The dorm field opened up before them—wide, green, and alive.
The late-afternoon sun painted the turf in warm gold, the air carrying the clean scent of cut grass and damp earth. For a moment, it was quiet.
Then. thud… thud… thud.
The sound reached Lunar. Heavy, steady footfalls, striking the track with authority.
Someone was running.
At first, all they could make out was a lone figure moving along the far curve, half-silhouetted by the light. Long orange hair flashed in the sun as she rounded the bend, the motion fluid yet forceful. Her pace wasn't frantic. It wasn't restrained, either. Every stride landed with conviction, as if the ground itself had no choice but to accept her passage.
"There," Fuji Kiseki said quietly, stopping beside them. "That's her."
Orfevre.
She ran tall, posture commanding, chin lifted just enough to feel defiant. Her strides were long and elastic, each step eating up ground with unsettling ease. There was no unnecessary movement—no hesitation. Her feet struck, pushed, and launched her forward again, over and over, like a pendulum that refused to slow.
Black Caviar stopped walking at the sight. Her eyes narrowed—not in suspicion, but in focus. "…Her strides," she murmured. "It's certainly fearless."
"Much like her personality, she doesn't negotiate, even with the track itself," Rudolf continued, eyes following with quiet satisfaction. "She runs like she imposed her existence onto it."
Orfevre swept past the halfway point, pace still steady, still controlled.
Lunar felt her chest tighten.
She'd seen many forms of running before. She'd grown up around it. But this particular style felt different. Orfevre didn't look like she was chasing the finish line. She looked like she was daring it to keep up.
Then—
Orfevre hit the final furlong.
Something changed.
Her body lowered by a fraction, muscles coiling—and then she exploded forward.
The acceleration was violent.
It felt almost wrong—how it was as if the ground itself had vanished beneath her reign, like she'd kicked off thin air. Her stride lengthened impossibly, cadence sharpening, every step striking harder and faster than the last. The distance in front of her vanished in heartbeats.
"She—she's speeding up?!" Namawa gasped.
Invincible Caviar stared, stunned. "…That's her famous final kick."
Orfevre tore down the final straight like a golden arrow loosed from a bow, hair streaming, ears pinned back in savage focus. It didn't look like the end of a lap.
It looked like the beginning of one.
Orfevre crossed the line and only then eased her pace, power bleeding away into a smooth, controlled jog—as if that monstrous burst of speed had been nothing more than a casual afterthought.
Black Caviar exhaled slowly, arms folding as she watched Orfevre slow to a stop. "…Absurd," she said at last. "Stay Gold really outdid herself with this one."
There was no criticism in her voice.
Only respect.
Nearby, a figure standing by the edge of the track jolted.
She was a woman in a familiar trainer's coat, notebook hugged tight against her chest as she observed the lap with intense focus. At the sound of approaching footsteps, she turned—and promptly froze.
"Oh—! Ah—!" Yasutoshi Ikee squeaked, her pen slipping from her fingers as her eyes locked onto the figure at the front of the group. "S-Symboli Rudolf—?!"
Rudolf inclined her head politely, expression calm and composed. "Good afternoon, Trainer Yasutoshi."
Trainer Yasutoshi's face drained of color.
Then her gaze shifted.
And landed on Black Caviar.
There was a heartbeat of silence.
"E—EH?!" she yelped, clutching her notebook. "B-B-BLACK CAVIAR—?! T-The Black Caviar?!" Her voice cracked so sharply it echoed.
She bowed—too fast, too deep—nearly pitching forward. "I-It's an honor! I mean–ah–welcome! Please excuse me–!"
A short distance away, Orfevre slowed to a stop, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her glove.
She paused.
Violet eyes lifted.
And turned toward the commotion.
Trainer Yasutoshi finally straightened, still visibly rattled, arms wrapped around herself. "S-so—ah—m-may I ask what brings you here?" she asked quickly, words tumbling over one another. "I mean—P-Pre— I mean—Rudolf-san, and–um, everyone?
Rudolf answered smoothly, as if this were the most ordinary thing in the world. "We're showing our guests around the academy. Black Caviar and her family are visiting Japan for the Kikuka Sho, and the children wished to see Tracen firsthand."
Trainer Yasutoshi nodded far too fast. "O-of course! Yes! That makes perfect sense! Completely reasonable–"
Her rambling cut off when a presence appeared behind her.
A shadow fell across the grass.
