Morning. The rain was coming down hard—so hard it wasn't even remotely the time for an early warm-up.
Thankfully, the race was scheduled for the afternoon.
If it were in the morning, the organizers would probably have had to consider moving the start time.
Great Britain's delegation—Elmaamul's team lodging, inside one of their dorm rooms.
Outside the window, thunder rolled. Rain hammered the glass like a waterfall, dense and relentless.
No lights were on in the room. Only the occasional flash of lightning outside would briefly flood the space with brightness.
"Hoo…"
In the darkness came the sound of heavy, steady breathing.
Elmaamul wore a pink lace-trim pajama set. Half-reclined on the bed, hugging her blanket, she stared at the rain curtain outside as if it could swallow the whole world.
She didn't turn on a light. She didn't wear her usual sunny, cheerful smile.
Right now, her face was nothing but rock-solid resolve and calm.
In the dim light, you could see her unconsciously kneading the muscles of her thigh.
"Coming down this hard…" Elmaamul murmured, giving a firm nod.
For a lot of horse girls, weather like this was a nightmare.
But for her, this mud and heaviness—this was home, carved into her bones.
After watching the rain a little longer, she suddenly stood and walked to the mirror.
In the reflection, she still looked like herself: short blonde hair, the same bright expression.
Only her eyes—those eyes that always seemed full of laughter—were now burning with a cold, dark flame you couldn't meet head-on.
She knew her own condition.
For that supreme glory, for the chance to defeat those so-called "Senior Year legends" at her age, she'd paid too steep a price.
Maybe after this race—maybe after one or two more—this body she'd pushed beyond reason day after day would finally collapse.
"But so what?"
Elmaamul stared into her own eyes and slowly curled her lips into a sharp, cutting smile.
"As long as I win… as long as tomorrow I can lift that trophy."
"Even if I burn to ash, it'll be worth it."
In her mind, several figures rose—each radiating a terrifying aura.
Some were powerhouses she'd faced before.
Others were dreadful enemies she was about to face.
Sixton, whose brute strength felt like a tyrannosaur.
Somalz, whose finishing kick and stamina were nearly perfect.
And Oguri Cap—the "monster" her Obaa-san had warned her about.
Every one of them weighed heavy on her chest.
And every one of them only made her fighting spirit blaze hotter.
"You bastards…" Elmaamul clenched her fist.
"Senior Year? So what? One extra year of growth? So what?"
"I'll prove it to the world—just like the Eclipse Stakes."
"I'll grind every last one of you under my feet!"
She turned, back to the storm outside, the light in her eyes brighter than lightning itself.
"On the heavy ground I know best… I'll make you remember the name Elmaamul for the rest of your lives!"
…
Elsewhere, in the top floor of a lavish five-star hotel.
Under soft, warm lights, the air was rich with the scent of expensive aromatics.
Somalz, wrapped in a silk robe, held a glass of red fruit-and-vegetable juice. She stood at the huge window, brow furrowed as she watched the downpour that looked like it would drown the world.
"What unpleasant weather."
The blonde, icy girl let out a weary sigh.
It wasn't that she couldn't run on heavy ground. But for some reason, during those three days of public training, she'd felt awful the whole time.
Like she and Leopardstown's turf were repelling each other.
Every step she planted carried a strange, unnameable awkwardness.
"Hopefully the ground this afternoon… will be better," Somalz murmured, a shadow in her eyes.
…
At the same time, inside another hotel's restaurant.
"Crunch!"
A crisp chewing sound rang out.
A horse girl with a sharp short haircut—muscle definition still visible even under casual clothes—sat at a table, eating huge mouthfuls from a plate piled like a mountain with beef and pasta.
Sixton glanced at the rain outside, then at the piece of beef on her fork, and her lips curved into a calm, confident smile.
"A rain race, huh? Interesting."
She chewed, feeling strength surge through her body.
For a power-type runner like her, slick ground meant higher stamina costs.
But if she was going to have a hard time, then the younger girls would struggle even more.
And in a mud-pit war of attrition like this, it came down to who had the thicker foundation—who had the harder body.
Muscle was everything.
"No matter who it is… it won't make much difference."
Sixton clenched her fist, wild fervor spreading across her face.
"In front of absolute power, all technique is useless."
"This one's mine!"
…
Afternoon.
Maybe even the heavens wanted a clear look at this clash at the summit—because the storm that had raged all night and all morning finally began to ease, slowing to a stop as the start time drew near.
Gildune Manor.
Click.
The villa's front door opened.
Kuroha stepped out first, drawing in a deep breath of crisp, rain-washed air.
Behind him, Oguri Cap emerged in her sharp racing outfit—styled like a sailor uniform—accompanied by Berno Light and Super Creek, her stride steady and resolute.
Nase Fumino already had the rented business van waiting at the entrance, the door open wide.
Lisi and the Haitoshi sisters stood off to the side as well, ready to go together.
After all, this was the Irish Champion Stakes—Ireland's top international G1 of the year. No matter how busy they were, they wanted to see it.
"Let's go, Oguri."
Kuroha turned back, looking at the bright-eyed Oguri Cap, and held out a hand with a smile.
"Let's go make that track change because of us."
Oguri Cap nodded. In that instant, the light in her eyes was clearer than the sun breaking through the clouds.
"Yeah!"
The engine roared.
Tires rolled over wet pavement, splashing water.
All of them set off together, heading full speed toward the Leopardstown Racecourse that was about to boil over.
(End of Chapter)
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