Rampage tears down the training course, drawing countless eyes. Her fame's part of it, but she's sprinting up a dirt slope—a brutal regimen—multiple times, masked. The intensity isn't normal.
"What's that… climbing slopes at that speed with a mask!?" a voice gasps.
"Her training videos online… they're real?" another mutters.
At Tressen, Bourbon's harsher regimen overshadows Rampage's. Shinzan iron news stirred buzz, but nothing like this. The raw awe feels fresh.
"She'll burn out before the race!" someone warns.
"It's fine. She says it's easier than mountain climbing," Sue-chan replies, unshaken.
Most Uma Musume would collapse, but Sue-chan, who's seen Rampage's Tressen grind, knows this is nothing.
"Dubai's hot… Japan's still chilly now," Rampage says.
"28 degrees—July in Japan. You're thriving, Ran-chan," Sue-chan notes.
"No sweat," Rampage grins.
In her Hitosoul days, no AC or fans, just relentless work. This heat's nothing. But Sue-chan, older and less heat-tolerant, might struggle.
"I'm fine, got salt caramels. Not that old," Sue-chan teases.
"My bad, madam," Rampage laughs. "So, Sue-chan, we good?"
Sue-chan sighs. Nearly a week in Dubai, and Rampage hasn't used Shinzan iron. With March here and the race three weeks away, she's antsy. Finally, permission granted, she claps her fists.
"Acclimated to Dubai's climate, time to ramp up. So eager for Shinzan iron, Ran-chan? Love it that much?" Sue-chan asks.
"Not love, just… used to it. Feels off without it. Shinzan's light iron makes sense now," Rampage says.
It's not preference—it's ingrained. The weight breeds confidence, defining her run. Race-day lightness is fleeting; heavy feels right. She swaps her horseshoes for Shinzan iron.
"What to do with these?" Eric asks, holding her old shoes.
"Giveaway on my stream—'Dubai-used horseshoes,'" Rampage says.
"How to enter?" Eric asks, grabbing a notepad.
"Want in, Eri-chan?" Rampage teases, recalling old TV giveaways.
As she swaps shoes, a shadow cools her. An Uma Musume stares. Rampage stops Eric from intervening.
"Didn't expect Japan's Tyrant here, not Tressen. Or was it inevitable, given your skill?" the Uma Musume says, her chestnut hair braided, eyes gleaming.
"Everyone's calling me Tyrant. New coat time?" Rampage quips.
"My apologies. I'm Irene, a Dubai World Cup racer. Got excited meeting the famed Mejiro Rampage. Those heavy Japanese horseshoes?" Irene asks, bowing dramatically.
"Yup. Just for that?" Rampage replies.
"Your care with them—heavy ones at that—caught my eye," Irene says, her detective-like tone evoking Columbo.
"Wanna run? Slope, though," Rampage offers.
"An honor," Irene begins, but—
"Found you!" a loud voice interrupts.
A fierce Uma Musume charges, grinning predatorily. Her crop top and hot pants scream untamed. Rampage senses a kindred spirit.
"Yo, you're the Japanese Tyrant, Rampage, right?" she bellows.
"Guess Tyrant's my name now. That's me. You?" Rampage asks.
"Listen up—Stahl Armekoa, just landed in Dubai to end your undefeated streak!" she roars.
Her bold, brash vibe reminds Rampage of Japan's dirt racers. A friend in the making.
"Stahl Armekoa, huh? Show me a run worth remembering. Join us?" Rampage challenges.
"Hell yeah, perfect invite. Ready to lose, Tyrant?" Stahl taunts.
"Dream on. Irene, cool?" Rampage asks.
"Of course. Though, Stahl, your loudness betrays doubt," Irene jabs.
"What!? Wanna fight!?" Stahl growls, baring teeth at Irene.
"Chill, no brawling," Rampage snaps.
Stahl's beastly snarl outdoes Air Shakal's wildness.
"Stahl, you just got here. Trainer's cool with running?" Rampage asks.
"Pfft, I'm stiff from sitting. Need to loosen up. And drop the '-san,' call me Al," Stahl says.
"Got it, Al," Rampage nods.
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