Slow, unhurried footsteps approached from the track.
Trainer Yasutoshi stiffened. "…Ah."
She stood tall behind her trainer, orange-and-white hair framing a face almost unnervingly symmetrical. Her violet eyes burned with a quiet, imperial intensity. Even at rest, even breathing steadily after a run, there was the unmistakable sense that the space around her bent slightly to accommodate her will.
She stopped just behind her trainer.
Then spoke.
"For what purpose," Orfevre intoned, voice rich and imperious, "do two kings and their subjects trespass upon my domain?"
More Than Ready choked back a snort. Is she… doing a bit? she thought, biting her lip.
She leaned sideways toward I Am Invincible and whispered, barely holding it together. "Pfft—what is this, a roleplay? Is she serious?"
"Shh," I Am Invincible muttered immediately, elbowing her in the ribs without looking away. "Don't. Just—don't."
More Than Ready swallowed her laughter—barely.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Autumn Sun's shoulders trembling—her usual calm expression cracking as she struggled valiantly not to burst out laughing.
Black Caviar, meanwhile, blinked.
Just once.
…Oh no.
For the briefest instant, a memory surfaced—uninvited and deeply inconvenient. A younger version of herself, standing tall with the same dramatic confidence, the same conviction that presence alone could bend the world. Regal. Theatrical. Entirely convinced she was the track.
The comparison was instantaneous.
Secondhand embarrassment struck like a misjudged hurdle.
Her shoulders tensed.
Then she exhaled—slow, controlled—and composed herself just as quickly.
She stepped forward, posture relaxed but unmistakably dignified. "No invasion intended," she said evenly. "We're only here on an outing. My daughters wished to see you train."
Orfevre's gaze shifted.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
It slid past Black Caviar and settled on the cluster of fillies behind her.
Violet eyes narrowed—not in hostility, but in sharp, appraising interest.
The children reacted instinctively.
Namawa practically vibrated with nervousness. Persian held her posture like a soldier being evaluated. Saiya met Orfevre's stare with quiet curiosity. Anonym shrank back half a step. Lunar stood still, heart pounding, feeling the weight of that attention settle on her.
Orfevre studied them in silence.
Seconds stretched.
Then—slowly—a sharp, pleased smile curved across her face.
"…So," she said, her voice lowering, amusement threading through her authority, "these are the heirs you bring before me."
Her gaze flicked back to Black Caviar, something like approval glinting beneath the imperious tone.
"A fitting reason," Orfevre declared. "Very well."
The tyrant queen of the track straightened, chin lifting, presence expanding as if the field itself acknowledged her stance.
"Welcome to my field, little ones."
-
"Well," More Than Ready said, rubbing the back of her neck, half-amused, half-baffled, "this is… definitely not what I expected to see or hear today."
Orfevre ignored the comment entirely.
She turned on her heel, cloakless yet somehow still regal, and gestured sharply toward the track. "Come. If you wish to witness my dominion, you will do so properly."
The children exchanged glances—then hurried after her.
What followed was… unexpected.
Orfevre moved with deliberate patience, guiding the children through her routine step by step. She demonstrated how she warmed up, rolling her shoulders and hips with controlled precision. She showed them how she stretched, how she loosened her legs without wasting energy, how she steadied her breathing after exertion.
Her tone remained lofty, her words grandiose.
"Behold," she declared, extending a leg into a deep stretch, "the ritual by which I sharpen my blade."
But her actions were careful. Thoughtful.
When Invi stumbled while trying to copy a stride drill, Orfevre's hand shot out instantly, gripping her shoulder before she could topple. "Careless momentum invites downfall," she said firmly—but her grip was steady, not harsh.
When Persian locked her body too tightly, Orfevre corrected her stance with a precise tap of her foot. "Strength without flexibility is merely stubbornness."
She explained pacing to Namawa by walking beside her, deliberately shortening her own steps so the girl could match them. "A ruler who rushes blindly will exhaust her land," she said, voice quieter now. "Learn to measure yourself."
Even Anonym—quiet, withdrawn Anonym—was drawn in.
She lingered near Orfevre's side, listening closely, eyes following every movement. When Orfevre demonstrated a breathing exercise, Anonym copied it perfectly, small chest rising and falling in sync.
Autumn Sun noticed first.
"…Oh," she said softly, surprised. "Anonym seems to like this. She's… really engaged."
Black Caviar watched, expression thoughtful. "That's rare," she agreed. "She usually keeps her distance, especially with strangers."
