Chapter 107: Dreaming...

Several days had passed since I arrived at Chantilly’s Tracen Academy. Once I got somewhat used to life here, I realized—surprisingly—it wasn’t all that different from Japan.

There were kids sleeping during class, horse girls stuffing themselves in the cafeteria, and others zipping around on kickboards during pool training. Heck, even Kayf Tara-san used one. Seeing that kind of thing abroad almost moved me. Even in a different country, some things never changed.

Still, there were differences. The biggest one was the attitude toward Winning Live performances. The Chantilly Woods didn’t have an outdoor stage. Practice took place in a cramped indoor studio or a modest rehearsal room.

Coming from the junior division—where we were told over and over, “Those who neglect the Winning Live bring shame upon the academy”—I couldn’t help but think, Huh? Why don’t they care more about the Lives? Don’t they dance for their fans?
A thousand question marks floated through my head.

But after a few exchange student classes, I got it. It was just another cultural difference.

Looking back at horse girl history, running came first—of course it did. Running was instinct. Performing wasn’t. Europe, with its obsession for tradition, naturally prioritized the original art: racing. Everything else came second.

So yeah, no large-scale fan festivals like in Japan. Fan events here felt... underwhelming. Though to be fair, they were often tied to major race weeks—Royal Ascot, the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe. Maybe it wasn’t right to compare.

“……Fuuu.”

I flopped back on my bed, flipping through notes. My new dorm room was spacious enough to jump rope in. The bed was a generous semi-double—no matter how much I tossed and turned, I’d never fall off. I rolled over restlessly, letting out a long sigh.

“Haaah…”

“What’s wrong, desu? Sighing like that?”

“Eh, well… It’s the new environment. So much to take in. You doing okay, El-chan?”

“El has decided not to think too hard about it!!”

“…That’s not okay.”

I sighed again and sat up slowly. Then, poked El-chan in the side, just to make her squeal.

My new roommate, El Condor Pasa, burst into giggles the second I tickled her. Since this was a triple, Guriko or Jara jara-chan would probably move in soon—meaning things were only going to get louder.

“Ah! S-stop the sides! It tickles, desu!”

“Take this! And this!”

“Ahahaha! Ahahahaha!”

Hardly anyone in France spoke Japanese. Right now, the only people I could talk to freely were El-chan and my trainer. That alone made me feel strangely grounded.

Maybe El-chan felt the same. Ever since we ended up in the same class, we’d been glued together—breaks, lunch, even random errands. We naturally fell into sync, closer now than we ever were back in Japan.

We always got along, but the environment must’ve played a role. I could speak English if I had to—but it drained me fast. It made me understand why overseas “Japantown” communities existed at all.

“Got you, Apollo-chan!? Don’t think I’ll stay quiet—take this!”

“Ahh! Not there—that’s bad!”

“Revenge, desu! So this is your weak spot!?”

“W-wait, my ears are really—!”

Now that we were closer, El-chan had no hesitation unleashing her signature wrestling moves. Before I knew it, I was pinned down and tickled relentlessly—sides, neck, even ears. Apparently, she’d never dared to do this to Grass-chan, which meant I was her designated stress toy (…?).

We laughed and wrestled, flailing around the room—until THUD, a dull, ominous sound echoed through the wall. The infamous wall bang. I wiped away tears of laughter and glanced toward the source. The wall was trembling slightly.

“Wow, wall-banging is universal, huh?”

“Scary, desuu~”

“Our arrival in France, celebrated by the people with wall-banging… I’m touched. We must repay kindness with kindness.”

“Pfft… Are you imitating Glass? She’d be so mad if she heard that.”

“Opening spotted—tickle attack~!”

“Ahaha! Hey, Apollo-chan! Not agai—ahahahaha!!”

Still riding the weird energy, we launched into another tickle battle. The louder our laughter got, the harder the wall-banging escalated—until it became full-on slamming.

Then, silence.

We froze.

Footsteps followed—heavy, slow, deliberate. So loud they almost sounded like a giant’s. And they were headed straight for our door.

“Ah… This is bad, desu.”

Too late.

The door burst open like it had been kicked off its hinges. A chestnut horse girl in loungewear stepped in, casual as ever—Kayf Tara.

Her golden eyes, almost never angry, flicked to El-chan, then to me. She scratched her head roughly, her tail flicking behind her like a whip. And then she sighed. Long and heavy.

“…You again.”

“K-Kayf Tara-san… You were next door?”

“Yeah.”

“S-sorry. We got carried away.”

“Clearly.”

“Uh, I’ll treat you to parfait next time, so forgive us?”

“Shut up. Go to sleep. Don’t make noise again.”

“Y-yes, ma’am…”

“We’re sorry, desu…”

“…Hmph.”

