Over the course of a few days...
"Wow! Incredible! Ms. Milton has won all three Speed Race challenges with the prowess of a true champion! What a race!"
*
"Wow!! Magnificent! Ms. Milton has just claimed victory in the Hurdle Race! Ladies and gentlemen, Ms. Milton is taking this year's derby by storm! She declared she would win—and she's living up to every word. What an incredible performance!"
*
"Another stunning win! Ms. Milton has once again triumphed—this time in the Obstacle Race! Ladies and gentlemen, this is shaping up to be one of the most thrilling derby seasons ever! Ms. Milton has proven herself a prodigious champion—just like her father. No... even better than her father!"
"Now, only one race remains to seal her legacy: the almighty Marathon. The ultimate test of endurance, strategy, and heart. Will she cross the finish line and defeat the reigning regional champion—the mighty, vicious Bulldog—and claim the crown?"
"The world is watching. The tension is electric. And everyone is counting down to the final showdown!"
.....
Cameras flashed as reporters swarmed around Patricia, flooding the path between the arena and the stables.
A golden medal gleamed around her neck, and a wreath of flowers hung proudly on Windrush—her black-and-grey stallion, the same one she'd ridden to victory in the Obstacle Race.
"Ms. Milton! Ms. Milton! Over here!"
"Ms. Milton, can we get your comments on the race?"
"Ms. Milton! Ms. Milton!"
Patricia exhaled, her breath steady despite the chaos. The reporters buzzed around her like a swarm of flies, their flashing cameras blinding her and making Windrush uneasy.
As always, Jethro stepped in—cutting through the crowd with practiced ease, drawing their attention.
"Alright, alright, people! Let's settle down! Give my pretty doll some room, okay? One at a time, yeah?" he called out, raising his hands.
"Ms. Milton!" one reporter shouted.
"You've won every race at the derby so far—and you've shattered your father's long-standing records! How do you feel about that?"
Patricia took a deep breath as the cameras turned toward her.
"Honestly? I feel grateful. Grateful to know I'm living up to my father's expectations. He believed in my potential. He trained me not to become like him—but to become better. I meant what I said: I'm going to keep his legacy alive on this track... and make it even greater. That's a promise. And I won't stop until I become the best."
"Ms. Milton!" another voice rang out.
"How do you feel about the upcoming Marathon? Do you think you can beat the Bulldog and claim the title of Second World Champion? You know he's the reigning champ. Can you take him down and reclaim that title in your father's honor?"
Patricia paused, considering the question. She sighed, then turned to face the cameras.
"To tell you the truth... I never thought I'd make it this far. I thought I was here just to carry my father's legacy—to be a symbol. But now I see this journey is more than legacy. It's about making history. And I'm no longer afraid of what lies ahead. Whether it's defeat or victory... I'm ready."
"So even if you lose, will you keep competing for the title until you win?" another reporter asked.
Patricia leaned in toward the cameras, her voice low and steady.
"Mmm... I can't say for sure. But I'll say this—"
"Gold only loves to shine in the dark. That way, you won't notice the stone and dirt that mar it—making it look impure, degrading its value. It only loves the light when it's free of deformities that question its worth. So if you know you don't carry such... ugly necessities, then step into the light. Face me. And let's see who truly deserves to be crowned the most beautiful jewel of the derby."
She smiled.
"Don't worry—I'm not afraid of a little fight. Bring it. Because it won't stop my resolve. After all..."
"It started with a race. And it will end with a race."
With that, she urged Windrush into a sprint, galloping away from the stunned and speechless reporters—straight toward the stables.
The poetic speech felt innocent. Like a little competitive challenge. Or was it?
"Why do I feel like that... wasn't meant for the Bulldog?" a reporter murmured.
A few others began to murmur in agreement, exchanging uncertain glances.
Jethro stood frozen, stunned by Patricia's speech. His expression darkened into a scowl.
'What the hell did you just say, Patty?
I really hope that wasn't aimed at you-know-who... because if it was, I can't guarantee what'll happen next. And I won't be able to protect you from it.'
He quickly cleared his throat, stepping forward to regain control of the moment.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the press, please—don't be confused by Ms. Milton's words. She's clearly fired up and ready for the Marathon. She's been challenging the Bulldog from the start, and that's exactly who she was addressing."
He forced a smile.
"I can assure you—we're looking at our next Second World Champion. I'm sure everyone here agrees with me, right? Right? Well..."
His voice began to fade into the background as he shifted gears, trying to redirect the press's attention toward his own campaign to become the next Derby Mayor of the region.
.......
At the Stables
"Wow! Sis, you were really awesome out there! I guess Dad knew what he was doing after all! In such a short time, you've gained massive popularity—and now you're about to be crowned the new Second World Champion. This is amazing!" exclaimed Zach, as he and Alisha circled around Patricia while she fed Windrush some snacks.
