On the track, Oguri Cap had no idea she'd already caught the attention of a little royal princess.
"Hoo…"
After finishing a simple lap, she slowed to a stop. She looked back at the two deep lines of hoofprints sunk into the mud, and a quiet delight rose in her chest.
It felt… amazing.
That sense of control—born from special training—of being able to perfectly handle this kind of heavy ground made every cell in her body cheer.
"Ogu~ri."
Outside the rail, Kuroha waved her over.
Once Oguri Cap jogged back, Kuroha smiled and asked, "How'd it feel? Anything uncomfortable when you ran?"
Oguri Cap tilted her head. She was about to shake her head and say everything was fine, but after thinking it over, she nodded instead.
"It's not uncomfortable, exactly. Um… it's just a little unfamiliar…"
Her delicate face turned faintly blank and dorky as she tried to describe the sensation, only to get stuck on the words.
"It's different from the track at the manor, so you're not used to it?" Kuroha prompted.
"Mm-hm, mm-hm, mm-hm!" Oguri Cap nodded so hard it was practically a drumbeat.
"Of course it is. Even the length is different. The manor track was built to imitate only part of it—there's no way it'd be identical to the real course."
Kuroha chuckled and shook his head. "What I mean is—compared to the manor's training ground, do you think this track is hard to run?"
This time, Oguri Cap shook her head with total sincerity.
"No. It feels easy."
"Good."
Kuroha lifted a hand and ruffled her hair, about to say something—
"!"
Suddenly, the entire venue stirred into an uproar.
Countless small voices fused into a rising wave of chatter, dragging everyone's attention in the same direction.
Kuroha's hand froze midair. He and Oguri Cap turned at the same time, following the crowd's excited gaze toward the track entrance.
As if answering the commotion—
A figure stepped onto the green turf, surrounded like the center of a constellation, radiating an arrogant, untouchable presence.
A tall, curvy horse girl with voluminous blonde waves and a face as cold and elegant as ice.
Her steps were graceful, but the detached disdain in her eyes made people instinctively avert their gaze.
Somalz.
A rising star from Great Britain who had just won the international G1 Grand Prix de Paris—also one of the strongest contenders for this year's Irish Champion Stakes.
Rumor had it that once she finished this race, her sights would go straight to the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe.
…Well. In the original timeline, she'd honestly embarrassed herself pretty badly in this very race.
The moment Somalz and her training team entered, the reporters and paparazzi who'd been watching the morning sessions reacted like sharks catching the scent of blood.
Cameras and microphones shoved in so close they were practically in her face.
"Somalz, what's your outlook on the Irish Champion Stakes coming up?"
"Who do you think is the biggest threat to you?"
"How's your current form?"
"…!"
The nonstop questions made a visible "vein mark" twitch on the blonde girl's forehead.
"Get lost!"
Somalz didn't indulge them for even a second.
Her team was clearly used to this, too. A few burly staff members strode forward, split the crowd cleanly, and escorted their ace straight into the core area of the course.
"So strong…" Oguri Cap watched from afar and blinked, a little impressed.
"Of course," Kuroha said softly, assuming she meant Somalz's popularity. "She's a leading contender for the Arc in a few months. With results like that, the attention's natural. You were the same back at Central Tracen, weren't you?"
"No, I didn't mean popularity. I meant her personality…"
Oguri Cap shook her head and looked up as she remembered.
"Back at Central Tracen, I used to get surrounded by reporters all the time."
"Even Roppei-ojisan couldn't do anything about it."
"If I'd done what she did back then… would I have stopped getting mobbed?"
…Roppei.
Kuroha's mouth twitched.
Roppei-senpai, your name is seriously hard to remember…
Seeing Oguri Cap frown in earnest thought, Kuroha rubbed her head and laughed lightly.
"You don't need to copy what other people do."
"You're you, she's her. Oguri—no matter what, just be yourself."
"And besides… you're not that kind of person."
"Mm…"
Reassured, Oguri Cap didn't dwell on it. She simply nodded, naturally letting it go.
Soon, after Somalz arrived, more horse girls with top-tier popularity and strength began to file in one after another.
First came a steady, intimidating powerhouse—a horse girl with brutally solid muscle definition.
She wore her hair in a sharp short cut, and the bulging muscles in her bare arms made her look like a fighter who'd stepped straight out of a hot-blooded battle anime.
One glance told you she was absolutely lethal in close-quarters jostling.
She didn't waste motion. She simply swept her calm gaze across the venue—
And in the next instant, nearby horse girls lowered their heads without even realizing it.
Sixton.
Champion of the international G1 Premio Ribot—a veteran powerhouse hardened by countless battles.
The second arrival was a girl with neat chestnut short hair and a smile so bright it felt like sunlight.
Elmaamul.
Two months ago, in the G1 Eclipse Stakes, she'd taken the track as a Classic-year horse girl and beaten a whole field of Senior Year veterans head-on—a true prodigy.
And one of the biggest favorites to take the title here.
"Damn… they all showed up."
"It's the Irish Champion Stakes. This lineup is terrifyingly stacked."
Trainers nearby whispered among themselves, awe thick in their voices.
Those three—each one of them had recently taken first in one, or even several, top-tier international G1 races.
They were the brightest stars on the European circuit, the darlings of the spotlight.
Compared to them, the other entrants—teams from abroad, even local Irish contenders—instantly became forgettable background.
Somalz let her cool gaze drift across the field. When her eyes passed Oguri Cap, it was like she was looking over a weed on the roadside—without the slightest pause.
She'd already reviewed Oguri Cap's profile. In fact, she'd studied the profiles of every horse girl in this race.
Even so, to a top British ace like her, an unknown from a Far Eastern island nation simply wasn't worth even a second of attention.
Sixton was the same. Her gaze paused on Elmaamul for only a brief moment—
Then she began warming up on her own, unbothered by anything else.
Of course, Kuroha and Oguri Cap didn't care whether they were being noticed.
After getting a quick read on the three major favorites, they went right back to familiarizing themselves with the course.
And yet—
Not far away, Elmaamul was warming up too, casually sweeping her gaze around the entire venue.
Very quickly, her eyes cut through the crowd, landing with pinpoint accuracy on the ash-gray-haired girl at the edge of the track—quiet as a ghost, walking beside a black-haired young man as if they were just out for a stroll.
"Obaa-san… is that her?" Elmaamul asked softly.
The elderly woman beside her looked that way and clicked her tongue.
"Can't see. The press is blocking everything—I may as well be blind."
"…Seriously?" Elmaamul went deadpan on the spot. "You always say you're going to, you're going to… and then every time you forget, Obaa-san!"
"Ahh, I'm old. That's normal."
The old woman narrowed her eyes again for a moment, then turned back.
"Don't pay too much attention over there, Elmaamul. No matter how troublesome that ash-gray horse girl is, I'll collect the intel."
"Your job right now is to carve everything about this course into your brain."
"Don't forget—besides that Oguri Cap, Sixton and Somalz aren't exactly friendly opponents either. Your rivals aren't just one person."
"…"
Elmaamul froze, then took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
A few seconds later, she opened them again—her pupils now deep as the sea.
"I understand!"
(End of Chapter)
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