"Temporary Butler-san, how does this one look?"
Stepping out of the fitting room, Mejiro McQueen approached Mizuno and gave a graceful twirl.
She wore a sky-blue ballroom gown, the sleeveless cut revealing her smooth white shoulders. The flowing, translucent skirt shimmered like a stream of starlight, faintly tracing the outline of her long legs. Compared to her earlier casual outfit, this one exuded the poise and elegance of a true noble lady.
"Hmm..." Mizuno studied her seriously, hand on chin.
Truthfully, he had absolutely no idea how to judge women's fashion. If someone asked him whether a dress suited its wearer, he wouldn't even know where to start.
Fortunately, if there was one thing Mizuno excelled at, it was talking his way through things he didn't understand.
The tens of thousands of flowery compliments he'd once spun to survive King Halo's interrogation weren't for nothing. His kidneys might still ache at the memory, but the experience had turned him into a master of improvised flattery.
He couldn't actually evaluate fashion—but he could compare things.
Like now: he imagined Mejiro McQueen's dress as a slice of decadent blueberry cake.
"With the classic Western royal gown as its base, it boldly incorporates sheer fabric for a modern, airy touch," he said smoothly. "Unlike the heavy European styles, this one highlights your figure beautifully. The soft azure tone, scattered with starlike details, blends dignity and youthful charm. It suits you perfectly."
"Really?" McQueen blinked, genuinely surprised.
She'd assumed Mizuno, who wore the same black doctor's coat every single day, was hopelessly unfashionable—yet he'd just delivered an elegant, textbook-worthy critique!
"Then... how about this one?" She darted back into the changing room and reappeared a minute later in a pale green swimsuit.
"Unlike bikinis that openly flaunt the wearer's allure," Mizuno began without missing a beat, "this design's modest elegance draws attention through restraint. The sheer fabric around the waist teases the imagination, while the ripple pattern radiating outward in matcha tones complements your fair skin. The chrysanthemum embroidery on the straps adds purity to the look, like a cool breeze in summer—fresh and adorable."
In his mind, he'd just compared her to matcha ice cream.
"Eh?!" McQueen's eyes widened. This man's comments weren't just smooth—they were convincing.
Could it be that, besides training horse girls, crafting equipment, and brewing Honey Drinks, Trainer Mizuno was secretly a world-class fashion critic too?!
To test him, McQueen tried on outfit after outfit—dozens of them—but Mizuno never faltered. Every single look, from casual dresses to elaborate gowns, drew a new, confident, and entirely positive review.
Of course, Mizuno had no actual idea what he was talking about. He was just doing what any employee should: praise the boss, keep her happy, maybe secure a bonus.
But for some reason, the constant stream of compliments made McQueen's cheeks heat up more and more.
"Guh..." She ducked her head shyly, fingers tugging at her skirt hem. Her ears quivered, her tail flicked, and her heart thumped faster than she'd like to admit.
Truthfully, she'd only been cycling through outfits to stall for time—waiting for her family's reinforcements to surround the shop and prepare for Trainer Mizuno's capture.
She'd expected him to be wooden and repetitive, tossing out lazy lines like "nice" or "pretty."
Instead, he'd praised her with such smooth confidence and vivid detail that her chest tingled with warmth. Each word felt like it soaked into her skin, dissolving her composure little by little.
Still, something about it seemed too perfect. Was he... just flattering her?
"Actually, it's mostly because you're naturally beautiful," Mizuno added suddenly, flashing a sincere thumbs-up. "Everything looks great on you, McQueen-ojousama."
"Uuu..." McQueen twisted the skirt between her fingers, her stomach fluttering helplessly.
Her heart whispered that maybe—just maybe—she should spare him. Maybe she didn't have to capture him today.
But the thought lasted only a moment. Her grandmother's stern face flashed through her mind, and the warmth in her chest hardened into resolve.
No. She couldn't waver.
Born into privilege, she'd always lived in luxury others couldn't dream of—but that luxury came with duty. Her family had given her everything; in return, she had to dedicate herself to its future.
And if claiming Trainer Mizuno would strengthen the Mejiro family, then her grandmother's command was absolute.
Besides... deep down, she wanted him too.
If Mizuno joined the Mejiro household, she could see him every day. She could enjoy his Honey Drinks whenever she wanted—and maybe hear him whisper those gentle words of praise again, just for her.
Yes. Capturing him was good for both the family and for herself.
"Mm..." With that thought, McQueen clenched her delicate fist behind her back, sealing her determination.
"McQueen-ojousama?" Mizuno tilted his head, noticing her strange expression. "Is something wrong?"
"Eh?! N-No, nothing!" McQueen jumped, flustered. Snatching a random dress from the rack, she hid her pink face behind it and stammered,
"L-let's keep looking for outfits..."
...
Half an hour later.
Outside the boutique, the lively shopping street had fallen eerily silent. It was as if someone had ordered the entire area cleared—like a covert operation preparing to arrest a dangerous fugitive.
Moments later, a dozen Uma Musume in crisp black-and-white maid uniforms swept into the store, surrounding Trainer Mizuno, who was still dutifully commenting on McQueen's latest outfit.
Outside, more maids stood guard at the entrance, blocking any chance of escape or outside interference.
One maid—clearly the head maid—stepped forward, bowed politely, and announced,
"By order of McQueen-ojousama, we are here to cordially invite you to the Mejiro household."
"?" Mizuno blinked, dumbfounded, then turned to McQueen in disbelief.
