"Mei, there's some paperwork on my end that I can't really get through. I need your help."
"Do you already have races lined up?"
"Yeah. Gold Ship and Orfevre both have prep races."
"What about Shirayuki? She doesn't need to run?"
"She doesn't. She's already qualified. I'm planning to use this period to reinforce all of her training."
"I see. By the way… are those part of the training too?" Satake Mei pointed toward the corner of the room, where several sets of plate armor sat looking ridiculously heavy.
"Yeah. That's for Shirayuki's weighted training. She has to run while wearing those now."
"Is that really okay…? Isn't it a bit too heavy?"
"She'll get used to it. Once she does, it'll feel like part of her body. It won't affect her normal movement anymore."
"Chiya, aren't you putting too much pressure on yourself?" Satake Mei looked at Fujiwara Chiya with concern.
Last year's loss at the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe had left countless people with regrets. Satake Mei was one of them. That was exactly why she carried such high hopes for this race.
But she didn't want Chiya to crush himself under that pressure. He was still so young. He still had a whole future ahead of him.
As one of the most outstanding trainers of the younger generation, Satake Mei believed Fujiwara Chiya already had every right to stand tall before the world.
How many trainers could even reach an international stage at his age? Most were still stumbling through condition races. Some had not even graduated from being assistants yet.
So Satake Mei wanted him to relax a little and face the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe with the same mindset he would bring to any normal race.
"I'm not. I don't really feel pressured."
Fujiwara Chiya thought his mental state was pretty good. At the very least, he wasn't so nervous that his hair was falling out.
Okay. Saying he wasn't nervous at all would be a lie.
After all his investigation, this year's Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe had no shortage of terrifying uma musume. Shirayuki would be facing even fiercer competition than last year. Whether she could actually take the crown was still impossible to say.
In that situation, Chiya couldn't help letting his thoughts spiral. Even when he did everything he could to adjust his mentality, there were still moments when retreat flickered through his mind.
Fortunately, he had Shirayuki.
He could hold Shirayuki in his arms and gently stroke that treasure who had changed his life forever. As long as Shirayuki was there, Fujiwara Chiya would be filled with hope.
Right now, Shirayuki was the force that kept him moving forward.
For Shirayuki.
For himself.
Fujiwara Chiya had to seize that championship.
Satake Mei watched the firm look on his face, her eyes softening slightly. Compared to the flustered, rough-around-the-edges big boy from last year, the Fujiwara Chiya standing here now had matured so much.
She stood up, walked behind him, and began kneading his shoulders.
"I can't help much with the training itself, so leave the miscellaneous work to me."
"Oh? Is this senior care, or subordinate care?"
"Both."
"Then I'll accept it with a clear conscience."
Just as Fujiwara Chiya was enjoying Mei's massage service, Orfevre pushed open the door.
The moment she saw the two by the desk, her pupils shrank.
"Orfevre, you're here."
"I came to rest for a moment… What are you two doing?"
"I thought Chiya looked a bit tired, so I'm helping him loosen his shoulders," Satake Mei answered.
"Oh?" Orfevre arched an eyebrow. "Trainer has been busy revising my training plan lately. Perhaps his body grew tired because of that. In that case, the fault lies with me."
"No, actually, that's not—"
"I shall bear my own faults myself."
Orfevre strode over.
"Human strength is far too weak. If you wish to make Trainer feel comfortable, an uma musume is better suited for the task."
With that, she stole the man's shoulders from Satake Mei's hands. Her fingers pressed down, and she began to knead.
Compared to a human's, an uma musume's palms were softer and smoother. Add to that the layered, rippling pressure far beyond what any human could produce, and Fujiwara Chiya couldn't stop a pleased sound from slipping out.
"How does it feel, Trainer? To be served by my noble hands."
"Full marks."
"Heh."
Orfevre glanced at Satake Mei as if claiming victory.
Satake Mei merely blinked.
"Then I'll go handle your documents first, Chiya."
"Yeah. Thanks, Mei."
"We'll talk again when we have time."
She waved and trotted out of the room.
Tch. So composed.
Seeing that the woman hadn't reacted to her at all, Orfevre felt as if she had punched empty air.
