[Hachiman's Perspective]
…Something feels off. I can't settle down. I've handled Grade I races before, but knowing we're about to step onto the stage of an international major—a race on foreign soil—sends a different kind of chill down my spine.
Arc Weekend. Saturday alone boasts six major races. Among them, Rice's race—the Prix de Royallieu—is the fifth on the card. Given that Saturday only features two G1s (the other being the Prix du Cadran, one of the longest G1 tests in the world), it's no exaggeration to call Rice's race a main event. It's the perfect "eve-of-the-festival" celebration to stoke the fires for the Arc itself tomorrow.
And Rice is actually in it. I was the one who decided we'd come here, but now that the moment is finally breathing down our necks, the reality is starting to hit me like a freight train.
"Big Brother, look! Everyone is so beautiful!" Rice tugged at my sleeve, her eyes wide as she scanned the crowd. "With those glamorous outfits, they look like princesses on their way to a ball!"
"Well, tomorrow decides the strongest Horse Girl in the world," I replied. "But beyond that, Paris-Longchamp is famous for being the most elegant racecourse on the planet. I expected a crowd, but for a pre-Arc Saturday... this is something else."
"Are they all Trainers?" Rice asked.
"Doubt it. Trainers don't usually dress like they're heading to a gala. These are likely aristocrats or high-society types. European racing still has deep roots in the old nobility, even if it's faded a bit in the modern era."
"I see..." Rice murmured.
"Pardon me. Might I have a moment of your time?"
A voice interrupted us from the side. Perfect English. Definitely not a local Frenchman. British, maybe? Or Irish.
"Yes?" I turned. "How can I help you?"
"Am I correct in assuming you are Mr. Hachiman Hikigaya, the trainer from Japan?" The man looked at me with keen, discerning eyes before glancing down. "And beside you, the lovely Miss Rice Shower?"
"That's us. I'm Hikigaya, and this is my trainee, Rice Shower. And you are...?"
"Ah, forgive my manners. My name is Apple. I'm a trainer based in the UK. It seems we'll be rivals in the Royallieu today. A pleasure to meet you."
Apple...? My brain did a quick search of the global directory. Wait, as in the exclusive trainer for Godolphin?! This man was a titan—a world-class master with bases in both Dubai and England.
"Rivals..." I repeated, looking at the girl standing beside him. "Then the girl with you must be Miss Krone, the winner of the British St Leger?"
"Ho? It seems you've done your homework," Apple said with a small, impressed smile. "Krone, greet them."
"Hello," Krone said, her voice cool and composed.
"H-Hello..." Rice squeaked, dipping into a shy bow.
"I know of you from the Tenno Sho," Apple continued, focusing back on me. "Word has reached us of a brilliant, rising star of a trainer in the East."
"I'm just a brat with a loud mouth," I said, leaning into my usual deflection. "Though, I don't intend to hand over the win just because you're famous."
"I wouldn't expect anything less. Nor do we intend to lose. Today, let us both have a—"
"I hope you'll save a seat at the table for me as well?"
Another voice. Another heavyweight.
I didn't even need to ask. This was another titan of the European circuit—the man who commanded the private training grounds of the Irish giant, Coolmore. Though based in Ireland, he'd won 'Champion Trainer' titles in the UK so often people had stopped counting.
"Mr. Hikigaya, I presume?" the newcomer asked. "I am O'Ryan. I operate out of Ireland. This is Clouroad; she'll be joining you both in the Royallieu. Truly, it is an honor to meet you."
"The honor is mine," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. To be standing between Mr. Apple and Mr. O'Ryan... it was like a high school benchwarmer being cornered by two Hall of Fame coaches. "I never imagined I'd get to speak with trainers of your caliber."
"Hahaha! The feeling is mutual," O'Ryan laughed warmly. "Any man who treasures his Horse Girls as you do is a friend of mine. That speech of yours... it stirred my heart."
"So, Mr. O'Ryan felt the same way?" Apple added, nodding. "To be honest, we watched the Tenno Sho broadcast in real-time. When the finish line was met with total silence from the crowd, I was appalled. Regardless of the circumstances, I couldn't believe those people were of the same species as us."
I blinked, stunned. "You understood what I was saying? Even on a live Japanese broadcast?"
"There were subtitles," Apple explained. "But the language didn't matter. Watching you step into the line of fire to shield Miss Rice Shower, screaming your soul out at that crowd... it wasn't just the girls who were moved. Many of us trainers felt a lump in our throats. I know of several girls in my stable who were moved to tears."
"It was the same in Ireland," O'Ryan said solemnly. "Your words even moved His Majesty. He addressed us trainers directly, saying: 'I hope you will strive forward with the same spirit as that young man.' Now, in Ireland, we've started distributing pamphlets at every racecourse. The posters read: 'Honor the effort; give a warm hand to every girl who runs!'"
...Are you kidding me?
The fallout from the Tenno Sho had that much reach? I moved people to tears? I moved the King? I thought it was just a local mess, a domestic controversy. I thought the shock had stopped at the French border, but it had swept through the UK and Ireland too?
"That is why," O'Ryan said, placing a hand on my shoulder, "we consider you a peer to be proud of."
"No... I just..." I stammered, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. "I just said what I thought in the moment. 'Proud' is... it's too much."
"Nonsense," Apple countered. "To do what you did in front of a crowd of thousands is no small feat. You should take more pride in yourself. You didn't just change the perspective of Japan; you shifted the global consciousness regarding the soul of the sport. You are already one of the names the world watches."
No, no, no. It's way too early for that. I don't have the experience, the age, or the record. I'm a total novice compared to these legends.
While the giants talked shop, the girls were having a very different interaction.
"They're really getting into it over there," Krone noted, watching the trainers.
"Can you blame 'em?" Clouroad shrugged. "They've been saying they wanted to meet that Japanese trainer for ages. They're basically fanboying."
"…I suppose so," Krone agreed.
"Um... e-etto..." Rice hovered nearby, looking like she wanted to disappear into her own shadow.
"So, you're the one who won the Japanese Tenno Sho..." Clouroad turned to her.
"H-H-Hyup! I-I am Rice S-Shower-dhyu!"
"Pfft," Krone let out a soft sound. "You bit your tongue."
"Hauuu..." Rice wilted.
"How cute," Krone whispered, her eyes softening. "You're like a tiny forest animal."
Glomp!
"Wha—!? Eek! W-What are you doing!?" Rice squealed as Krone suddenly pulled her into a tight embrace.
"Don't worry," Krone murmured, squeezing her. "I'm not going to eat you."
"Well, obviously," Clouroad sighed. "But seriously, what are you doing?"
"I am soothing her," Krone replied calmly. Squeeze.
"Hey! Stop it! We have a race in like an hour!"
"U-Um... I-I'm okay, really!" Rice protested, her face turning beet red as she was held like a plushie.
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