Fuji Kiseki folded her arms, smiling as she observed the scene. "Told ya," she said lightly. "That tyrant's got a soft spot for kids. Looks like she really caught that one's attention."
Black Caviar let out a quiet breath.
Just please, she thought, let her only pick up the good habits....
Her gaze flicked back to Orfevre, who was now striking a dramatic pose and proclaiming, "A ruler must know when to advance—and when to restrain her power!"
Black Caviar winced internally.
And not the whole roleplay thing, she added silently. The last thing I need is Anonym turning into… something else entirely.
Nearby, Rudolf had turned to Trainer Yasutoshi Ikee.
"How is Orfevre's preparation for the Kikuka Sho?" Rudolf asked gently. "And my apologies if our visit disrupted your training schedule."
Ikee's eyes widened in alarm. "N-no! Not at all!" She shook her head so fast her ponytail whipped behind her. "If anything, this was good timing."
She hesitated, then glanced toward the field.
"She's been pushing herself very hard lately," Ikee admitted quietly. "Too hard, maybe. Each step closer to the triple crown, she just gets even more relentless. Longer sessions. Shorter breaks." Her shoulders dipped. "Sometimes I worry she'll exhaust herself before the race even begins."
"She's been pushing herself very hard lately," Ikee admitted in a quieter voice. "Too hard, maybe. Ever since the season started tightening up, she's been relentless. Longer sessions. Shorter breaks." Her shoulders dipped. "Sometimes I worry she'll exhaust herself before the race even begins."
Out on the grass, Orfevre let out a small—but unmistakably genuine—laugh as Namawa tried and failed to imitate her stride, nearly tangling her own feet in the process.
"W-Whoa—!" Namawa yelped.
The sound made Ikee pause.
Her expression softened, tension easing from her brow. "She looks… lighter now," she said, almost to herself. "Less tense. More like herself." She smiled faintly. "Less like the golden tyrant act she likes to put up."
She exhaled, then continued, voice gentler.
"That persona—she leans on it a lot. The king, the ruler, the tyrant of the track." Ikee glanced down at her silly doddle of Orfevere in her book, then back up again. "But underneath all that… she's really just a girl who loves running. Who wants to prove herself. Who wants to make her family proud."
Her gaze lingered on Orfevre, who was now crouched in front of Anonym, patiently demonstrating foot placement with almost comical seriousness.
"She puts so much weight on her shoulders," Ikee added. "Like if she falters, she'll bring down everyone who believes in her."
Close by, Written Tycoon smiled softly, hands folded in front of her. "That sounds very familiar," she said.
I am Invincible nodded, a warm curve to her lips. "Yeah. Too familiar."
Rudolf followed Ikee's gaze and nodded slowly, understanding etched into her expression.
"Training builds the body," she said. "But mindset sustains the spirit."
Air Groove, standing beside her, crossed her arms. "An uma musume who forgets how to breathe," she added firmly, "will never reach her true peak—no matter how strong she becomes."
Ikee's shoulders eased, relief visible in the way she finally relaxed her grip on the clipboard.
"…Exactly, which is why I am most grateful for this.." she said with a small, sincere smile.
Orfevre lifted a hand.
The motion alone was enough to still the children.
"Enough," she declared. "The preliminaries have concluded."
She turned slowly, violet eyes sweeping across the small group with imperial weight. "Now," she continued, voice lowering, "you shall each present your run before the king. I will judge your strides, your intent… and your spirit."
Namawa's eyes immediately lit up, practically sparkling. "We get to run?! Really?!"
Then Orfevre pointed.
"You, run first." she said firmly.
Invincible Caviar blinked. "Huh? Me?"
"As the eldest here," Orfevre replied without missing a beat, "it is only natural that you lead the younger ones. Such is the duty of an older sister."
She paused, gaze momentarily distant. "My own elder sister—Dream Journey—was ever kind. She placed my path before her own, again and again."
Invincible Caviar froze. The words hit harder than expected. For a moment, she could only stare, throat tight, hands clenched at her sides.
Namawa pumped her fist enthusiastically. "Yeah! I totally agree! You're amazing, Big Sis Orfevre!"
Invincible Caviar opened her mouth… then closed it again, at a complete loss for words.
Behind them, Trainer Ikee made a small panicked noise. "U-uh—! Is this really okay?! C-can they?"
