Dream Weaver's bluntness hit Tokai Teio like a physical blow.
Teio's fists clenched instinctively, her nails digging so deep into her palms that the skin paled, yet she refused to let go.
She stared straight into those black eyes—eyes that seemed utterly devoid of emotion—and found her voice.
"Do you have any idea how you sound? You're like those overpowered villains from a shonen manga. The 'Arrogant Kings' who think they're the strongest just because they were born with it, believing they never need to break a sweat."
"But their endings are always the same—"
"—Total! Utter! Defeat!"
In truth, Dream Weaver couldn't care less about Teio's fury, but the analogy actually piqued her interest.
"That's only because they weren't strong enough," she countered calmly.
"If someone is truly powerful enough, it doesn't matter how many power-ups the 'hero' gets through the story—they'll never win."
She paused for a moment, as if a fitting example had just crossed her mind, before continuing.
"Have you ever heard of Berserk? No matter how desperately Guts swings that massive slab of iron he calls a sword, the readers can't see any possible way for him to defeat Griffith—let alone the God Hand."
"There is no such thing as a fated downfall. There is only being too weak to change it."
Dream Weaver shifted her gaze away from Teio, looking out at the other Uma Musume gathering on the track.
"Taking down the entire world by myself might be a bit much," she mused. "But taking down everyone on this turf? That's not exactly a challenge."
She tilted her head slightly, looking back at Teio.
"The Triple Crown is already out of your reach. Why not just give up on the Kikuka Sho and try for the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe instead? No Japanese Uma Musume has ever claimed that laurel."
"You've awakened your Zone, haven't you? You might actually stand a ghost of a chance over there."
In Dream Weaver's mind, this was genuine, practical advice. Since Teio couldn't beat her anyway, she might as well pivot to the Arc.
If she won that, she'd be the undisputed successor to the Emperor, fulfilling her dream in a different way.
But to Tokai Teio, the words tasted like pure mockery.
"You really think you've already won, don't you?!"
Teio's head hung low, her voice rasping like a cornered beast.
From Dream Weaver's vantage point, all she could see was the white, crescent-moon streak of Teio's bangs.
"Yes."
Dream Weaver's expression didn't flicker.
Her answer was as flat and factual as a law of nature.
"I've already won."
She didn't even bother saying she would prove it. In her mind, she had already settled that debt at the Satsuki Sho.
Teio hadn't even been able to withstand a single strike of her God-Slayer Blade back then.
The Japan Derby was barely a month after the Satsuki Sho; how much could a person realistically grow in thirty days?
Even Orfevre—the fastest-growing talent Dream Weaver had ever seen between those two races—had only managed to push a few stats to S-rank.
Dream Weaver, meanwhile, sat on three SS+ stats. This wasn't just talent; it was a level of power that shouldn't even exist in this generation.
Tokai Teio would lose. It was the only logical conclusion.
Pushed to the brink of fury, Teio suddenly stopped shouting.
When she looked up again, the contorted rage was gone. In its place was a cold, iron-clad resolve that felt like ice.
She didn't speak to Dream Weaver again. There was no point. At this stage, any verbal threat was just empty noise. If she wanted to prove anything, she had to do it on the turf.
She would show her. She would prove that an Uma Musume with a dream would never lose to a hollow shell of a person who had nothing but arrogance.
Teio had made her peace; for the sake of victory, she would sacrifice everything without a second thought.
Watching Teio walk away, Dream Weaver shook her head slightly.
From her perspective, all their friction stemmed from the Triple Crown. Since that achievement was now impossible for Teio, why couldn't she just pick a new goal?
Maybe once they weren't rivals, they could fix their relationship. If Teio kept obsessing like this, she was only going to hurt herself.
But she didn't chase after her. She'd said her piece. If she couldn't convince her, then so be it; Dream Weaver never harbored the illusion that she could save everyone.
Just then, Sugimoto Kentaro's voice crackled over the speakers, echoing across the stands.
"All Uma Musume, please head to the gates."
No time to greet the crowd, Dream Weaver thought. I'll do it after I win. She turned and walked straight toward the starting stalls.
As entrant number twenty, Dream Weaver was stuck in the outermost post—the "Great Outside."
For an Uma Musume, it was a nightmare draw. Not only did it mean covering more ground, but it made it incredibly easy to get boxed in after the start, trapped behind a wall of bodies.
For a normal racer, there were only two ways to handle this.
Either bolt out of the gate with explosive speed to seize a forward position immediately, or bury yourself in the back and pray for a gap to open up on the final straight.
But for Dream Weaver, it didn't need to be that complicated.
Staring at the track beyond the gate, she took a deep breath. Her heart began to thrum like an engine fueled by high-octane fire, sending a surge of violent power through her veins.
The preparation that had taken Tokai Teio dozens of rhythmic breaths at the Satsuki Sho took Dream Weaver a single second.
She had more racing experience than anyone on this field, and her physical conditioning was leagues above them.
Even Teio, the second strongest in the lineup, was separated from her by a vast, insurmountable chasm.
Admittedly, her base Power stat was only at B-rank for this Derby, which was starting to show its limits.
Her explosive acceleration wasn't quite enough to simply blow past everyone the moment the gates snapped open.
But putting aside the various items she had equipped—items that boosted a B-rank stat to god-knows-where—she had other ways to tear through a "predicament."
Actually, "predicament" wasn't even the right word.
Nothing could hold Dream Weaver back when the blade of her God-Slayer was unsheathed. Not the gods, and certainly not these girls.
In the next heartbeat, a chilling, metallic hum—the sound of a blade singing through air—reverberated across the track.
The scent of rusted iron and blood overwhelmed the sweet fragrance of the grass, slamming into the nerves of every Uma Musume present with a crushing pressure.
What do I do if I'm not explosive enough to break through the crowd?
Simple. I just cut them all down.
If she was the only Uma Musume left on the track capable of running freely, then "acceleration" didn't really matter at all.
--+--
T/N: I have a Patreon! Webnovel will get 2 Chapters Every Day, and advanced chapters will be uploaded on Patreon.
It may not seem worth it now, but maybe in the future. Who knows!
[email protected]/AspenTL
If you guys wanna check it out.