"Fine, fine! If it'll make you shut up, I'll play nice. Happy now?" Sunday Silence grumbled, finally pulling her aura back.
"Don't do it for me. Do it for the Symboli ladies. And for God's sake, apologize to McQueen," Rampage snapped, punctuating his words with a sharp look. "She's the one who took the brunt of your little temper tantrum. It was practically a targeted terror attack on the poor girl."
Rampage continued to lecture the now-subdued Sunday, keeping his tone casual but firm. Yet, as they talked, he remained acutely aware of the girl watching them—Easy Goer. Hailed as the successor to the legendary Secretariat, she was staring at him with an intensity that went beyond simple curiosity. There was something... unsettling in her eyes. Something missing.
"So," Rampage said, tilting his head toward the American horse girl. "This is your old rival from the glory days?"
"On paper, yeah," Sunday replied, her voice devoid of any hesitation or tact. "But honestly? You're way stronger than she ever was."
The room went cold. Even the URA officials looked uncomfortable. To compare a titan like Easy Goer—a girl with her own legendary pedigree—to the "Tyrant" Rampage so dismissively was a social nightmare. Usually, rivals showed some level of mutual respect, but Sunday Silence didn't do "polite." Or perhaps, it was precisely because they were rivals that she felt no need to lie.
Easy Goer, however, didn't flinch. She stepped forward, her every movement a masterpiece of refined grace.
"It is an honor to finally meet you, Mejiro Rampage-sama," she began, her voice like silk. "I have long wished for this encounter. It is a regret of mine that I never had the chance to face you on the track during my career. To stand before you today... it brings me true joy."
"Yeah, likewise," Rampage replied dryly. "I'm the 'Dictator Tyrant' currently tasked with babysitting this idiot and doing her paperwork. Nice to meet you."
"Hey! You're picking a fight, aren't you? I'll take that bet, you punk!" Sunday barked.
"Then do your own damn filing for once, you useless horse!"
The bystanders trembled as Rampage threw Sunday's own aggression right back at her. They knew how terrifying Sunday Silence could be, yet here was Rampage, meeting her blow for blow with a smirk. Sunday didn't snap; instead, she let out a short, rough laugh and extended a fist. Rampage bumped it with his own, their smiles mirroring one another.
"You two certainly seem to get along," Easy Goer remarked with a pleasant smile.
""Are your eyes rotting? We look like we get along to you?"" they shouted in perfect, terrifying unison.
(No, they definitely get along!) Easy Goer's trainer thought, a cold sweat breaking out across his brow. (And how can she say that to Goer with a smile?!) He breathed a sigh of relief at his charge's "natural" air—sometimes, her obliviousness was a mercy.
"I just don't have to hold back with this one," Rampage muttered.
"And I just hit her with everything I've got," Sunday added.
"To build such a relationship... you really are a marvelous horse girl, Rampage-sama," Easy Goer said. "Just like Sunday, you are a figure I truly admire."
Admire. On the surface, it was a compliment to his records and his speed. But seeing the look of pitying annoyance growing in Sunday's eyes, Rampage realized it meant something else entirely.
"I'm not some noble soul worth admiring," Rampage said, his voice dropping an octave. "Honestly, someone like you—the 'Successor to Secretariat'—should be the one people look up to. You've got the pedigree and the poise."
"Do you think so? I don't feel I am anything special," Easy Goer replied. "I have simply done everything my mother and father asked of me. I worked hard to make them happy, and that is all."
The reaction was instantaneous. Rudolf, Sirius, and McQueen—the heiresses of the Symboli and Mejiro bloodlines—all stiffened. They knew what it meant to carry the weight of a family. They knew the pressure of expectations. But they felt a chilling disconnect in Easy Goer's words.
(She's the one, isn't she, Asama-sama?) McQueen thought, her eyes widening.
(Yes,) Asama's silent gaze confirmed. (She has never known failure. Or rather, she was never allowed to realize she had failed.)
Easy Goer's life had been a sterile laboratory of success. Even when she stumbled, those around her likely reframed it as a step toward a greater victory. She was the product of "positive reinforcement" taken to a pathological extreme. She had never been allowed to touch the dirt, and as a result, she didn't understand the strength that came from crawling out of it.
"But Sunday Silence... when I fought you, I felt something else entirely. Something I couldn't name," Easy Goer continued, her voice rising with a strange, hollow passion. "And now, looking at you, Mejiro Rampage-sama... I am certain you have it too."
Her trainer tried to move in, sensing the conversation was heading toward a cliff, but it was too late. Caught in the presence of the two legends she "admired," Easy Goer let the truth slip—the one thing a girl like her should never say to survivors like them.
"I envy you."
Sunday Silence didn't even blink. She had heard it all before. She didn't look at Easy Goer; she didn't need to. Instead, she looked at Rampage. She saw the flash of understanding in his eyes—not empathy for Easy Goer, but a sudden, sharp realization of the burden Sunday had been forced to carry.
(So this is what you dealt with...) Rampage thought. (Man, this is exhausting.)
He looked around the room. Rudolf was frowning, her hand gripping her own arm so hard the knuckles were white. Sirius had a vein throbbing in her temple, masked only by the way she was idly playing with her hair.
"Control yourself," Asama whispered, her hand firm on McQueen's shoulder. "As a lady of the Mejiro family."
"I... I know, Grandmother, but she...!" McQueen was trembling.
Normally, McQueen was the soul of composure, but the mental fatigue of the day had stripped her filters. She, more than anyone, knew what Rampage had sacrificed—what he had bled for. To hear this "pure-bred" girl call that suffering "enviable" was a slap in the face to the entire Mejiro line.
"Envy, huh?" Rampage said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
"Yes," Easy Goer nodded, oblivious to the frost forming in the room. "I truly do."
"I see. Then I finally understand why you could never beat Sunday Silence."
Rampage pushed down the irritation rising in his chest. He had felt worse anger than this; he had survived hells this girl couldn't imagine. He could afford to be the "adult" here, even if his words were laced with venom.
"You'll never beat her," Rampage repeated.
"May I ask... for a more detailed explanation?" Easy Goer asked, her head tilting with genuine, toxic curiosity.
"If you're the 'Great One's Successor,' use your own brain and figure it out. But I'll tell you one more thing, Easy Goer—America isn't winning the Champions Cup. Not a chance."
It wasn't just a prediction. It was a verdict.
"We have Lady Sabre and Amazing Dyna," Easy Goer countered, her voice finally showing a hint of defensive pride. "I was chosen as their partner for a reason. Fifty Magna and A.P. Indy are burning for revenge. I can guarantee their strength is enough to win."
"I hope so," Rampage said, turning his back on her. "But let me leave you with this: We have no interest in being understood by someone who just stands on the sidelines, admiring the view and 'envying' the struggle without ever stepping into the fire."
Rampage caught Sunday's eye, gave a sharp nod, and walked out of the room. Easy Goer said nothing. She simply watched his retreating back with that same hollow, beautiful gaze.
Rudolf watched her for a moment, her eyes softening into something resembling pity.
"She probably didn't have any," Rudolf murmured.
"Any what?" Sirius asked.
"Friends. Oh, I'm sure people were there. But they were just... shadows. None of them ever reached her."
The stage was set. The Champions Cup was about to begin.
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