But McQueen averted her gaze, her expression guilty and stiff.
"Wha—McQueen! You set me up!?" Mizuno cried, betrayed.
So that's why she'd looked so uneasy earlier—she'd been plotting this from the start!
He'd trusted this elegant, generous Ojou-sama, even thought of working for her long-term—and she was repaying him by kidnapping him on his first day?!
This wasn't "employment"—it was abduction by corporate merger!
"I'm sorry, Trainer Mizuno," McQueen murmured, hugging her arms. "I... have my own difficulties."
"?" Mizuno stared at her, aghast.
Kidnapping someone was "difficulties"? What was next—"Sorry, I only wanted your kidneys"?
"..." Quickly scanning his surroundings, Mizuno began plotting his escape.
"Give up, Trainer Mizuno..." McQueen sighed softly. "Everyone outside is part of the Mejiro family. If you surrender quietly, we won't hurt you. I promise we'll treat you gently."
"Who would believe that?!" Mizuno shouted.
He'd heard that line too many times.
Every Uma Musume said the same thing—"we'll be gentle," "just a little rub," "don't worry, I'll stop right away"—and every single one ended up escalating to something outrageous!
Only Urara, Rice Shower, and Broshi had ever kept their word. The rest? Utterly untrustworthy!
If he was dragged into Mejiro Mansion, with all their power and resources, there'd be no escape.
"Tsk… this is bad..." Mizuno gritted his teeth, assessing the situation.
A dozen maids inside. Unknown numbers outside. No exits.
His past self would've frozen—but not anymore.
Because this time, he had a secret weapon.
"Huuu..." Mizuno exhaled slowly, grabbing the edge of his right glove with his left hand.
When cornered, he had only one option: unleash his Unlimited Fragrance—the same hypnotic aroma that had once saved him from El Condor Pasa.
It was dangerous and risky, but if he didn't try, he'd never make it out alive.
"Unlimited Fragrance! Activa—hm?!"
Before he could finish pulling off the glove, a strange scent hit his nose.
He froze.
A faint pink mist had seeped into the boutique, curling through the air.
Within seconds, the sweet, dizzying smell filled his lungs. It was like inhaling pure alcohol. His head spun; his knees buckled.
"Damn it... you actually... used knockout gas...!"
That was his last slurred protest before his body gave out, collapsing onto the floor with a thud.
The maids moved instantly, pouncing on him and binding him tight with practiced precision.
"Excellent work!" McQueen praised, relief washing over her.
For a moment, she'd panicked when she saw him reaching for his glove—worried he had some mysterious escape trick—but the gas had knocked him out before he could even try.
Perfect. The plan had succeeded without a hitch.
She smiled faintly. Whoever released the knockout gas deserved a raise.
"Wait—McQueen-ojousama! Knockout gas wasn't part of the plan!" the head maid cried suddenly.
"What?!"
Sure enough, the pink mist wasn't fading—it was thickening.
Even the maids were faltering, their bodies wobbling as they struggled to stay upright.
"It wasn't? Then who—" McQueen clamped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late. Her vision blurred, dizziness crashing over her like waves.
"Ojou-sama... the door..." one maid gasped weakly.
McQueen turned her head—and froze.
At the boutique's entrance stood an unfamiliar Uma Musume wearing a gas mask, her disheveled brown hair spilling from under her hood, and a pristine white lab coat billowing around her.
In one hand, she held a cluster of test tubes spilling pink vapor into the room.
"An intruder?!" McQueen's blood ran cold.
For an instant, absurd thoughts flashed through her mind—stories of ancient noble families sending assassins to kidnap rivals' heirs, stealing men as personal captives...
But no, that was centuries ago. Modern families didn't resort to such barbaric tactics.
And this mist, while powerful, wasn't lethal. Whoever this was, she didn't mean to kill—only to incapacitate.
Which could mean only one thing.
"She's here... for him."
McQueen's eyes darted to Mizuno's unconscious form.
"Quick, the back door!" the head maid barked, her voice trembling.
The maids could barely stand, but they forced their limbs to move.
"You few—stay behind to stall her!"
"Yes, ma'am!"
The remaining maids staggered forward while the others helped McQueen toward the back, dragging the bound Mizuno with them.
But just as they reached the door—
Bang!
The wooden frame exploded outward, scattering splinters.
Everyone froze.
Through the debris stepped a second intruder—this one in sleek black clothes with a metal chain at her waist, her long wine-red hair gleaming under the boutique lights.
A gas mask hid her face, but her voice was sharp and confident.
"Hehahaha! The phantom thief of the darkest night has arrived to steal your most precious treasure!"
McQueen squinted through the haze. Even masked, one detail stood out—her ears.
Wine-red on the outside, sky-blue on the inside. A rare trait she'd never seen before.
"Tachyon, this the one we're nabbing?" the thief asked, nodding toward Mizuno.
"Yes," replied the white-coated Uma Musume calmly, stepping over the fallen maids. "That's him."
"Roger that." The thief flipped a white streak of hair from her bangs and strode forward.
Before the weakened maids could react, she snatched Mizuno from their grasp and slung him easily over her shoulder.
McQueen reached out, desperate to stop her—but the pink mist finally overwhelmed her. Her body went limp, vision fading to black.
The last thing she heard before consciousness slipped away was the thief's gleeful laugh echoing through her mask:
"Heheh~ The mantis catches the cicada, unaware of the sparrow behind! We'll be taking this lovely little treasure off your hands!"