Hachiman's Perspective
Once our entry into the Prix Royal-Oak was finalized, I paid a visit to Trainer Fabre to share the news. The meeting was more productive than I could have hoped for; he graciously offered to cover our stay at the Chantilly Academy and even promised to foot the expenses. It was a weight off my shoulders. To top it off, he offered the use of his own resources for joint training sessions if needed. He was being remarkably thorough—too kind, almost.
Currently, Rice and I are tucked away in a quiet room within the academy, navigating the mandatory gauntlet of a press interview.
The questions were the usual fare, though I sensed a genuine, unvarnished warmth in the congratulations offered by the local French media.
"So, Trainer Hikigaya," one reporter asked, leaning in. "The question on everyone's mind: have you decided on the next start? Will you be returning home for the Arima Kinen at the end of the year?"
"Yes, we've made a decision," I replied firmly. "However, it won't be the Arima Kinen. On the recommendation of Mr. Fabre of France, Mr. Apple of Great Britain, and Mr. O'Ryan of Ireland, we have decided to enter the Prix Royal-Oak. It's a stayers' race held right here at Longchamp in three weeks' time."
A collective gasp rippled through the room. It was an unconventional move. Back in Japan, the Autumn G1 season was just beginning; the standard theory dictated that we fly home immediately to prepare for the year-end grand finale. To stay behind and pivot to a local endurance race was a bold deviation from the script.
"May we ask why?" the reporter pressed. "What motivated the decision to contest the Prix Royal-Oak?"
"I'm sure the keen minds of the French press are already aware," I said, choosing my words carefully, "but back in Japan, during the last Tenno Sho, my trainee Rice Shower was branded a 'Heel'—a villain. Even after our recent victory here, there are those who will claim she only won because the other girls weren't at their best. I want to silence that doubt. By competing in an even longer race on the same turf, I intend to prove, once and for all, that Rice Shower wins on her own merit."
"I see. So, you'll be continuing your regime here at Chantilly Academy?"
"Correct. Mr. Fabre, who uses this as his base, has given us his blessing. I'm grateful to have such a world-class environment for her final preparations."
"Thank you. Now, a question for Miss Rice Shower," the reporter turned his gaze toward her. "The Prix Royal-Oak is three hundred meters longer than the Prix de Royallieu you just won. Do you have any concerns about the distance?"
"Um... well..." Rice began, her voice small but steady. "I'm not really worried about the extra distance. I've always been better at long-distance runs. My big bro—I mean, my Trainer—always told me that three thousand meters is where I truly start to shine. If I can just run at Longchamp the way I did yesterday, I think... I think I'll be okay."
"A confident answer! The rivals in the next field certainly won't be able to take their eyes off you. On a lighter note, Rice Shower, have you found any French food that you particularly enjoyed?"
"E-eh? Oh! Everything has been delicious, but... hmm... ah! The pot-au-feu!" Rice's face lit up. "It's a dish we know in Japan, too, but the flavor here is so gentle... it was the perfect thing to eat after the race. And for dessert, the mille-feuille was wonderful!"
Not bad, I thought. She's holding her own. I'd expected her to trip over her words, but she was handling the spotlight with grace.
"Thank you very much. That concludes our interview with Trainer Hikigaya and Rice Shower. We appreciate your time."
"Thank you," we said in unison, bowing slightly before making our exit.
As we walked back toward the dorms, a nagging thought pulled at me. The reaction back home was going to be... interesting. People expected a homecoming, not a prolonged campaign. My phone was probably going to start screaming at me any minute, and frankly, that terrified me.
— The Dormitories —
"Rice! Welcome back!" Carnegie chirped the moment we stepped inside. "I saw the interview! So, it's the Prix Royal-Oak next, huh?"
"Y-yeah," Rice nodded. "That's the plan."
"Thirty-one hundred meters..." Carnegie whistled, impressed. "There's no way I could finish a race like that. I'd probably lose sight of your back somewhere around the twenty-four hundred mark."
"N-no, it's okay! I won't leave you behind!" Rice waved her hands frantically. "I mean, I'll leave everyone behind in the race, but in real life, I'd never leave you!"
Carnegie looked at her with shimmering eyes. "Rice... you really are a saint."
"Wha?! C-Carnegie-san! Please stop praying to me!"
They were the same as always, it seemed.
Carnegie then turned to me. "Hey, Trainer! If there's anything I can do to help, just say the word. My trainer said he's happy to cooperate, too!"
"I appreciate that. I'll be sure to rely on you," I said. "How about a three-thousand-meter gallop together?"
Carnegie froze. "Isn't that, like, a thousand meters too many? I'm down for two thousand?"
"No. Three thousand."
"No, no, no! Impossible! A three-thousand-meter gallop would literally kill me! My legs would turn into jelly!"
"I'm joking," I deadpanned. "I wouldn't put another trainer's girl through that."
"I don't know..." Carnegie squinted at me suspiciously. "You have a scary look in your eyes."
"Then what if I told you the 'training' I wanted help with was that game of tag I mentioned the other day?"
Carnegie's mood flipped instantly. "Oh! Well, leave it to me then! If it's for my saint's sake, I'm happy to help!"
She's certainly high-maintenance, I thought. She reminded me a bit of Mr. C.B. Back in Japan, things were going to be a nightmare when I finally returned, but for now, they'd given us the green light for this race. I suppose I could endure a little chaos for the sake of the result.
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