Up in the stands, Orfevre's trainer stared at the scene before her, eyes wide with delighted disbelief.
She'd never imagined Orfevre would go all-out from the very start. Even during the Arc de Triomphe campaigns, the Tyrant had stubbornly insisted that she was already the strongest — that holding back was her prerogative.
If Orfevre had just adjusted that attitude a little, she wouldn't have failed two overseas expeditions in a row.
The trainer had resigned herself to never seeing a serious Orfevre. Yet here it was — right before her eyes — the form she'd dreamed of witnessing.
Orfevre going all-out from the opening gate was the strongest version of herself. The trainer believed that with absolute certainty.
Whether the change was driven by a senior's pride in refusing to lose to a junior, or something else entirely — it didn't matter. One thing was certain: the current Orfevre was unbeatable.
She clenched her fists, trembling with excitement.
(Show the world the king's true glory, Orfevre!)
...
"Well, this is unusual. That girl is actually taking things seriously."
Gentildonna raised an eyebrow when she saw Orfevre burst out first from the gate. Orfevre had always been contemptuous of her opponents in races — sometimes she'd even lose focus mid-race because she found her competition too boring, costing herself the win. That was precisely why the so-called strongest still had her share of losses: no one had ever seen the Tyrant go serious from the start.
Gentildonna's mood soured slightly. So Orfevre goes all-out against a newcomer, but couldn't be bothered to do the same against me?
"Looks like we'll get some excellent data today."
Gentildonna's trainer pushed her glasses up, the lenses catching the sunlight. Orfevre's performance today was an unexpected windfall. Whether the Tyrant or the newcomer won, there would be plenty of intelligence to gather — all of which could be put to use in the Japan Cup, where Donna would make her move.
...
On the track, Orfevre's eyes were glacial.
(Come, then. Reckless little brute. Let me show you what the king's glory looks like.)
Her only target today was the newcomer called Kitasan Black. She'd specifically trained her gate technique for this, seizing the lead the instant the race began.
(Step forward, challenger!)
She was certain the newcomer would do exactly that. Because that girl was nothing if not a reckless savage. Why else would a debut-level racer crash senior events and brazenly telegraph her ambitions for the throne?
Kitasan Black: ...Huh?
Orfevre had assumed Kitasan Black was deliberately letting her fans provoke the Tyrant's supporters. In reality, Kitasan Black hadn't been paying attention to any of that. She simply didn't care.
But Orfevre was right about one thing.
Kitasan Black genuinely hadn't given the so-called Tyrant a second thought.
Despite the rough start from her gate, Kitasan Black immediately activated a skill.
[Imperial Dance (Flash)]
A lightning-fast breakthrough technique — originally meant for punching through the pack near the final stage. But Kitasan Black deployed it right out of the gate.
Up in the stands, Tokai Teio put on a mask of pure suffering. Imperial Dance is NOT a gate skill! That's not how you use it! And do you seriously not have any skills of your own?!
Just as Kitasan Black was about to burst free from the pack—
Orfevre suddenly shifted lanes and planted herself directly in Kitasan Black's path.
(?)
Kitasan Black stared in surprise at the Tyrant decelerating right in front of her. She hadn't expected this so-called king to resort to such tactics. Shouldn't a true monarch let her opponents run freely?
The Demon King-senpai certainly would have!
But this one — this self-styled "Tyrant" — was playing dirty.
The title said Tyrant, but the ambition was laughably small.
Not even a fraction of the Demon King-senpai's caliber!
And slowing down right in front of her — was that an invitation to collide?
Kitasan Black's expression darkened.
She understood that blocking was a legitimate tactical choice. But she despised this kind of racing from someone who called herself a king. Where was the dignity? Where was the class?
And did this woman really think she'd be afraid?
"Orfevre has moved to block Kitasan Black!" The commentator sounded stunned. She hadn't expected the so-called strongest to resort to this. Today's Tyrant was clearly dead serious — no slow start, and now active tactical play against another runner. Things the old Orfevre would never have done.
The other competitors stared at Orfevre's maneuver in shock.
(The Tyrant is doing that?! )
But if even the Tyrant felt the need to do this, it only proved how strong Kitasan Black truly was — strong enough to make the king fear her front-running.
