As Saumarez made her entrance, every horsegirl in the field had finally appeared.
Top favorite: Saumarez. Second favorite: Elmaamul. Third favorite: Sixton.
…Ninth favorite: Oguri Cap.
Up in the highest box seats, the little princess compared the racers below—those European powerhouses with their auras flared wide, almost divine—to the gray-haired girl standing off in a corner, so unremarkable she could vanish into the background.
She sat obediently on the sofa her maid had carried over for her, her face thoughtful.
"Mora."
She called softly, "Who do you think will win?"
As an Irish royal princess—and a horsegirl herself—Fine Motion knew that even her attendants, if dropped into Tracen Academy, would have the professionalism and knowledge to serve as excellent trainers.
Mora curtsied, then looked down toward the track. After a brief hesitation, she replied in a quiet voice.
"Based on the public training sessions and the information we have, Sixton's pre-race condition is holding up very well."
"So Sixton's going to win?" Little Fine Motion asked, lifting her chin.
"Not necessarily, Denka."
Mora gave a small shake of her head, then added, "A horsegirl race isn't decided by whose brute strength is greater."
"Otherwise, Elmaamul couldn't have won the Eclipse Stakes."
"And in a heavy track, the conditions put a real limit on horsegirls who have power but lack technique."
"On a course like this, anything can happen."
Mora paused, then glanced toward the far corner—toward the gray-white girl warming up in silence.
"In fact… the horsegirl you've been paying attention to may also have a chance to pull off an upset, Denka."
"Oh…"
Fine Motion nodded, half understanding, half not.
…
Meanwhile.
Leopardstown Racecourse—front rows of the general stands.
Compared to the calm elegance of Fine Motion's VIP box, this was the storm's eye, where the roar of the crowd pooled and churned.
"Ninth favorite… figures."
Lisi stared at the popularity rankings on the big screen, her voice tinged with resignation.
Still, she understood. Oguri Cap had no European results to back her up. Being ranked ninth—higher than some local Irish horsegirls—was already impressive.
"Seriously! Oguri runs so fast! These blind idiots are really out here deciding everything by gut feeling!"
Beside her, Haitoshi puffed out her cheeks and crossed her arms, her ears flattened low with irritation.
"Don't get mad. Isn't this better?"
A gentle voice cut in.
Kuroha was sitting next to them, and Haito Star was curled comfortably in his lap, completely relaxed, acting like the scene below had nothing to do with her.
Kuroha glanced at the surrounding fans—those screaming themselves hoarse for Saumarez and Elmaamul—and the corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smile.
"The lower the expectations, the brighter the glow when the reversal hits."
He looked at the glaring words "Ninth Favorite" on the big screen, and for a moment it was like being dragged back two years—to the Japan Cup at Fuchu Racecourse.
Back then, Obey Your Master had done it in an atmosphere just like this—dragging those stars in the heavens down to earth, and climbing the throne herself.
And now, it felt like history repeating.
Just with a different horsegirl this time…
"You're really not nervous at all."
Lisi looked at Kuroha's calm, unbothered expression and sighed, shaking her head.
This was his first time bringing a horsegirl to an international G1 with nightmare difficulty, and yet his mindset was steady—like some slippery veteran who'd been running Europe for ten years.
Kuroha didn't answer. He simply straightened slightly, his gaze cutting cleanly through the noisy crowd until it landed—precisely—on the gray-white figure in the corner of the track.
"Because I believe in her," he murmured.
His voice was swallowed by the cheering around them, but the conviction in it didn't waver.
…
"—All racers, please load into the gates!"
At last, the broadcast order came through.
On the track—
Thud… thump…
Heavy horseshoes sank into grass soaked full of rainwater, the sound deep and muffled.
Saumarez lowered her eyes in silence, glanced at her thigh, then flicked mud off her tail and headed for the stalls first.
With Saumarez leading, Elmaamul and Sixton followed into their gates as well.
And behind them—
Oguri Cap kept her head down and walked step by step. Not fast—yet unbelievably steady.
The turf underfoot was soft, the mud heavy, sticky enough to tug at her shoes.
"What a nostalgic feeling…"
The girl whispered to herself, a small smile lifting at her lips.
"I can't win…?"
She felt the familiar texture beneath her feet, felt the surrounding atmosphere that seemed to say no one cared whether she existed at all—
And for an instant, it was like she was back at Central again.
Back then, she'd faced everyone's distrust, everyone's doubts.
Forget the Classic Triple Crown—even in ordinary graded races, nobody believed in her.
"Don't disrespect Central!"
Symboli Rudolf's voice echoed faintly in her memory.
Oguri Cap lifted her head.
Her eyes swept over the rows of bright, polished silhouettes ahead—bloodlines gleaming, backs straight with pride.
Queens. Prodigies. Europe's strongest, most elite horsegirls.
They wore dazzling halos, and the love of countless fans.
"Hah…"
The gray-haired girl slowly exhaled a white breath.
In that ignored corner, her previously clear, innocent eyes quietly ignited—pure white flame rising inside them, the kind that made your heart clench.
Whether back then… or right now—
Her answer had never changed.
"I'll overturn it with my own strength."
"Common sense… rules…"
"With these legs."
Oguri Cap stepped forward and entered her stall.
Click.
The gate shut.
And the world went silent.
(End of Chapter)
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