...
"Anything...?" El Condor Pasa's voice suddenly trembled a little.
Trainer Lucian wouldn't be planning to do something weird, right...? If she agreed, wouldn't that mean signing a contract of servitude with no chance to resist anymore?
But someone had already voiced her inner thoughts.
"Lucian-kun, are you planning to do something strange?" Silence Suzuka's face wore her usual smile, but the deeper meaning behind this "gentleness" was different from usual.
The scene shifted—the attackers and defenders swapped roles.
The originally loose encirclement instantly tightened, pulling Lucian into it as well.
"No way, I'm so upright and kind—how could I possibly want El Condor Pasa to try the 'special' punishment drink I newly developed for next year's training camp?" Lucian said innocently, openly stating his true intentions while actually playing hard to get.
Silence Suzuka was stunned. "So it was just that...? Then I agree."
Seiun Sky spread her hands. "I have no objections~"
Rice Shower: "El Condor Pasa-chan... I'm also part of 'Dream,' so sorry about this."
Haru Urara: "Yay~ Let Little Condor try the taste first!"
Tokai Teio: "Seconded! Seconded!"
Mejiro McQueen: "I agree too, I suppose."
Matikane Tannhauser: "Trainer, I want to try it together too!"
Lucian: "No problem at all—there's plenty to go around."
The crown prince of Tracen Academy? He'd make sure she regretted it.
Only Dextrous Bailey stayed silent.
Next year's training camp? She might not be able to join everyone anymore.
...
The Uma Musume present responded one after another; the chorus of agreements rose and fell like wind chimes strung together.
But to El Condor Pasa, it sounded anything but beautiful.
"Wait! I didn't agree!" She couldn't help protesting.
As a veteran victim of "Jue Juice," she knew exactly what that drink signified in "meaning" and "power."
And this time it was a new version—surely upgraded with extra ingredients. Wasn't that basically taking her life!?
"El Condor Pasa, that French phrase you taught Spe-chan nearly caused a conflict between Spe-chan and Broye—how could you do that..." Lucian shook his head, sighing helplessly on purpose. "I guess I'll just tell Spe-chan."
"Wait! Wait! I... I'll agree, okay!" El Condor Pasa raised both hands in surrender. "Just a cup of punishment juice—I accept the challenge!"
Lucian wagged his finger, not letting her slip through any loophole. "No, more than one cup."
"Trainer Lucian, you...!?"
"Fine, I'll tell Spe-chan then."
"I agree! I'll accept it, alright!"
Lucian made an "OK" gesture, his face full of the triumphant smile of a scheme succeeding. The earlier "threats and inducements" had just been an impromptu performance. "The race is about to start—El Condor Pasa, hurry back to the team. Don't make Hana-nee worry."
The Uma Musume silently disbanded the circle in perfect understanding, leaving El Condor Pasa behind them, then lay back on the stands as if nothing had happened.
...
"The runners have entered the gates! They're ready and waiting!"
Bang—the gates flew open. The Uma Musume shot out like lightning.
The dense, rugged "tat-tat" sounds formed the prelude to an impassioned battle song.
Penelope, just as expected, burst forth like a cheetah released from its cage—her running form wild and unrestrained, her forward-leaning body like a fully drawn bowstring. She slowly pulled ahead from the pack.
Right now, she wasn't at full firepower yet. It was more like measuring her prey, launching tempting feints, waiting for the moment to sprint.
The bull flag on Sergio's cape seemed to come alive, roaring like a furious beast, glaring ferociously at the opponents behind her.
Her gate position wasn't great, but with her steel-like physique, she forcefully shoved her way through with her shoulders using a simple, brutal tactic—squeezing onto the inner path, claiming an excellent position right behind Penelope.
Special Week was in the front half of the middle pack—perfect positioning.
She maintained a steady rhythm, breathing evenly, her gaze firmly locked on the road ahead.
Lucian had already predicted the field's situation during pre-race analysis. So Special Week wasn't panicked at all.
Her face wore an unprecedented seriousness. "If I can hold this position the whole way, conserve energy, and wait for the final chance... this race, I can win!"
Broye was on the outer path, expression calm as ever, as if all the surrounding clamor had nothing to do with her—that was the composure of a king detached from worldly affairs.
Yet within that seemingly leisurely stroll lurked killing intent. Her deep eyes remained locked on the figure slightly ahead and to the side—Special Week!
...
Through the long straight sprint, all the Uma Musume's rhythms had stabilized. But as they entered the first turn, a sudden change erupted.
Penelope curled her lip, her pink tongue gliding over both lips, entering full "hunting mode" at top gear.
In that instant, the Uma Musume on the field suddenly felt the air mere inches behind them being torn apart by something invisible yet fatally elegant.
A pair of pale golden eyes embedded in void darkness. From a lofty vantage, they surveyed their vast hunting ground equally, marking every hard-running Uma Musume as prey.
"Penelope suddenly accelerated entering the turn!? This is a curve... but under her displayed agility, it might as well be a straight line!!!" The announcer cried out in shock.
So terrifying—
That was Special Week's most direct feeling in that moment.
She wasn't the prey Penelope had locked onto.
But precisely because of that, her heart pounded, an instinctive awe rising... yet the opponent's prey was the Japan Cup champion!
If she just handed it over like this, what would that make her!?
The unwillingness blazed like wildfire across the plains, instantly igniting blood frozen by fear and muscles gone soft!
The confusion in Special Week's eyes vanished, replaced by unprecedented resolve; her steps suddenly became lighter.
At the same time, a sharp glint flashed in Broye's deep eyes. That sudden pressure was, to her, nothing more than a faint breeze before the throne.
Sergio let out a low growl; contempt flickered in her eyes before she turned that surge of fury into fuel for advancement.
And Astrid merely adjusted her breathing slightly. Then an awe-inspiring, inviolable battle intent radiated from her entire body, dispersing that oppressive pressure.
...