"Thank you, Zach. I guess it was meant to be after all. I just didn't think I'd be in the winner's circle so soon. I mean... this is my first derby season, and I'm already on the road to becoming the Second World Champion derby racer. Who would've thought?" said Patricia.
"Oh, Patricia, why wouldn't you be on the high road? You shattered every one of Dad's records—records that even these fools couldn't break for years. It's obvious you're meant for the championship... and the golden throne," said Alisha.
"You deserve everything you're getting right now. So don't think otherwise."
"Thanks, little sis," Patricia replied with a soft exhale.
"Honestly, I didn't think I'd make it this far. But I guess there's more to me than I realized. And Dad saw that. Even Mr. Saccoth did."
Zach and Alisha nodded in agreement, humming thoughtfully.
A quiet moment passed between them.
"So... what's the plan now?" Zach asked.
"Do you think you can beat the Bulldog and claim the title of Second World Champion?"
"Of course I'll win, Zach. But this is going to be the toughest race yet. And I know the Bulldog—he'll definitely pull some theatrics to try and stop me. But don't worry. I'm prepared for anything. Even if I lose, I won't give up until I leave him in the dust of my victory."
"How many tries do you get?" Alisha asked.
"Three. If I place in the top three but don't win, I can request a rematch—up to three times. If I fail to win within those tries, I'll have to wait until next season to challenge him again."
She lowered her voice.
"But I have a feeling... we won't have that much time."
Before either sibling could respond, a new voice echoed through the stable—deep, smooth, and sultry.
"Don't worry. If luck's on your side, you won't need a rematch. You'll win the race."
All heads turned toward the newcomer.
A young man, likely in his early twenties, stepped into view. He had tousled brown-blonde hair, warm brown eyes, a flat nose, plush lips, and a lean, medium build.
He wore a black jacket—no shirt underneath—revealing a glimpse of his toned torso. Black slacks and polished shoes completed the look.
He approached the trio with slow, deliberate steps, a tiny smirk playing on his lips.
"Steven..." Patricia murmured.
"What a... surprise. I didn't know you'd be at the derby. What brings you here?"
"Well... the usual," Steven replied smoothly.
"Just so you know, I'm a fan of horse derby racing too. My father was once a racer, remember? I guess I developed a little attachment to the sport. I come here every year—for the thrill."
He smiled.
"By the way, congratulations on your extraordinary wins. I'm genuinely impressed. You've proven yourself a true champion prodigy—just like your father. Maybe even more. I hope you take the title and knock the Bulldog off his throne."
Patricia sighed.
"Ah... thank you, Steven."
"No need to thank me. But this definitely calls for a celebration," he said.
"A celebration?" Patricia echoed.
"Yes. I'm hosting a party tonight for the derby racers. I'd be thrilled if you came. A lot of racers and fans are eager to meet you—our very own derby princess. It'll be a great chance to mix and mingle with your competitors. Who knows? You might even make a few friends."
"A party? Well... I don't know..." Patricia hesitated.
"Oh, come on, Patricia," Steven pleaded.
"You have to come. My party won't be the same without you. You'll be the guest of honor, and I promise you'll have a great time. You need this—something to help you loosen up before the big race. Just a little fun. What do you say?"
Patricia considered for a moment, then nodded.
"Okay. I guess a little fun won't hurt."
Steven's smile brightened.
"Thank you, Patricia. Thank you so much. I'll make sure you don't regret it. You're going to have a wonderful time."
Patricia smiled back.
"It's okay. I'll be there."
"Perfect. I can't wait to see you. Well then—goodbye for now. I'll see you tonight," Steven said.
"Mmm... bye. See you tonight," Patricia replied.
Steven nodded, then turned away—his smile fading into a dark smirk as he walked out of the stables.
"Who is that guy?" Zach asked, watching him go.
"Oh... his name's Steven. Steven Wilby. He's Governor Wilby's son," Patricia replied.
"You mean the Supreme Governor of Felicia? One of the most powerful governors in Luz? The one who owns the scroll with Queen Adriana Wiltshire's portrait?" Alisha asked, wide-eyed.
"Yes... that's him," Patricia confirmed.
"Wow... how did you get entangled with such powerful people? I guess Montenegra's network really is massive. This definitely raises the stakes," Alisha said.
"I don't like him..." Zach muttered.
The girls turned to him.
"He gives off this strange vibe... like something that chills your skin. I don't like him. Not one bit."
"Me neither," Patricia agreed.
"There's something about him that feels... off. And oddly familiar. I just can't put my finger on it."
She sighed.