That realization sent every other runner's alertness through the roof.
"Currently leading is Number 7, Blue Donut. Kitasan Black, disadvantaged by her gate position, has been boxed in on the inside by the Tyrant and several other runners. Breaking free looks difficult."
Up in the stands, Kitasan Black's fans erupted.
"You cowards call yourselves senpais?!"
"Is the Tyrant really this scared of our Kitasan Black?!"
"Playing dirty tricks — you veterans are shameless!"
"Kitasan Black, charge! Break through again!"
This pack of fans stuck out like sore thumbs — every one of them radiating the energy of bloodthirsty hooligans. Orfevre's supporters, who'd been about to fire back, took one look at them and thought better of it.
If we talk back, are we going to get punched?
Never mind. Let's just... watch the race.
But seconds later, the commentator's voice rose in alarm: "Wait! Kitasan Black isn't slowing down! She's closing the distance to Orfevre — is she planning to just ram through?!"
A sudden sense of dread crept in. She hadn't expected the race to explode this early, and she certainly hadn't expected Kitasan Black's temper to be this volatile — blocked off and immediately choosing brute force.
"Move!"
Kitasan Black's voice cracked like a whip.
Without an instant's hesitation, she charged forward and slammed her body into Orfevre.
In that moment, Orfevre's expression was priceless.
She truly hadn't expected Kitasan Black to do it.
This girl really was a savage through and through!
(This—! ! !)
Orfevre tried to push back — and in the next instant, felt as though she'd collided with a mountain. Kitasan Black's raw strength was above hers. She couldn't hold the line.
(I'm being... overpowered?!)
Shock and fury contorted her face as she was shoved backward.
Watching Kitasan Black rocket past, Orfevre's mood plummeted. She'd always been the one doing the shoving. When had anyone ever knocked her aside?
But remembering the force behind that impact sent a chill through her. The power Kitasan Black had displayed felt even greater than that brute-strength girl's.
The Tyrant's title suggested raw power, but Orfevre wasn't actually a power-type racer. As the strongest, though, even a non-power type wasn't lacking in strength — which was exactly why she'd been confident in this tactic. She'd simply underestimated Kitasan Black.
Having shouldered Orfevre out of the way, Kitasan Black launched into her sprint and quickly overtook the runners ahead. Being trapped on the inside rail had left her brand-new racing outfit splattered with mud. The thought of her new clothes getting this dirty only made her angrier.
Her aura now burned more fiercely than ever. No interference skills, no ZONE — just her raw presence, and it was intense enough to shake her opponents' composure.
Nearby runners who'd considered moving up to replace Orfevre as a blocker caught one look from those eyes and instinctively recoiled. They didn't dare.
The runners ahead practically parted like a curtain, yielding the lane without being asked. They had no confidence they could replicate the Tyrant's stunt — and if even the Tyrant had been sent flying, what chance did they have?
Kitasan Black tore across the damaged turf and exploded to the front like a streak of fire. That commanding presence — more tyrannical than the Tyrant herself — radiated an aura that seemed ready to crush anything that stood in her way.
"She's through!"
"Kitasan Black has broken the encirclement and surged from the back to first place in one move!"
The commentator's voice trembled with shock and excitement. She was starting to understand why Kitasan Black's fans were so unhinged — this uma musume's racing style was pure adrenaline. Just watching it was enough to set your blood on fire.
"Er — her maneuver just now was actually somewhat dangerous," the host added carefully. If this had been the final stage rather than the opening, Kitasan Black's move could have bordered on a foul.
But since the officials hadn't intervened, she'd gotten away clean.
Up in the stands, Orfevre's trainer had gone rigid. Orfevre lost a physical contest to Kitasan Black? That newcomer has that much raw power?
Trainers across the venue wore expressions of disbelief. The inside rail today was practically ruined — waterlogged mud — and combined with the other runners' interference, breaking out from that position should have been impossible.
How many laws of common sense was Kitasan Black going to overturn?
"No way... She actually broke out from the inside on that surface."
Trainer Okino murmured to himself, dazed. His regret at not personally recruiting Kitasan Black deepened with every passing minute. He was realizing that he genuinely loved watching this uma musume run.
