In the athlete's tunnel, Dream Weaver shifted uncomfortably, adjusting her right shoulder. Her racing outfit was nearly identical to the one from the last scripted world—except for this eye-catching red single-shoulder cape that flowed like a battle standard.
This outfit had been put together by the self-appointed designer, Kobayashi Kazé. After hearing Dream Weaver's initial concept, she took the liberty of adding that bold red single-shoulder cape.
As she later explained:
"Dream, when you run, that red ribbon in your ponytail really catches the eye, right? So why not go all out with a single-shoulder cape? Doesn't it make you look even more awesome?"
To which the Gold family's resident oddball had this to say:
"They say red triples your speed! From now on, you can be the Red Comet—I'm going to be the White Demon!"
Faced with those two going off on their own tangents, Dream Weaver could only smile wryly.
But she didn't remove the cape. Gold Ship was one thing, but Kobayashi Kazé had a point—if she could make a more striking impression on the track, maybe the audience would respond even more.
With that in mind, she adjusted the tiara accessory pinned to her bangs.
T.M. Opera O's confidence had a way of touching the crowd; she hoped this little token of hers might carry some of that same magic.
Just then, her horse ears twitched—her name drifted in from the entrance of the tunnel.
"Number Eighteen, Dream Weaver! A local Uma Musume we haven't seen since the Kyodo Tsushin Hai—hoping she can show us what she's made of here on the central stage."
Leaning against the wall of the tunnel, Dream Weaver turned her gaze toward the track bathed in daylight. A brilliant, almost blinding curtain of light fell across the entrance. Without hesitation, she stepped forward into that light, the red cape fluttering behind her like a war banner.
The hot air of the racecourse simmered with the scent of grass and turf. The roar of tens of thousands of spectators gathered at Tokyo Racecourse surged like a blazing tide. Unlike any race before, just setting foot on this track, Dream Weaver could feel the scorching intensity of the competition.
This was the big leagues—this was the Satsuki Shō. A stage where Uma Musume dreams were forged in fire.
But Dream Weaver knew—this heat wasn't just because of the race. It was because of the figure standing ahead.
She narrowed her eyes slightly. Back turned to her, that figure shone brilliantly under the sun. Her golden hair and ornaments seemed to merge into one radiant glow, dazzling everyone who saw her—just like her namesake.
Orfevre. The hope who could shatter the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe curse. The queen who ruled over her generation. The one true sun blazing over this track—and also—
Her Rival.
The moment she realized she'd be racing against a Uma Musume like this, Dream Weaver's gaze sharpened instinctively. A sound like unsheathing swords echoed in the hearts of every competitor. Under the sunlight, her dark, abyssal eyes seemed to swallow all light as she fixed them firmly on Orfevre.
At that moment, Orfevre—who'd been waving to the crowd—suddenly stilled, sensing the sharp, needle-like attention at her back. A faint, intrigued smile touched her lips as she turned to meet Dream Weaver's gaze.
While other Uma Musume instinctively shied away from those blade-sharp eyes, Orfevre showed no such reaction. Not only that—she began walking, calm and deliberate, toward Dream Weaver.
Back in the Kyodo Tsushin Hai, the central Tracen Academy Uma Musume had instinctively wanted to flee from the dangerous aura Dream Weaver gave off.
Even now, though they weren't yet on the track, that presence was unmistakable.
But Orfevre didn't show the slightest hint of avoidance. Instead, with an expression of keen interest, she walked toward Dream Weaver, step by unhurried step.
"You're not backing away… Instead, you choose to approach me?"
Dream Weaver narrowed her eyes slightly, speaking to the figure now standing before her—a presence so grand it seemed to swallow even the sunlight.
"There exists no Uma Musume in this world whom I must avoid!"
Orfevre lifted her chin proudly, her voice brimming with arrogance.
"I remember you. Dream Weaver, wasn't it?"
"You won the Kyodo Tsushin Hai. That's why you've earned the right to stand here—to witness my glory at the Satsuki Shō."
As she spoke, she looked Dream Weaver up and down, bestowing praise like a monarch admiring a subject.
"To fight your way from the local circuits all the way to the Satsuki Shō… and to carry such presence."
"You… you're not bad."
"Praising your rival before the race? What—are you planning to hand me the Satsuki Shō victory?"
Faced with Orfevre's condescending tone, Dream Weaver didn't hold back. She met those gem-like eyes with a piercing glare.
A faint, blade-like sting seemed to brush Orfevre's face, but she didn't flinch or turn away. Instead, she laughed—loud and bold.
"Hahahahaha!"
"Rival? What a fine joke. I like you!"
Before the words had fully faded, she leaned in, pressing her forehead against Dream Weaver's. Her form loomed like a mountain, casting Dream Weaver completely into shadow.
A pressure similar to T.M. Opera O's, yet far more domineering, wild and unrestrained, pressed down on Dream Weaver from shoulder to foot. She even felt as if the grass beneath her was sinking.
Orfevre's voice, filled with imperial arrogance and ice, whispered close to Dream Weaver's ear:
"But don't misunderstand."
"I have no rivals. Not in this Satsuki Shō, not in any race to come."
"Every Uma Musume here is nothing more than a stepping stone to enhance my glory!"
Slowly, Orfevre straightened up, looking down at Dream Weaver with those cold, jewel-like eyes. Her tone was hard as steel.
"Watch my back closely—then become part of my legacy—"
"Country girl."
With that, she didn't even bother to check Dream Weaver's reaction. Surely, it would be the same as all the others—cowed by her majesty, left without any will to fight back.
As a fellow Uma Musume, the pressure Orfevre exerted was far beyond what others could muster. It was rare to find anyone—even among those with courage like Tagami Kan—who could stand firm, let alone retaliate.
Just as Orfevre began to feel a hint of boredom, a voice came from behind her—
"Then we'll settle this on the track. Don't tell me a self-proclaimed queen is all talk."
There wasn't a trace of fear in that voice. If anything, it was sharper than before—unbroken and ready.
Before she could turn around, the announcer's voice echoed across Tokyo Racecourse:
"All Uma Musume, to your positions!"
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T/N: Oh nah why is Orfevre aura farming too
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T/N: While I am an inexperienced Translator, I have a Patreon! While it may seem empty as of now, webnovel will get 3 Chapters Every Day, and advanced chapters will be uploaded on Patreon.
It may not seem worth it now, but maybe in the future. Who knows!
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