October 23rd, 2011 — The Kikuka Sho.
Kyoto Racecourse.
[They're into the third turn—into the third turn!]
[Orfevre… Orfevre is making her move! Orfevre chooses the outside—straight and true, the widest line!]
[She's surging down the outer lane! Sadamu Patek is second, Rokakuro Castle in third—Kizuna Ballet is charging from the very back of the pack, can she make it?! They're entering the final straight—it's Orfevre! It's Orfevre!!!]
[A golden flash is tearing through the homestretch!!!]
[Nothing blocks her path—nothing obstructs her view! No one can catch Orfevre!]
[Orfevre—hits the line!!!]
[From the gray Cinderella legend of the bubble era, to the earthquake that swept Japan on 3.11—once again, a peak of the generation appears, leading us forward… the very summit of her age!!!]
[St. Lite in 1941… Shinzan in 1964… Symboli Rudolf in 1984… Narita Brian in 1994… Deep Impact in 2005—six years later…]
[The seventh Triple Crown winner of the Classics—Orfevre, is here!]
The tyrant in gold crashed through the finish in utter domination.
She slowed—unhurried—then lifted her head and looked out over the world as if it belonged to her.
Seventy thousand voices in Kyoto roared the same name. The sound wove into a tide that felt like it could lift the roof from the sky. Betting slips and white confetti whirled like a blizzard—joy at witnessing another legend being born, smothering the stadium in celebration.
"Orfevre."
"Orfevre!"
"ORFEVRE!!!!"
And Orfevre simply stood where she was, as if the entire world lay beneath her feet.
Her eyes were calm.
Only this: she reigned.
What stood here was the tyrant at her absolute peak.
On the crown of the turf, treading over all things—
her dominion was art,
her road was a storm,
and she dyed the world gold.
Submit. Worship. Kneel.
All you must do is look up at her splendor.
This was—
The strongest apex of the 2011 generation.
The top monster standing over all of Japan's racehorse girls: Orfevre.
Even the world would applaud.
…
…
The viewpoint cut back to the stands.
Even Rudolf—who had seen it all—froze in place.
What words could possibly describe that?
If she had to force an honest comparison… then—
Even against the monsters overseas, Orfevre didn't fall short in the slightest.
Rudolf had seen countless domestic monsters—herself included. After taking seven G1 crowns in Japan, she'd grown restless with the hunger to go abroad, to prove to the world that Japanese racehorse girls weren't "second-rate."
The Arc de Triomphe was not supposed to be an unbreakable nightmare.
But the result had been—
Defeat.
Crushing defeat.
Her career had ended in a hurry after the injury she suffered there.
From the days when the Japan Cup was treated like a playground by foreign racehorse girls—like some casual "RPG"—
to later years, when Japan produced "general" figures who defended the honor of the Japan Cup, and people began to believe: if Japan could beat them here, then surely Japan could win the Arc as well.
The closest example had been Hawk that year.
A dream ending in regret.
And yet—
Now, staring at Orfevre, Rudolf could see it.
The possibility of the Arc.
The possibility of Orfevre standing beneath that lion-guarded arch, bathed in golden rain.
Beside her, Hayakawa—Syracuse—felt the exact same awe.
A real monster. Through and through.
But then her gaze slid to the girl beside her.
She'd brought Fuuka Shirayuki here for this very reason: to see Orfevre up close, to feel that overwhelming power with her own eyes—and to see what kind of reaction the girl would show.
Sometimes, you could glimpse someone's entire career from a single, minor detail.
And then—
As Syracuse lowered her eyes, she noticed it.
Shirayuki's fingers… her body… were trembling, ever so slightly.
Was it her imagination?
No. It wasn't.
Syracuse looked again, carefully.
It was real.
Fear…?
She wondered.
After witnessing Orfevre's strength with her own eyes—could that dream still survive? The dream of defeating Orfevre?
If it couldn't… then Syracuse would have to pull back much of what she had begun to hope for in this girl.
After turning it over in her mind, the "green devil" decided not to hold it in.
She asked bluntly, "Are you scared?"
Shirayuki turned her head and looked at her—seriously.
She didn't answer.
"…?" Syracuse suddenly realized Shirayuki's cheeks were flushed crimson—so bright it looked like excitement.
What… was that?
And then she heard the reply:
"What I fear… is my own talent!!!"
"That's all!"
"If you're asking whether, after seeing Orfevre's strength, I still want to defeat her…"
"My answer is yes."
"I still do."
"I want to defeat Orfevre. I want to stand where she stands—have tens of thousands cheer my name—and turn reality into the story I paint."
"..."
Syracuse nodded, half understanding, half not.
So that was it.
And… wasn't that a good thing?
If Shirayuki had two possible answers, they would point to two very different lives.
A "no" would lead to a gray, broken story.
Maybe she could still scrape together a Cinderella run—win a G2 or a G3 with luck and effort. But compared to a racehorse girl like Orfevre… the distance was unfathomable.
But a "yes"…
To be honest, Syracuse couldn't see how high Shirayuki's future might reach.
Still—
She believed in her with an almost blind certainty.
Fuuka Shirayuki would win a G1 someday.
And when she did, she would finally have the right to stand in front of Orfevre—fairly, openly—and challenge her.
Rudolf, on the other hand, didn't even fully understand what the two of them were talking about.
She'd never heard Shirayuki's almost joke-like goal before.
But hearing it now, she could piece it together.
So that's it.
Rudolf nodded, thoughtful.
Shirayuki wanted to make her name in this world—by aiming at Orfevre?
Rudolf couldn't help recalling Shirayuki's debut, the day she beat Tokai Teio.
