The Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe. It is the pinnacle of global racing, the definitive battleground to determine the world's strongest on turf. To claim victory there is to literally etch one's name into the annals of history, to be whispered of in tones of reverence for generations.
In Japan, only one Horse Girl has ever conquered that stage: the "Dictatorial Tyrant," Mejiro Rampage. She hadn't just won; she had shattered the world record on a track so sodden and treacherous it was described as "the worst in history." She was a monster, the undisputed bearer of the title "World's Fastest and Strongest."
"Though, honestly? I'm definitely past my peak," Rampage said, leaning back in the clubroom. She was busy serving coffee and Sakura-flavored cakes to her guest. "Technique is one thing, but I can't force my spirit back to the headspace I was in that day. For better or worse, I'm the type who needs the right environment to get my blood pumping."
"You mean... you needed people like Flora-san?" Sakura Laurel asked.
"I think so. If I'd been the only powerhouse in my era, I never would've had the vessel to take on the world. In that sense, you and I are alike. You've got no shortage of rivals to push you."
Rampage gestured vaguely toward the track. "You've got Brian, of course. Then there's 'Ama-chan' and 'Dra-Lan'... not that you'll likely run against those two anytime soon. But more importantly—are you really serious about taking on the Arc in your Classic year?"
"I am," Laurel replied, her voice flat and certain.
Rampage let out a long, weary sigh. She really just said it without a hint of doubt, she thought. Honestly, challenging the Arc as a three-year-old was madness. There was still so much room for growth; it was a race that demanded meticulous preparation, overseas acclimation, and the ability to handle the unique, grueling turf of Longchamp.
"That's why I have to win the Derby," Laurel continued. "And for that, I need your help, Rampage-san."
"And what exactly do you want me to do? If you're asking me to go overseas with you as a coach, that's a tall order. Maya's making her debut this year. I can't leave her alone—she's got her own goals to chase, and a trainer shouldn't be absent for a debut."
"No," Laurel interrupted, her eyes locking onto Rampage's. "I want you to run with me. And while we run, I'll find what I'm looking for myself."
Rampage started to say that she was always happy to pace a training session, but Laurel cut her off again.
"I want you in your racing silks. Wearing your 'Rampage Irons.' I want the absolute maximum you can give me right now."
Rampage's eyes narrowed. "...Oh?"
A training duel (heisou) was usually a controlled affair—matching strides to gauge form and fitness. It was a warm-up. But Laurel wasn't asking for a practice lap. She was demanding a death match.
"Trainer Minamisaka probably intends for us to challenge the Arc next year or later," Laurel said. "But I want to be stronger. Now. I want to beat Brian-chan. To me, that is the bare minimum requirement for the strength I'm seeking."
"Beating the Narita Brian is your 'minimum requirement'?" Rampage let out a sharp, sudden laugh. "Talk about a luxury goal."
She couldn't help it. Laurel looked at Brian as a rival, respected her as a rival, and yet treated her as nothing more than a benchmark to be cleared. It was fascinating.
"Fine. But consider yourself warned: the path you're trying to walk is a literal hell."
"For me," Laurel replied softly, "hell would be my career ending without ever having the chance to stand on that track."
"Heh... you've got a mouth on you. Fine. Let's go outside. It's been a while since I've run for real."
"Now then, it's about time to—oh?"
Trainer Minamisaka had just finished organizing his paperwork in the faculty office and was heading toward the Canopus clubroom when a strange sensation stopped him. It was like a premonition—a "bug in his ear" telling him to look toward the track.
When he arrived, the sight was jarring.
Laurel was collapsed on the turf, gasping for air, her eyes unfocused and swimming. Standing over her was Rampage, looking down while casually taking a sip from a water bottle.
"My, my," Minamisaka said, stepping forward. "What happened here, Rampage-san? It looks like you played quite roughly with her."
"Well, she asked me to go 'all-out,'" Rampage said with a shrug. "So I did. I went 'deadly serious' on her."
"Even so, to leave her in this state...?"
"Blame her tactics. She insisted on slipstreaming me while I was in a 'Super Lead' sprint."
Minamisaka winced. "That was... reckless of her."
Normally, slipstreaming is a smart move; it reduces wind resistance and preserves stamina. But doing it against Rampage was suicide. Rampage's "Super Lead" (Oo-nige) was so fast that anyone trying to draft her would be forced into an over-speed trap, burning through their stamina just to keep up with the vacuum she left behind.
"But get this," Rampage added, her voice holding a note of genuine respect. "She stayed in my slipstream until the final 200 meters. She followed me on pure grit. It was impressive."
"200 meters...?" Minamisaka's eyes sharpened. "If she did that against your lead pace, that is indeed remarkable. And the distance?"
"2,400 meters."
Minamisaka went silent. That was Rampage's "God Zone"—the distance where she was untouchable. For Laurel to have hung on that long meant she had pushed herself far beyond her physical limits. It wasn't something a trainer should praise—and yet...
"I see," Minamisaka murmured. "It seems she's finally broken through her shell."
"Wait... was this part of your plan?" Rampage asked. "Did you know she'd do this?"
"Yes. To win the Arc as a Classic-class girl, you need more than physical ability and technique. You need mental fortitude. Until today, Laurel-san was missing something—a certain 'hunger' for the race right in front of her."
It was fine to use the Satsuki Sho or the Derby as stepping stones for the Arc, but Minamisaka didn't like the idea of his trainee becoming indifferent to defeat. Even if a race was just a "test," he wanted her to have the spirit to trample over the competition regardless. A race is a living thing; no matter how perfect the calculations, things rarely go as planned.
"Luck and Spirit," Minamisaka said. "A plan is only 'perfect' once you have accounted for those two uncertain, unstable variables."
"So, you don't pray for a lucky punch—you calculate how to land one?" Rampage asked.
"Exactly. And she will land it at the Derby. Laurel-san..." Minamisaka turned his gaze to the girl on the ground, who was likely conscious but unable to move. "...I'll be putting you through a grueling menu from here on out. I hope you're prepared."
Laurel didn't speak, but a small, determined smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
Satisfied, Minamisaka turned back to Rampage. "That being the case... would you mind continuing to run with her?"
"Yeah, yeah... I get it. Honestly, Mina-chan, you're terrifying."
"You flatter me. Or perhaps, in this case, I should say I'm honored to be feared?"
As Minamisaka offered a quiet, polite smile, Rampage felt a sudden chill run down her spine. She realized that back in her racing days, her opponents must have felt this exact same sense of dread every time they faced her camp. She couldn't help but feel a sudden pang of sympathy for them.
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