The day of the Prix Foy finally arrived.
Fujiwara Chiya brought Orfevre and the others to the racetrack. Shirayuki and Gold Ship went off to find their seats, while he accompanied Orfevre to the competitors' lounge.
The roar of the crowd seeped in from outside.
Chiya took a deep breath and looked toward the golden-haired girl sitting silently on the sofa.
This was Orfevre's first race in Europe.
Win or lose, this race would set the tone for the coming Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe.
Fujiwara Chiya wanted her to show the world something shocking.
Something overwhelming.
Something only Orfevre could do.
"What are you doing, Trainer?"
Orfevre spoke from the sofa.
"You look distracted. Don't tell me you're afraid I might lose?"
"No," Chiya said. "I was just wondering what kind of method you'll use to win."
"Heh."
Orfevre laughed softly.
"Come here."
Chiya sat beside her.
Orfevre slipped off her black knee-high boot, lifted her leg, and rested it on him.
"Massage my foot."
Following her command, Chiya took her smooth foot in his hands. Her skin was soft beneath his fingers, warm and delicate, while her five rounded nails lined up like tiny polished shells. Each time his fingertips brushed over them, they twitched ever so slightly.
"Trainer, you like it, don't you? This belongs to you. No one else is allowed to touch it."
Orfevre's lips curled into a teasing smile.
"So open those eyes wide and watch closely. Watch how your uma musume shakes the world."
"Yes," Chiya said. "I'll be looking forward to it."
He carefully helped her put her shoe back on.
Orfevre rose to her feet.
That brief bit of service had put her in a wonderful mood. Her blue-violet eyes gleamed, her lips split into a fierce grin, and the platinum streaks in her bangs shimmered beneath the light.
With a sweep of the cape behind her, Orfevre declared,
"I am off. Await my triumphant return, Trainer. And then…"
Make sure you prepare a proper celebration for my victory.
With that, Orfevre left the room.
Longchamp Racecourse was packed to the brim.
Fujiwara Chiya found Gold Ship seated on the third floor of the viewing stand. She waved at him.
"Trainer, over here!"
Chiya sat down beside her.
"Why isn't Shirayuki with us?"
"Shirayuki has something to do."
From this point onward, the final preparations for the Arc had officially begun.
Fujiwara Chiya would observe the racetrack.
Shirayuki would feel the racetrack.
As a trainer, he longed for his uma musume to win.
But as an uma musume, she also longed for her own victory.
This was their battle together.
Or rather, it was a battle between Fujiwara Chiya's two identities.
He poured everything he had into raising others, then kept sharpening himself to surpass them.
This was not only a race against opponents.
It was a race against himself.
That's right…
Fujiwara Chiya clenched his fist.
My final opponent is Treve.
But my greatest opponent is myself.
Orfevre was an unbearably powerful uma musume he had created with his own hands.
Treve, too, had once been adjusted by him into peak condition.
Every obstacle on Fujiwara Chiya's road to success had been designed by none other than himself.
In that sense, he truly was his own greatest enemy.
But he did not regret it.
If anything, he was glad he had chosen this path.
No matter what the final result might be, Fujiwara Chiya could walk forward with a clear conscience.
He had betrayed no one.
He had remained the person he most wanted to be.
He had become a proper trainer.
For Orfevre.
For Treve.
And for himself as well.
In the stands, Shirayuki watched Orfevre's figure and placed a hand over her own chest.
Go, Orfevre.
Claim your victory.
And then…
Fight me.
That was Shirayuki's greatest respect toward the opponent she had personally helped raise.
Respect as a trainer.
And respect as an uma musume.
"Most popular, Orfevre!"
With the announcer's call, Orfevre stepped onto the stage.
She wore her brilliant platinum-white racing outfit, paired with a brown skirt decorated in vivid red. Standing beneath the spotlight, she raised one arm and flashed an utterly confident smile.
Aside from her race against Fujiwara Chiya, Orfevre had never lost in an official race.
She was also one of the rare few uma musume to step onto the European stage undefeated.
Second in popularity was another graded stakes winner from Ireland, Sulin Meiya.
Before the race, Sulin Meiya had specially trained to counter Orfevre's running style.
Unfortunately for her, Shirayuki had also trained Orfevre to counter that counter.
From a distance, Shirayuki felt her gaze meet Orfevre's.
For some reason, Orfevre suddenly looked puzzled.
But very quickly, she regained her usual composure.
The pre-race preparations ended.
The uma musume entered the gates and took their starting stances.
Orfevre bent low.
The signal lights on the gate flickered.
Clang!
Twelve uma musume burst out from the gates.
"And they're off! Taking the lead is number six, Fearless Valor!"
A pink figure shot forward from the side at astonishing speed.
The instant Orfevre saw her move, she was about to respond.
Then, beside her ear, she heard an illusion of her Trainer's voice.
"Hold steady, Orfevre! Hold steady! Watch your opponents! Look at your real enemy!"
Fujiwara Chiya had shouted that line hundreds, maybe thousands of times.
He had shouted until his throat went hoarse.
And Orfevre, who had once found it irritating, had gradually let those words sink deep into her heart.
Opponent…
Her blue-violet eyes shifted.
Very soon, Orfevre locked onto the uma musume running ahead of her in fourth place.
The girl's eyes were discreetly watching her.
Ha!
What a disobedient little foreign filly.
Orfevre grinned.
The thing I love doing most on the racetrack is—
Trampling all over those smug faces of yours!
"The race has smoothly passed the second corner! Fearless Valor has been overtaken by Kaleneia and drops to second! The front group is under intense pressure!"
"Orfevre is currently in the middle pack, sitting in seventh!"
Originally, Fujiwara Chiya had wanted Orfevre to run as a Pace Chaser in this race.
But one sentence from her had changed his mind.
"Trainer, do you think I can break out from the middle of the pack while surrounded by everyone?"
"I'm… not sure."
"This race will give you the answer."
Orfevre had deliberately chosen a position that put her at a disadvantage.
Not only did it shatter the opponent's original plan, it also allowed her to display the results of her recent training.
Orfevre did not think this race was difficult.
Even here in Europe, she still considered it nothing more than one part of training.
A stage where she could show her strength to her Trainer.
To Shirayuki.
And to the world.
"The final corner!"
At the announcer's voice, Orfevre bent sharply forward.
A heavy rumble rolled across the track.
Orfevre became a streak of golden light and charged ahead.
Sulin Meiya, who had been waiting for this moment, moved the instant Orfevre came near and leaned in to block her.
"Foolish!"
Orfevre kicked hard to the side.
Her body slid laterally, then cut violently into the inner lane.
Sulin Meiya lunged at empty air.
She stared at Orfevre in disbelief.
There's someone ahead on the inside! There's no room to accelerate! Why would she go in there?!
Orfevre grinned.
Under the eyes of tens of thousands of spectators, Orfevre hugged the rail and forcibly squeezed past the uma musume in front of her.
The dull thuds of arms knocking against each other rang out again and again.
Orfevre gritted her teeth.
So this is what the Empress felt back then…
No.
Back then, the Empress pushed herself even closer to the limit!
Her opponents were all world-class monsters!
And these people?
They're nothing but small fry!
Not enough.
This still isn't enough to surpass the Empress!
I have to be faster.
Stronger.
None of you are worthy of being my opponents!
"It's Orfevre! What a tyrannical acceleration on the inside! What an overwhelming running style! She flattens everything! She crushes all in her path! Her conquest is like art! Her path is like a storm!"
"Orfevre has taken first place!"
"To the finish line!"
The announcer's voice tore through the air.
And the entire racetrack erupted.