"Orfevre, I've already finished adjusting your training plan. Based on your condition these past few days, I made it more suitable for you. Take a look later."
Fujiwara Chiya placed the training plan on the desk.
Looking at the meticulous contents written across the page, Orfevre clenched both hands.
"Trainer… do you still remember what I once said? That only an excellent trainer would be worthy of me."
"Of course."
"I am changing that statement."
Orfevre took a deep breath.
"Yes. Only Trainer is worthy of me."
At first listen, it sounded as though she had merely removed the adjective at the front.
But if one thought about it carefully, the "Trainer" she referred to meant Fujiwara Chiya alone.
Enduring a tidal wave of embarrassment, Orfevre asked, "Do you have anything to say, Trainer?"
"…I'm honored."
"Is that all?"
"And… thank you?"
Orfevre lowered her hands, slammed a fist against the desk, shot Fujiwara Chiya one more look, then turned and left the room.
What was that?
Did I say something wrong?
Fujiwara Chiya was completely lost.
He had thought Orfevre's difficult temper had mostly been worn down by now.
Apparently, it had merely evolved into something he could no longer understand.
She'll probably be fine after a while…
That evening, after dinner, Fujiwara Chiya returned to his room and found Orfevre sitting on the sofa.
"Orfevre? How did you get in?"
"I took the spare key from your desk."
"Hm?"
Was that something she could just take?
"Come here, Trainer."
Orfevre patted the sofa. Fujiwara Chiya walked over and sat beside her.
"What's wrong, Orfevre? You don't look too good."
Orfevre bit lightly on her teeth.
"Trainer, ever since I became an uma musume, I have always been the tyrant of the turf. I enjoy watching others kneel. I enjoy the feeling of standing above all.
"But ever since I met you, I have done nothing but embarrass myself. I embarrassed myself on the racecourse. I embarrassed myself in training. Even after coming to Europe, you made me embarrass myself yet again."
"Sorry. I didn't mean to—"
"Silence. Let me finish!"
Orfevre cut him off sharply.
"Even in this, you still made me embarrass myself! You made me come to you first! That thick, clumsy head of yours never thinks about what I mean at all!"
Fujiwara Chiya stared wide-eyed.
"You still do not understand? Must I spell it out for you myself? I have fallen in love with you, you hopelessly stupid fool!"
Grabbing Fujiwara Chiya by the chin, Orfevre kissed him hard.
Just like her running style on the track, her kiss came like a storm. Fujiwara Chiya felt his mouth being ravaged without mercy.
A full five minutes passed before the two finally separated.
Orfevre panted heavily.
She had done it.
She had finally done it!
After learning that Trainer was weak against forceful uma musume, Orfevre had acted decisively. She couldn't hold back anymore. Recently, her body had been burning so badly she could hardly stand it. If she waited any longer, she really might go mad from bottling everything up.
No matter what she did alone, she couldn't soothe that restless heat.
She wanted Trainer.
She wanted to see his face.
She wanted to hear his voice.
"This is the last time I shall embarrass myself, Trainer. From here on, I shall enjoy watching you embarrass yourself instead."
"Orfevre, I thought—"
Before he could finish, Orfevre pushed him down onto the floor.
Sitting on the sofa, Orfevre held her head high, her face flushed. That five-minute kiss had already set her nerves alight.
She lifted one foot and slipped off her shoe, revealing the semi-transparent white stocking beneath.
For this day, she had prepared for quite some time.
She had bought new stockings.
Practiced her technique.
Fantasized about it again and again.
And now, at long last, that fantasy had become reality.
Orfevre's heart pounded wildly.
"You like feet, don't you, Trainer? Very well. Then I shall let you enjoy them to your heart's content."
She spread her toes, stretching the stocking fabric taut and revealing the tempting pink of her carefully pampered sole beneath.
Then Orfevre extended her foot toward him.
Clink, clink…
A chain came loose.
Watching the man's helpless reaction, Orfevre's lips curled into a grin. A red flame of impulse flickered in her eyes.
Show me that pathetic face of yours before me.
Orfevre raised her foot.
And stepped down.