A debut race.
As the first battle that marks the starting line of a horse girl's career, it matters—a lot.
Everything is hardest at the beginning.
And a strong result in the debut race is, without question, a huge morale boost.
On the presentation stage, Fujimura Hui used his Appraisal Eye to study the stats of the horse girls around him, thinking quietly.
The average level of the entrants was a little over 200—among the newer generation, they counted as a fairly strong group.
A few of them even had a single attribute already reaching the 300 range.
"Looks like American trainers are pretty high-level too."
In Hui's estimate, once an attribute hit 300, you could basically steamroll a debut race.
As long as you didn't run into a monster, that baseline should be an easy win.
Those American trainers didn't have eyes like Hui's—eyes that could turn his horse girl's physical qualities into clean, numerical panels—but years of accumulated training experience were more than enough for them to judge when a horse girl was ready to debut.
"If it were me, I'd have them debut at about this level too."
Hui rolled his shoulder. He was done warming up, and his body temperature had started to rise.
"Sorry… but this time, I have to win."
He said it toward the race entrance.
—
"No way…"
"Is it real? Why is Secretariat here?"
"Oh, and next to her—Seattle Slew, the undefeated Triple Crown winner?!"
"Why are legends like that here…?"
In the grandstand at Aqueduct Racetrack, noise swelled in waves. And at the center of that commotion, two horse girls leaned casually against the rail by the track, completely unbothered.
They were Secretariat and Seattle Slew.
"President, aren't we going to watch from the VIP seats? The view is better, and it won't be this noisy," Seattle Slew said, glancing at the crowd buzzing around them.
"Ah, Slew, you don't get it~" Secretariat replied.
She tapped the railing with a long, slender finger, making a crisp sound.
"VIP seats are nice, sure—but you can't smell the track from there like you can here~"
"The 'smell of the track' is just the scent of grass," Seattle Slew deadpanned.
"Slew, you have no romance at all."
"…"
Seattle Slew decided her president had something wrong with her head.
She lifted her gaze to the track, eyes drifting.
What was there to see in a low-level debut race like this…?
What exactly was the president thinking…?
"It's starting," Secretariat said.
Her voice pulled Seattle Slew out of her spiral of thoughts. She focused on the field—today's entrants were already stepping onto the track.
Whatever the president was thinking, they were here now. Might as well watch.
"Oh! Here she comes—today's crowd favorite, the standout honor student among this year's newcomers: California Speed!"
With the commentator's hype, the tall, powerfully built California Speed walked onto the track.
"That incredible physique is packed with unbelievable strength! I'm sure she'll deliver an outstanding performance today!"
The commentator sounded genuinely excited. In his eyes, California Speed was probably the best entrant in this debut race.
"Slew, what do you think of her?" Secretariat asked, lounging against the rail as she watched California Speed stretch on the track.
"You already know the answer at your level," Seattle Slew said. "Why ask me?"
"I just want to hear what you think~" Secretariat said with a grin.
Seattle Slew pinched the bridge of her nose.
"She's decent. For a newcomer."
"Decent…" Secretariat sighed at the answer. "That's not nearly enough to be interesting."
What is she whining about now?
Seattle Slew complained silently in her head.
"Isn't it a bit too harsh to judge rookies by your standards, President?"
"It's you who's being too gentle on them."
Secretariat watched entrant after entrant come out. Her tail drooped behind her—clearly, so far, not a single racer had caught her interest.
"Next entrant… Red Eyes? Uh…"
Suddenly the commentator's voice started to stutter. It was obvious he didn't have much information on Red Eyes—so little that he didn't even know what compliments to use.
"This racer, Red Eyes, is from Japan, and she came specifically to compete in the United States. Let's hope she can achieve a strong result today."
He ran out of words and fell back on boilerplate.
After that introduction, the audience's attention shifted to the girl standing on the track.
Black hair, red eyes, a lean and capable build, strong legs, and distinctly East Asian features.
"Why would a Japanese horse girl come debut here…?"
"Doesn't she have her own circuit?"
"Heh. Is she a nobody coming here to donate a free win? Look, look—someone who doesn't know her place!"
The crowd talked over itself.
In their eyes, the Japanese circuit was simply a tier below theirs.
Sure, Japan's top-grade races had huge prize money—but that didn't mean the overall strength of its horse girls was exceptional.
To them, Japan had plenty of mid-to-upper-tier racers, but far too few who broke past the top tier into the truly elite.
And in the Americas, where strength-above-all was the prevailing creed, the crowd was especially bloodthirsty. They believed the strong should ruthlessly humiliate the weak.
From their perspective, Japanese horse girls belonged firmly on the "weak" side.
By the time Red Eyes stood on the track, the stands had already erupted into an unbroken chorus of boos.
No one believed a horse girl from Japan could defeat their local standouts.
"Oh my, oh my Now this is interesting"
Secretariat watched the black-haired girl standing neatly in place, and her amber eyes brightened slightly.
"Good luck—!"
She cupped her hands like a megaphone and shouted.
But her cheer was instantly swallowed by the surrounding boos, so Red Eyes naturally couldn't hear her.
"President, what are you doing?" Seattle Slew said, exasperated. "If you're going to cheer, shouldn't you cheer for our racer?"
Seattle Slew genuinely didn't understand. Why was Secretariat cheering for Red Eyes?
Our side is ready to fight to the death, and you're surrendering before the battle even starts.
"Slew, you've got one thing wrong," Secretariat said, turning back with a remarkably pure smile.
"I only cheer for the stronger one. That's all."
In the bloodthirsty American circuit, how could a student council president raised by that environment not be bloodthirsty as well?
....
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