"This… this is what we lost to!"
"Tch. Seeing it again with my own eyes, the difference is just staggering…"
"Seriously, she hasn't aged a day. How can someone who's been retired for months still run like that?"
The trio of international invaders—Silverstone, Stahl Armekor, and Elguts—stood at the edge of the track, stunned. They had come to the Pleiades camp to sharpen their claws for the Japanese autumn circuit, and Rampage had agreed to look after them alongside her own team. But their real motivation was a second chance at the legend who had conquered them. They thought they were ready for a rematch, even if it was unofficial.
They were wrong.
"Suzuka, Sunny—look closely," Rampage called out as she decelerated. "This is the 'Escape' you have to beat. Burn this image into your retinas and prepare to surpass it!"
""YES, MA'AM!""
For the sake of her two protégés, Rampage had put on a masterclass. The course attached to the Mejiro cottage was a perfect replica of the Tokyo Racecourse, and the way she tore through it was nothing short of mesmerizing. It was a display of speed that only one who had stood at the absolute pinnacle of the world could achieve.
"I thought I understood, but Rampage-san is truly on another level…" Air Groove whispered, her eyes wide.
"Her extension on the straight is incredible, but look at the cornering," Dober noted, her voice trembling. "She's not losing any speed on the turn. In fact, she's accelerating into the next straight…"
To the girls of Pleiades, it was like watching a natural disaster in motion. No matter how many times they watched her tapes, the raw, physical reality of her stride was incomparable.
As she entered the third corner, Rampage's center of gravity dropped. She didn't just lower her posture; her entire body seemed to sink into the earth. The "Shinzan Irons" had forged her legs with a level of power that allowed her to ignore centrifugal force. She gripped the turf, hugging the rail so tightly there wasn't room for a blade of grass between her and the white fence. It was the "Shortest Path" taken to a lethal extreme.
"LAST SPURT!"
The moment she cleared the curve, the tension snapped. She lunged into a low, predatory form—reminiscent of a hunting beast—and hit her true top speed. The three international champions instinctively leaned forward, desperate to catch even a glimpse of the mechanics behind that velocity.
Rampage thundered past the finish line, where Katsuragi Ace stood holding the stopwatch.
"Great time," Ace said, clicking the watch. "You keep saying you've slowed down, but I'm calling 'company standards' on that one. That's still world-class."
"Nah, I'm definitely rusty," Rampage panted, wiping her brow with a towel. "Compared to my peak at the BC Classic, my lungs feel heavy. Suzuka, Sunny—did you see that?"
The two girls nodded frantically, their heads bobbing like clockwork toys. Rampage couldn't help but chuckle at their intensity. It was a relief, in a way. She was still their North Star. She was still the dream they were chasing. That dream would eventually fade as they grew stronger, but for now, she wanted to keep the fire burning as brightly as possible.
"I'm not telling you to copy me," Rampage said, her gaze turning serious. "I'm telling you to surpass me. You both have the talent to do it. Don't let me down."
"W-We won't! We'll give it everything we've got!" Suzuka promised.
"I'm going to work so hard you won't be able to look away!" Sunny added.
"Good."
Rampage took a swig of her sports drink as the international trio approached.
"That run was just absurd," Elguts grumbled. "Why did you even retire?!"
"Seriously," Silverstone added. "The thought of never getting to settle the score with that in a real race… it's infuriating."
"Please, just one more season?" Stahl Armekor pleaded.
Rampage appreciated the sentiment, but she shook her head. Once you step off the stage, you lose the right to stand on it. If she ever returned to the turf, it would be as a "Legend," not a contender.
"Forget about me," Rampage said. "What do you think of Pleiades?"
"They're all pre-debut," Elguts noted, crossing her arms. "It's too early to give a definitive evaluation. This is the stage where they either explode into greatness or level out. Their individualities are only just starting to show."
Typical Elguts—analytical to a fault. Stahl Armekor, however, was more enthusiastic.
"I like that Stay Gold girl," Al grunted. "She's got a look in her eye that says she's ready to kill. They've all got good eyes, actually. They're looking forward, not at their feet. They'll grow."
"Agreed," Silver added. "If they were active, I'd want to race them myself. They've got potential."
"Thanks," Rampage said, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders. "Hearing that from you guys makes this whole 'Trainer' thing feel a bit more real."
"Don't get too comfortable," Silverstone smirked. "We're still here to win."
"In that case," Rampage's eyes flashed with a familiar, "Dictatorial" glint. "How about I give you some feedback on your runs?"
The trio stiffened.
"First, El. You're too balanced. You've got all the fundamentals, but you lack a 'signature.' You won the Arc because you were lucky and consistent, but you don't have a weapon to take down someone who's truly superior to you. You're hitting a ceiling."
"H-Hey! I know that, but...!"
"Silver, your obsession with the lead is fine, but it's becoming your only personality. Your cornering is sluggish. You need to stop worrying about the rail and learn how to drift if you have to. Sharpen those turns or the Japanese specialists will eat you alive."
"Drift?! You want an Umamusume to drift on the turf?!"
"If that's what it takes to win."
Rampage turned her gaze to Stahl Armekor. "And Al. Your strategy is a one-note song. It's powerful, I'll give you that, but it's predictable. You don't guide the race; you just react to it. If you don't broaden your range, Lady and Dyna are going to leave you in the dirt at the Champions Cup."
"…"
The three world-class athletes were silent. Elguts looked wounded, Silverstone looked confused, and Stahl Armekor had actually dropped to one knee, the weight of the critique hitting her harder than any physical training. Rampage knew she was being harsh, but she also knew their weaknesses better than anyone.
As the tension hung heavy over the beach, Rampage's phone began to vibrate. She pulled it out and answered with her usual flair.
"This is the Dictator Tyrant speaking."
『Rampage-san! It's me! Is now a good time?!』
It was Mejiro Palmer. Her voice was trembling, thick with emotion and excitement. Rampage stood up straight, sensing the gravity of the call.
『I… I did it! I really did it! Rampage-san… I won a G1! I finally won!』
"You did? You finally pulled it off, Palmer?!"
The news was a thunderclap. For the Mejiro family—and for Palmer specifically—this was the culmination of a long, painful struggle. But it wasn't just any G1.
Palmer had just won the Goodwood Cup.
The legendary British summer race. The jewel of the stayers' crown. Mejiro Palmer had officially become a champion on the world's most hallowed turf.
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