The Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe spans a grueling 2,400 meters.
The course climbs steadily until it hits its peak at the 1,000-meter mark, followed immediately by a 500-meter downhill bend with a ten-meter drop in elevation.
Once the descent levels out, the runners are thrust into a combined stretch of the false straight and the home straight—a nearly 800-meter gauntlet of open turf.
In this scripted world, Dream Weaver was well aware that her fatal flaw was a lack of raw power. Because of this, her go-to tactic for the Arc had always been the "Great Escape."
Even though that final 800-meter straight gave closers plenty of time to wind up their finishing kicks, she wasn't without her own explosive speed.
If she could just build a wide enough gap in the early stages, she might actually have a shot at the crown.
But she had always hesitated. Because she had never dared to use "Kindling Flames," she had been overtaken time and time again on that long straight, left in the dust by the late-game surges of true geniuses.
Dream Weaver wanted to win the Arc, and she wasn't going into this blind.
Long before she officially signed up, she had watched every single recording of her alternate-world self's performances in this race.
Yet, her opponent was Sea the Stars. Dream Weaver knew that if it came down to a pure contest of explosive power, even using Kindling Flames might not be enough to lock down the victory.
So, she decided to tweak the strategy her past self had once used.
To win the Arc, Kindling Flames was a necessity—but the timing had to be perfect.
She wouldn't save it for the final straight, nor for the Arc's infamous false straight.
Instead, she would strike right at the peak of the climb, the moment she entered that ten-meter drop.
Dream Weaver intended to use the downhill momentum to push her speed into an unprecedented realm.
Only by doing this could she tear open a gap so wide that Sea the Stars, no matter how great, could never hope to bridge it.
Inside her chest, her heart thundered like a storm. Her blood ran through her veins like molten iron, and every inch of muscle and bone felt saturated with a surging, boundless energy.
Her body temperature skyrocketed from the sheer intensity of her movement, carving a blurry silhouette through the curtain of rain.
The Arc de Triomphe. One thousand meters in. The summit of the hill.
Dream Weaver whispered to herself:
"Kindling… Flames."
Thud.
The moment her foot struck the turn, nothing seemed to change at first. But a heartbeat later, a terrifying flood of power rushed through her entire body.
It was as if that molten iron circulating in her veins had been forged into solid steel. In that instant, her heart became a furnace of unimaginable heat.
Swinging the hammer of her very life force, she struck the skeleton that supported her frame again and again.
Amidst the sparks of iron and blood, she forged herself into a peerless blade capable of cutting through anything in her path!
A streak of crimson light, capable of swallowing all gaze, transformed into a literal edge that sliced across the turf.
The wind couldn't catch her.
The rain couldn't touch her.
Even time itself—it seemed—was left trailing in her wake.
For a fleeting second, Dream Weaver saw another red blur in the corner of her eye—the version of herself that had once raced here. But now, she was blowing past that ghost with a grace the other could never have achieved.
She suddenly thought of the legend of the Uma Musume "Eclipse," who was said to outrun light, shadow, and time.
Perhaps it was just an illusion, but in this moment, Dream Weaver truly felt as though she had outrun the ticking of the clock.
Riding the acceleration of the descent, the crimson aurora flew faster and faster, hugging the ground as she surpassed every speed record an Uma Musume had ever set in this world.
But right now, no one cared about records.
The stands fell silent; the cheering died away. Even the commentary booth was struck dumb. Across the globe, viewers watching the broadcast of the Arc de Triomphe were left speechless.
When is the peak of an Uma Musume's life?
Is it the moment of her successful debut?
The first time she steps onto a G1 stage?
Or is it when she strings together victory after victory to become a legend?
There are too many answers to count.
But for Dream Weaver—and for the world watching her—what was happening right now at the Arc de Triomphe was her absolute zenith.
Under the brilliance of that incomparable red light, honors, wins, and losses all felt trivial.
If another Uma Musume in this world could run at such a speed, she would be etched into history instantly, even if she had never won a single race before.
But there would be no other.
Because at this moment, in this world, there was only one who could show such speed.
"Dream Weaver."
Somewhere in the crowd, someone whispered her name. Maybe it was in the stands, maybe in the broadcast booth, or maybe it was just a lone viewer in front of a screen.
But those words, which should have been impossible for anyone else to hear, seemed to be carried into everyone's hearts by the hand of the world itself. Watching that crimson light that no one could catch, voices began to rise—some trembling, some ecstatic.
They chanted her name in unison, and then, just like they used to...
"GO FOR IT!"
They cheered.
In an instant, the crowd finally snapped out of their trance, erupting into a roar loud enough to topple Longchamp.
They shouted the same sentiment in a dozen different languages, a burning passion that threatened to ignite the Parisian rain.
Hishi Miracle stared at the track in a daze, her hands mechanically waving her flag. The thunderous cheers around her drowned out everything else.
She didn't scream. Or rather, she was too shocked to remember how.
She suddenly remembered a moment from before, when she had stood among the spectators and watched her teacher lose to the machine, and to time itself.
It was that mock race that had steeled Hishi Miracle's resolve; she felt that since her teacher had given up her dreams for them, she couldn't let those expectations down.
In the end, Hishi Miracle had done it. She reached the G1 stage and won the Kikuka Sho.
But she never could have imagined that the teacher she thought had been left behind by time—the one she thought had abandoned her dreams for the sake of her and Liberty Island—could still explode with such terrifying speed on the track.
Hishi Miracle couldn't quite name the emotion swelling in her chest.
All she could do was wave that flag with everything she had, the fabric snapping and whistling in the wind as she poured her entire soul into the motion.
And so, amidst the tidal wave of human voices, a single crimson flag danced in the air, mirroring the red streak tearing through the rain on the track—together, they became the most arresting sight in the world.
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T/N: I have a Patreon! Webnovel will get 2 Chapters Every Day, and advanced chapters will be uploaded on Patreon.
It may not seem worth it now, but maybe in the future. Who knows!
[email protected]/AspenTL
If you guys wanna check it out.