"Anyway, let's head back to the hotel before those vultures start circling for interviews. Come on."
The trio left the stables and made their way back to the hotel.
.....
Later That Night
Zach and Alisha lay sprawled across the bed, watching a replay of the day's Obstacle Race on the television.
"Do you think Patricia's having fun at the party?" Zach asked.
"I don't know. But I hope she is," Alisha replied.
"She really deserves a break after all the hard work she's put into the races. I'm sure this party will do her some good."
"Yeah. And maybe next time, we'll throw a party to celebrate her victory—when she's crowned the new Second World Champion Derby Racer. I'll be in charge of the fun activities. People will dance till they drop!" Zach declared proudly.
Alisha snorted.
"You? In charge of fun? Oh, please. I'd rather watch the Barry and Darry Show on loop than be at that party. Last I checked, you and fun don't exactly mix."
"That's what you think—because you've never bothered to attend any of my parties. Except Patricia. She always shows up. She'll back me up and prove you wrong when she gets back from the party." Zach crossed his arms defiantly.
A new voice cut through the room.
"Party? What party?"
"Aaaah!" Zach yelped, nearly falling off the bed.
Both Alisha and Zach jumped at the sound of a new voice and turned to see Isaac standing in the room, dressed in a black cap, black shirt, jeans, and sneakers.
"Jeez, Isaac! Don't you know how to knock? You scared the crap out of us. Sheesh," Zach grumbled.
"My apologies," Isaac said calmly.
"I can't use the door—I try to avoid being seen around here. It could put you all in danger."
He stepped further into the room.
"But anyway... you mentioned a party. What party? Where's Patricia?"
"Aaah... I thought you were updated on every move my sister makes," Alisha teased.
"Kinda surprising you don't know where she is. Some secret agent you are."
Isaac's jaw tightened at the jab. He shook his head and sighed.
"I was on a mission. I didn't have time to check in after she won the race. So—who invited her to this party?"
"Governor Wilby's son," Alisha replied.
"He's throwing a party at his manor, just a couple miles from here. He invited Patricia as the main guest. Said a lot of derby racers and fans would be there to meet her."
Isaac arched an eyebrow.
"Governor Wilby's son?"
"Yeah. Some dude named Steven. Pssst... Steven. The name doesn't even suit him," Zach scoffed.
"What do you mean?" Isaac asked.
"I mean, the guy's got this cocky fashion sense. Tousled brown-blonde hair, a flashy suit jacket and slacks that looked like weapons of seduction, and this smug aura. I mean... Steven? Come on. Maybe if he were named Stevey, that'd suit him better."
Isaac's eyes widened.
"What did you just call him?"
"What? Stevey? It suits him better," Zach replied, confused.
Isaac's blood ran cold.
Without another word, he grabbed his phone and dialed.
"Send me the footage from the stables today. Now."
Moments later, a message popped up on his screen.
He opened it immediately, fast-forwarding to the moment the man arrived to invite Patricia to the party.
The man's back was to the camera—until he turned to leave.
Isaac froze the frame.
It was unmistakable.
One of his archenemies.
His most wanted.
Poison Ivy.
And he was wearing that smirk.
The cold, wicked one he always wore before doing something terrible.
And now... he was with his Sweeches.
His Patricia.
"No... no... no! Shit! Fuck!!" Isaac cursed, bolting from the room and leaping out the window—leaving Zach and Alisha stunned.
The two turned to each other.
"What the hell was that?" Zach asked.
"I don't know," Alisha replied with a shrug.
.....
Meanwhile
"Hello. This is Patricia. I'm unavailable right now, but please kindly leave a message after the beep."
Beep.
The recorded message echoed through the car as Isaac tore through the streets like a man possessed.
"Come on, Sweeches—pick up! Pick up, please!" he shouted, swerving past a car that blared its horn in protest.
"Hello. This is Patricia..."
The same mechanical voice played again.
"Urrgh!! Damn it!" he cursed, slamming his fist against the steering wheel.
He quickly dialed another number.
"Hello?" a voice answered on the other end.
"Poison Ivy has Patricia! I need your help—now! I'm already en route to Governor Wilby's manor in Costa Rica. The damn snake is his son!" Isaac roared.
"What?! Isaac, don't you dare do anything reckless! You need to calm down before you do something crazy!" Davis replied, alarmed.
"Just get a team and follow me, Davis—damn it! But I swear, if he's done anything to my Sweeches, all hell is going to break loose. I swear it! If he wants a fight, I'll bring it to him. Full force. No matter what!" Isaac shouted before cutting the call and slamming his foot on the accelerator.
"Please, Sweeches... be okay. I'm begging you..." he whispered, as silent tears streamed down his face and the car raced into the night.