Black Caviar lifted a hand calmly. "It's fine," she said evenly. "Fillies should run whenever they get the chance, I am interested to see how much that girl can help my children grow."
Her gaze sharpened then—brief, deliberate—as it shifted toward her wife.
I Am Invincible met her eyes.
Understood immediately.
She stepped forward and placed a gentle, steady hand on Saiya's shoulder.
"I'll take Saiya first," she said to Orfevre, her voice kind but firm. "She's recovering from a heart condition. She shouldn't strain herself."
Saiya looked up sharply, startled. "I—I'm fine! I can run—just a little—"
I Am Invincible crouched slightly so they were eye to eye. "I know you want to," she said softly. "And that's exactly why I'm stopping you."
Saiya's lips pressed together, frustration flickering across her face.
Orfevre watched the exchange in silence. Then her expression shifted.
She knelt down in front of Saiya, lowering herself until they were level, the kingly presence easing into something unexpectedly gentle.
"A misfortune indeed," Orfevre said solemnly, studying her closely. "For I see something… kingly in your gaze."
Saiya's breath caught.
"But," Orfevre continued, "a king who survives is greater than one who rushes toward ruin."
She rose slightly, then reached out and gently patted Saiya's head once. "You will have your time, child."
Saiya bit her lip, disappointed—but she nodded.
Orfevre stood and turned back to the field. "Proceed," she commanded.
Saiya lingered for a moment, eyes still fixed on the track.
Then she felt a gentle hand settle on her head.
"It's alright," Black Caviar said quietly, bending down slightly so they were closer to eye level. "Listening to your body is strength too. Real racers know when not to run."
Saiya sniffed, then nodded. "…Okay."
Sensing the gloom, Namawa leaned in from the side, flashing her brightest grin. "You'll run circles around us next time. I promise!"
That earned a small laugh from Saiya, the tension easing just a bit.
Their attention shifted back to the turf as Invincible Caviar stepped forward alone. She rolled her shoulders once, exhaling through her nose. The easy confidence she usually wore shifted into something more focused, more serious.
The field felt larger with just one runner on it.
Orfevre raised a hand. "Trainer."
"H–Yes!" Ikee straightened instantly, nearly jumping out of her shoes as she hurried to Orfevre's side.
"Brief her."
Ikee swallowed, then turned to Invincible Caviar, posture nervous but professional. "O-Okay. One full lap—1,800 meters. Maintain your own pace. The finish line will be the same as the start."
Invincible Caviar exhaled slowly. "One lap, huh… got it."
She rolled her shoulders once more, then planted her feet.
Orfevre gave a single nod.
Ikee lifted her hand. "…Ready—"
A beat.
"Go!"
Invincible Caviar launched forward.
Her first strides were powerful—clean, confident. Grass kicked up beneath her heels as her body settled naturally into rhythm.
Black Caviar's eyes narrowed slightly. Strong acceleration. No hesitation. Good.
"Excellent acceleration at the start," Rudolf said. "A vital trait, especially for a front runner."
Namawa leaned over the fence, gripping it with both hands. "She's already flying!"
Invincible Caviar reached her cruising speed quickly, settling into rhythm. Her breathing stayed controlled, arms swinging in compact, efficient arcs. She wasn't sprinting—she was pacing herself, measuring the distance with practiced instinct.
Air Groove nodded approvingly. "Good restraint. She understands the distance."
As she approached the first curve, her pace dipped—just a fraction. Lunar caught it. She slowed again… just a little.
Invincible Caviar leaned into the turn, but her line widened, steps growing heavier as she hesitated for a split second.
"…Cornering issue," Trainer Ikee murmured, concern flickering across her face. "She's bleeding speed."
Orfevre clicked her tongue softly. "Too cautious."
Invincible Caviar felt it too.
With a sharp breath, she corrected mid-turn—tightening her stride, lowering her center of gravity, pushing hard as she exited the curve. The speed came back—but the moment had already cost her.
More Than Ready frowned. "She could've held that."
Written Tycoon nodded once. "She needs confidence in her lean. More trust in her balance."
By the halfway mark, Invincible Caviar's breathing had deepened, sweat beginning to streak down her temples—but her pace held steady. Each step carried stubborn intent.
"She's not fading," Ikee said quietly, surprise softening her voice.
Rudolf smiled. "Her endurance is solid. She knows how to suffer without breaking."
The final stretch loomed ahead.