"Kitasan Black now leads! The Tyrant has fallen back after that collision!"
The stands erupted at the shift in the race.
"Go!"
"Crush them all!"
Kitasan Black's fans launched into celebration. They were outnumbered today, but in this moment their voices drowned out the entire venue.
There it is! Kitasan Black's breakaway — this was the racing they'd come to see!
Her senior classmates unfurled an enormous banner, standing on their seats to roar: "Go, Kitasan Black! You're the best!"
Nearby, Orfevre's fans fell silent, their faces masks of disbelief.
No.
They'd finally gotten to see Orfevre perform flawlessly — so why was this happening? Was the Tyrant actually going to lose?
This was supposed to be the strongest!
...
Orfevre had dropped to third-from-last, running alongside Gold Ship.
Gold Ship stared at the Tyrant's scowling face with some surprise.
(Kita-chan is this strong? She can even knock Orfevre out of the way?)
Gold Ship's eyes gleamed with something dangerous as she watched the Tyrant's back.
Actually... isn't this my chance?
Her skill had already locked onto Orfevre. Unlike last time — when the Tyrant had blasted out of her targeting range before she could activate, and she couldn't match the Tyrant's burst to follow — this time, Orfevre was right here. And the longer she held the lock, the higher her activation success rate climbed.
Orfevre was the perfect target right now.
As for targeting Kitasan Black? It wasn't that she didn't want to — she simply couldn't. The girl was already beyond her skill's effective range.
(The great Gold Ship-sama doesn't give up that easily! Orfevre — today, you'll be my blood sacrifice!)
Orfevre sensed Gold Ship's little scheme but paid it no mind. The current Gold Ship didn't register as a threat. A coward who couldn't even escape her own psychological demons had no right to share the same track.
"As we approach the third turn, Kitasan Black continues to lead!"
"She's entered a completely solo breakaway! Is this race truly already decided? Second-place Blue Donut currently trails by seven lengths. Astonishing — what an extraordinary uma musume!"
Behind the leaders, Sweep Tosho — wearing her witch's cape and hat — heard the commentary and inhaled sharply. Did everyone forget that this magical girl is also in this race?
(The timing's a bit early, but right now—)
(Please, experience my magic!)
Prismatic light coalesced into a wand in Sweep Tosho's hand. In the next instant, brilliant radiance erupted from the wand and washed across the entire field. Every runner caught in its glow flinched.
(What IS that?!)
Even Kitasan Black, running far ahead, frowned instinctively. This was a Flash-tier interference skill — and not just any interference, but a speed-cap reduction. An interference skill among interference skills.
Nice Nature quietly powered down her own glowing red eyes. So there's another support-type trickster in this race, huh?
Fair enough. She'd save her own skills for later. Unassuming as she looked, she was here to win too.
Sweep Tosho grinned at the changing expressions around her, savoring the moment.
Then she cut to the outside and launched her sprint.
"Incredible! Sweep Tosho surges from the back of the pack!"
Golden light blazed beneath her feet, prismatic starlight shimmering across her form.
Magical Girl Sweepy makes her entrance!
(Come, Kitasan Black — let me verify whether you truly have the potential to become a magical girl!)
That was the real reason Sweep Tosho had entered this race. Her magic had told her that Kitasan Black could become her magical apprentice. She wasn't here to bully juniors — she was here to scout.
But in that very instant — a volcanic eruption seemed to detonate behind her. A terrifying wave of aura and thundering footsteps surged from the rear. Sweep Tosho's triumphant expression evaporated.
The Tyrant had activated.
Golden flames coiled around Orfevre's body as she charged forward, completely ignoring the interference skill's effects.
(Wait, hold on!)
Sweep Tosho hadn't anticipated this. Her magic was useless against the Tyrant? But this was her ultimate technique — the one she'd only recently mastered!
Orfevre didn't spare the veteran a thought. She blew past without slowing.
The Tyrant's expression was more intense than anyone had ever seen. She would prove to the world that the strongest was still her.
"Sweep Tosho launched her sprint, but Orfevre has overtaken her!"
"And — surprisingly — Gold Ship has followed in Orfevre's wake!"
...
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