Frankly, for a girl with no pedigree, no systematic training… that was already near the limit.
Beyond that—
Others had been trained systematically since childhood: experience.
And then there was that pedigree you couldn't ignore: talent.
The truly powerful had both.
To defeat a racehorse girl like that… sounded like a fairy tale.
It wasn't Rudolf's resentment speaking. It was just her experience.
But could she pour cold water on a young girl's dream right now?
A young racehorse girl having a dream wasn't a bad thing.
Rudolf couldn't bring herself to crush it.
So she patted Shirayuki's shoulder and offered comfort.
"Someday," she said, "it'll be your turn to make the world know your name."
Shirayuki stopped. She didn't turn around.
Her voice drifted back, light as a feather—
"That's not how it works."
"…?" Rudolf blinked, confused.
Then she heard the explanation.
"Fame isn't something you get because it's your 'turn.'"
"Only those who fight for it… leave their names behind."
"My kingdom is coming. I don't need death to be reborn."
"My dear… someday, it will be me…"
"GODS."
Shirayuki often imagined a scene:
She and Orfevre on the track, surrounded by doubt and ridicule—
And then, the moment the gate opened, she shattered every voice of disbelief.
Red lights. A sea of corpses. Fate striking keys like a piano.
People singing her name.
The doors of the hall opening.
And her ascending the throne.
You call yourself the God-King…
Whose god? What kingdom?
Now, Shirayuki stood inside the Kyoto Racecourse private box, eyes lowered, looking down.
Below, Orfevre basked in the cheers of tens of thousands.
By comparison, Shirayuki was… small.
Smaller than the world itself.
Yet even if she stood beneath this world—
She held herself above Orfevre.
Hearing that confidence, Rudolf couldn't help thinking again—
So this is what confidence looks like?
Then Shirayuki asked, earnestly—no longer treating it as a daydream:
"What do I have to do… to enter the same race as Orfevre?"
"Uh…" Rudolf thought, stroking her chin. "Probably a G1."
"You just won your debut. You're not qualified for G1s yet."
"To run a G1, you need to win G2s and G3s first—build up fans, build up prize money. That's how the system works…"
"And besides…"
"In your rookie year, it's rare to share a race with the older horses."
"The Triple Crown of the Classics and the fillies' Triple Crown are both restricted to three-year-olds. Unless it's something special—like the Japan Cup, Takarazuka Kinen, or Arima Kinen—if you really want to defeat Orfevre…"
Rudolf looked at her. "You still have a long way to go. Climb, Fuuka Shirayuki."
Shirayuki listened.
But she didn't lose heart.
How to describe it…?
It felt like a game—leveling up, fighting bosses.
If you had to put it simply: Orfevre was the final boss of the "Japan map," and Shirayuki had just stepped out of the tutorial village.
If she wanted to win, she needed to grind levels, collect equipment, stockpile strength—then prepare for the decisive battle.
Interesting.
That was Shirayuki's verdict.
And if that was the case… then she needed to pick her next race as soon as possible.
More than that—
Her targets weren't limited to Orfevre alone.
Even the "Madam" counted.
Someday, she would walk up to that woman and say it—
"Thirty years east of the river, thirty years west of the river!"
A sudden urgency rose inside her.
She had to choose her next race quickly—so that next year, she would have the qualifications to enter a G1.
Watching that fighting spirit flare on Shirayuki's face, Emperor Rudolf felt both amused and exasperated.
So she still meant to keep Orfevre as her goal… even after Rudolf had explained the gap between them?
A reckless little colt.
Yet Rudolf couldn't help admiring that youthful drive.
And still, she couldn't shake the thought:
That goal… was impossible.
Before she could finish her train of thought, Syracuse seemed to have anticipated it.
She simply patted her old friend's shoulder—and pointed at the tall boots Shirayuki was wearing.
Pointed, and said nothing.
"…?" Rudolf looked, puzzled—first at Syracuse, then at Shirayuki's boots.
She'd been thinking: they're just shoes, aren't they?
Do you know how many pairs a racehorse girl wears out in a month? Dozens.
No matter how exquisite the craftsmanship, how dazzling the design—they were just tools for training, for stepping on turf and moving forward.
But—
The instant Rudolf's eyes fell on those boots—
"King of Kings—Boots within boots."
"…?"
"…!!!!"
Rudolf suddenly seized Shirayuki's hands.
"Fuuka Shirayuki—please, you must join Central Tracen Academy!!"
"I support you defeating Orfevre with both hands and both feet!"
"I'll find you the best trainer! The best nutritionist! I'll polish you into perfect condition!"
There was no other reason—
Rudolf recognized it at a glance.
Those were the legendary items blessed by the Three Goddesses.
Even the Three Goddesses had hopes for this girl.
Maybe—
Shirayuki really was the second Cinderella after Oguri Cap, destined to write an underdog legend.
Or maybe—
She truly had a chance to defeat the tyrant of legend: Orfevre.
Either way, once Rudolf saw those boots, she became convinced Shirayuki's future would be bright.
Every racehorse girl ever blessed by the Three Goddesses became a regular winner in G1s.
And more importantly—the "blessing" was normally tied to a race outfit, to the decisive costume.
But Shirayuki didn't even have the qualifications to run a G1 yet.
There was no way she should already have such a thing.
And yet—
The Three Goddesses had still favored her.
Just this detail. Just this one detail—
Rudolf thought—
Ha!
I'm absolutely taking Fuuka Shirayuki into Tracen Academy!
Fuuka Shirayuki—
I'll turn into a werewolf for you if I have to!
-------
My : pat*eon*com/RuneA
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