Invincible Caviar clenched her jaw, shoulders tightening as she drew deeper from tired muscles. There was no dramatic burst—no sudden explosion of speed—but her drive sharpened, relentless and unyielding.
Namawa cupped her hands around her mouth. "Go! Go, go! You've got this!"
Invincible Caviar pushed through the line with one last surge, only slowing several strides past it. She bent forward, hands braced on her knees, chest heaving as she fought to steady her breath.
Orfevre's gaze remained fixed on her.
"…Acceptable," she declared at last. "Your stamina is commendable. Your will, evident."
Invincible Caviar lifted her head, sweat dripping from her chin, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion.
"But," Orfevre continued, voice cutting cleanly through the air, "your cornering is wasteful. You fear losing control—and in doing so, you surrender speed. Correct this flaw, and you will become far more superior."
Invincible Caviar straightened, absorbing every word, nodding once in acknowledgment.
Trainer Ikee chimed in quickly, finding her footing. "Short-curve leaning drills," she added. "Repeated reps. Build trust in your balance."
Black Caviar allowed herself a faint smile. "You did well."
That was all Invincible Caviar needed.
She broke into a tired grin—legs aching, lungs burning, but pride shining plainly in her eyes.
Persian stepped forward next.
She moved with quiet composure, tail swaying once before settling neatly behind her. Unlike Invincible Caviar, there was no dramatic preparation—no stretching, no visible nerves. Just a small breath in, then out, as if she were aligning herself rather than psyching herself up.
Orfevre's eyes followed her closely. "You," she said, tone measured. "Proceed."
Ikee glanced at Persian, then repeated more gently, voice steadier now. "Same as before. One full lap. Run at your own pace."
Persian nodded. "Understood."
"…Ready—go."
She started smoothly.
Her first strides were light and exact, feet landing as if the turf itself had agreed to meet her there. There was nothing showy about her acceleration, yet speed gathered all the same, smooth and uninterrupted.
Saiya blinked. She's… quiet.
Rudolf tilted her head. "She doesn't look fast, but…"
"She is," Black Caviar said softly. "Quite so."
Persian settled into her rhythm early, breathing controlled, posture immaculate. There was no wasted movement—no bounce, no tension. She ran like she was conserving something.
Air Groove's eyes sharpened. "Excellent form."
Rudolf nodded. "She seems to be thinking several steps ahead."
As Persian approached the first curve, she didn't slow.
She adjusted.
Her body leaned naturally, inside shoulder dipping just enough, stride shortening by a hair's breadth—then lengthening again as she exited the turn.
"…Oh," Air Groove murmured. "Textbook."
Written Tycoon's lips curved into a faint, approving smile.
Persian exited the corner without losing speed, hooves barely scarring the turf.
Namawa leaned forward. "That was so clean!"
Midway through the lap, Persian maintained her pace—but something became clear.
She wasn't accelerating. But she wasn't slowing either.
"She's holding back," Ikee said, hesitant. "Is she… pacing too carefully?"
Persian's breathing remained steady, but there was tension in her shoulders now—a restraint, like a drawn gun she refuse to shoot.
Lunar's fingers curl at her sides. She could go faster…
The final stretch arrived. Persian did push—but only slightly.
Her stride lengthened, cadence sharpening just enough to matter, but there was no explosion, no gamble. It was controlled to the very end, as if she refused to bet everything on one moment.
She crossed the line cleanly and slowed immediately, still composed even as her breath deepened.
Silence again, before Orfevre spoke.
"Your fundamentals are excellent," she declared. "Balance. Awareness. Precision. All of it—remarkable for one so young."
Persian bowed her head slightly, listening.
"But," Orfevre continued, voice firm, "you fear overcommitting. You preserve yourself even when victory demands risk."
Persian stiffened.
Air Groove added calmly, "What she meant to say is that, you have more speed than you allow yourself to use."
Persian swallowed, then nodded. "…Yes."
Written Tycoon spoke then, her tone measured but unmistakably proud. "That restraint will keep you consistent. But learning when to let go—when to trust yourself—that's the next step."
Orfevre crossed her arms. "Perfection alone does not win crowns," she said. "A king must know when to abandon safety to seize glory."
Persian lifted her gaze, something resolute flickering in her eyes. "…I understand."
Lunar clapped softly. "You were amazing, though."
Saiya nodded eagerly. "Yeah! You looked really cool!"
Persian allowed herself a small smile—quiet, restrained—
…but genuine.