The day of the Japanese Derby finally arrived.
Fujiwara Chiya brought Orfevre into the waiting room, shut the door behind them, then settled onto the sofa.
"How are you feeling, Orfevre? Nervous?"
"Foolish. What kind of race could possibly make me nervous?" Orfevre gave a dismissive little snort. Her blue-violet eyes flicked toward Chiya for the briefest instant, then slid away like nothing had happened.
"That's good. I've seen plenty of uma musume get so nervous before the once-in-a-lifetime Japanese Derby that they throw up. Knowing your mentality is this steady puts me at ease."
"I am different from those who see a race as a challenge," Orfevre declared. "I have come to take the victory that already belongs to me. Why would I be nervous over that?"
Chiya smiled and waited on the sofa for the announcer's call.
Orfevre lifted her eyelids slightly.
"Trainer. Why are you sitting so far away from me?"
"Hm?"
"I said, as my vassal, you ought to remain at my side. I am seated here, and yet you sit over there. Tell me, are you truly fulfilling your duty as my retainer?"
Huh?
The sofa was only so big. Was there really a problem with the two of them sitting on opposite ends?
Wait.
Was Orfevre telling him to sit right next to her?
Apparently, that was exactly what she meant.
Seeing the impatience on her face, Chiya shifted over and sat beside her. Only then did Orfevre's expression soften.
"From now on, no matter where we are, the space beside me is your place. Do you understand?"
"Yeah…"
Orfevre seemed especially forceful today.
Well, now wasn't the time to think about that.
Her race was about to begin. In the Satsuki Sho, Orfevre had won by a huge margin and caused an absolute sensation. Naturally, in the second leg of the Classic Triple Crown, she had become the center of everyone's attention. Chiya wanted Orfevre not only to win, but to win beautifully.
That would bring her a massive surge in popularity.
As an up-and-coming star, Orfevre's popularity ranking had already shot up like a rocket. If she won the Japanese Derby today, she would become the second most popular uma musume in all of Japan, right behind Shirayuki.
Chiya felt proud.
He had raised an uma musume this incredible. It felt like his ability as a trainer had finally been recognized.
At the same time, though, he felt a growing sense of urgency.
Orfevre's strength was developing too quickly. Under Chiya's all-out training, her potential had been steadily unlocked. By the time they reached the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe, Orfevre would probably be approaching her peak.
That would become a massive obstacle to Shirayuki's victory.
Of course, Chiya could train Orfevre in a direction that left her weaker than Shirayuki. But if he did that, he would be a complete failure as a trainer. He would have no right to raise uma musume at all.
Holding on to that belief, Chiya had worked hard all this time. He did not need other people to praise him. At the very least, he wanted to be able to look himself in the eye without feeling ashamed.
Besides, Shirayuki liked watching him pour everything he had into teaching others.
Chiya did not want to become someone he hated.
Looking at Orfevre in front of him, Chiya said, "I hope you reach a height worthy of admiration, Orfevre."
The girl stared at him with those clear eyes, frozen in place.
"Orfevre?"
"...Hm? Ah." Orfevre shook her head. "Naturally." As if trying to cover something up, she tugged at her collar twice and spoke with a distracted air.
What was that?
Why did I end up staring at Trainer's face?
This was the first time Orfevre had observed him from such a close distance.
His soft features. His delicate brows. His neat, polished appearance.
Orfevre had seen plenty of people before, but none of them had ever given her this feeling.
Excellent.
As her vassal, it was only natural that he reach such a standard. And yet, for some reason, Orfevre felt something she could not quite put into words.
She wanted her vassal to be closer to her.
Recently, because of the upcoming race, Orfevre had been calling Chiya over constantly and ordering him around. In truth, it was not because she had anything important for him to do.
It was because whenever she saw Chiya chatting with Rice Shower and the others, patting their heads, and acting all gentle with them, Orfevre felt extremely displeased.
A trainer guiding his uma musume was perfectly reasonable.
But this man's attitude was obviously far too intimate.
And he was like that with everyone.
True, she was the newcomer. The youngest generation in the team.
But at the same time, she was also the strongest uma musume in that team.
As her trainer, he should take pride in her. He should not waste most of his time on everyone else.
Orfevre was not satisfied.
That was why she kept deliberately making things difficult for him.
But when she saw him running around because of her orders, she also felt a little reluctant.
In the end, when it came down to it, she simply wanted Trainer to spend more time with her.
But Orfevre could not say that out loud.
Words that sounded so much like childish clinginess made her feel embarrassed just by imagining them. So she would make Trainer figure it out himself. If he failed to guess correctly, she would keep tormenting him until that blockhead finally opened his eyes.
Orfevre leaned slightly to the side, resting against Chiya's shoulder, slowly letting more and more of her weight sink onto him.
"And now, we have finally reached our grand finale! The race everyone has been waiting for, the Japanese Derby!"
The announcer's voice rang out from outside.
Chiya raised his head. Then he looked down at Orfevre, who had somehow ended up leaning against him.
"Time to go, Orfevre. It's our race."
As he spoke, Chiya instinctively reached out and patted her head.
Orfevre stared blankly at him. Then she lifted a hand to touch the top of her head.
The warmth lingered there.
"What's wrong, Orfevre? Not going?"
"Mm. I'm going."
Orfevre rose to her feet and followed Chiya's steps out toward the racecourse.
"I'll be watching from here," Chiya said, stopping at the spectator area and bidding her farewell.
"Trainer…"
Orfevre took a deep breath.
"Watch closely. Watch how I shake the heavens and earth."
"Of course. I won't miss a single second."
Orfevre's mouth curled into a grin.
What was this feeling?
Her mood was so light she felt like she could fly. Her body felt weightless.
Orfevre stepped forward, her muscles pulsing rapidly beneath her skin.
Never before had she looked forward to a race this much.
Excitement.
Joy.
Pleasure.
Exhilaration.
Her condition right now could only be described as unprecedented.
Peak condition beyond peak condition.
Amid the roaring cheers of the crowd, Orfevre stepped onto the stage.
She gazed out at the packed sea of spectators and let out a laugh.
Submit!
Worship!
Fall to your knees!
The golden tyrant shall reign here!
In this once-in-a-lifetime race, Orfevre decided that she would crush every opponent by such an utterly hopeless margin that none of them would even dare dream of resisting.
Then she would turn that victory into fine wine and share it with Trainer.
"All contestants are ready! Entering the gates! And the race begins!"
At the announcer's call, the people saw it.
A scene worthy of being carved into history.
The overlord who stood at the summit of the turf.