter back, Though had the courtesy to put the letter into the built-in cabinet storage of the table. Things took a slower note, Banjo entertaining himself with his phone once more—but with earphones courtesy of Sento, who didn't want distractions during his calculatory work.

After some time, Sento looked over at his phone as it rang, the alarm for a certain period sounding off. With a sigh, he glanced at his assistant, eyes lazy yet ready to order.

"Can you fetch us both some lunch from the cafeteria?"

Banjo huffed, annoyed that his time in the air-conditioned room was over. Then again, it was nearly lunchtime for the students and teachers, and knowing their appetite, the cafeteria was about to get crowded quick. He stood from his seat and looked over at his supposed superior.

"What do ya want?" he asked. He knew what the answer would be though—a big bowl of meat. Sento paused, thinking over his options. Banjo sat impatiently.

"Hmm. I think something light on carbs today would be nice. Maybe yakiniku," he hummed, an unsightly drool forming at the corner of his lip. Banjo nodded, albeit with a frown, before heading off to the cafeteria.

Right as he was Leaving through the doorway, he heard the dreaded sound of the school bell ringing. It was lunchtime.

"Just leave it here though, I'm off to attend a meeting." Banjo just bursts forward and out of the door, on his way to get lunch for them both.

"I think he didn't hear me.." Sento muttered, unamused. Sento's expression turned into a frown. He fetched the letter back from the cabinet, reading it once more without the prying eyes of Banjo.

The letter was truly about a meeting. However, this wasn't a teacher's meeting, or even a conference managed by the director. It was a personal meeting—between him and the director. Meeting her again, for the second time.

He didn't really know her motives for calling him. Maybe it was actually time to pack their bags? He didn't know, so he had to be vigilant. He let out a short huff, anxiety laced in it. 'Sento Kiryu, nervous once more' He thought to himself, He didn't know what to expect from a director like her. Still, he stretched, and walked toward the director's office, the letter in hand, his heart racing with unease. He sighed and smiled.

The hallway filled with students, and all he can do is trudge on.

Notes:

Reminder: This is non-linear, so the next chapter may or may not be a continuation. Anyway, give me your thoughts, and some ideas. Maybe it can be converted into a chapter in this one. Although criticism is nice, so I can improve on the new chapter.