Kayf Tara-san hastily fixed the door she’d kicked down before leaving our room. But as she did, I swear her eyes said, Follow me. Bracing for a scolding, I hunched my shoulders and trailed after her.

She waited by the window, completely different from before—calm, even. Her voice, when she spoke, was quiet.

“You… I heard your next race is the Yorkshire Cup.”

“Ah, yes…”

“You free now? If you are, I’ll personally teach you how to handle York Racecourse.”

“……!?”

Her words stunned me. After all her cold dismissals, this sudden offer made no sense. She’d mocked me in Dubai, and things hadn’t exactly improved after that.

“…What’s your goal?”

“Do I need a goal?”

“Huh?”

“Well… I guess it’s fair. Given my past behavior, this does seem suspicious. But if I said people talked some sense into me and I’ve slightly changed my mind… would you believe me?”

She mumbled it more to herself than to me, like she was still figuring it out. A part of me wanted to believe she’d finally reflected—but the sudden shift was too abrupt. Her eyes still held something I couldn’t read.

Still… if she’s offering help, I should at least listen.

“Heh… Well, come on.”

She led me out of the dorm, through the Chantilly Woods. I followed half a step behind, matching her pace as the dim forest closed in. The academy sat deep in the woods—so deep, it felt more like wild animal territory than school grounds. What if a wolf showed up? I tensed, but Kayf Tara-san pressed forward until we reached a small clearing.

There, hidden in the trees, was a makeshift track. Long grass. Uneven terrain. Vines twisting across the edges. It was nothing like the tidy, preened courses back in Japan. But something about it reminded me of Epsom—the world’s most brutal track.

Kayf Tara-san, clearly familiar with the place, sat on a fallen log. The leaves rustled overhead as she jerked her chin toward the empty space beside her.

“Sit.”

Her expression was oddly serene.

“Nice spot, huh?”

“Seems a little… unsafe.”

“Every racecourse is dangerous at its core.”

She was completely different now. For the first time, it felt like we might actually talk. When I looked at her face, she narrowed her eyes—almost fondly. Her golden pupils, catching the moonlight, were striking.

After a quiet moment, she started her lecture—breaking down York Racecourse detail by detail.

“York is relatively easy for Japanese horse girls. But relatively is the key word. Compared to Japan, the ground’s rougher. No two turns are the same.”

European racecourses are carved from the land itself, shaped by centuries of terrain and tradition. Nothing artificial. That means steep elevation changes, unpredictable curves. As Kayf Tara said, York’s known for being less punishing, but it’s still not “easy.”

Two wide curves—one large, one smaller. Mostly flat, except for a subtle uphill stretch at the end. It’s also wide, which gives runners room—but if you get marked, that space doesn’t matter.

“Two pieces of advice. First, switch to European horseshoes if you haven’t already. Second—run exactly as you always do. That’s it.”

“I’m testing different shoes now… I’ll decide after tomorrow’s training.”

“Good. Keep that up and you’ll win without trouble—unless you’re racing me.”

“…………”

“What’s with that look? Got something to say?”

The difference in turf speaks for itself, but adjusting your stride also means adjusting your shoes. Japanese shoes are thinner, built for firm ground and short grass. European shoes are thicker—more grip, more resistance, better suited for soft earth and long blades.

Of course, they’re all metal. Shaved down to the limit of regulation weight. The difference might only be millimeters—or less. Still, that gap trips up some horse girls. Others (like me) adapt fine. We’re sensitive creatures.

Kayf Tara-san smiled faintly, stepping onto the uneven course. Curfew was closing in, but her expression stopped me from mentioning it. My feet followed her gaze toward the track.

Then, out of nowhere, she asked:

"Do you have someone important to you?"

The unexpected question leaves me at a loss for words. She gives me a wry smile and continues.

"What, you don’t? Or are you dodging the question?"

"What do you mean?"

"You’re still playing dumb? Everyone at Tracen knows~ you’re head over heels for the Trainer!"

"Wha—wh-wh-wh-wha——……!!?"

"El Condor Pasa was blabbing about it a few days ago. Well, honestly, anyone who knows you already figured it out."

“EL… EL CONDOR PASA……!!”

That little traitor—I’m strangling her the moment we get back. My face burned as I fanned my cheeks.

“W-we’re not like that! Wh-what about you, Kayf Tara-san? Why ask?”

“I do. She’s still young, but… I have a little sister. Precious to me.”

“Oh, a sister?!”

I’d heard the rumors. If I remembered right, her older sister was Opera House, and her younger one was Zee Zee Top. On the track, Opera House was famous as the sire of T.M. Opera O. In her career, she’d won three straight G1s: Coronation Cup, Eclipse Stakes, and King George VI & Queen Elizabeth Stakes—beating legends like Commander in Chief, White Muzzle, and User Friendly.

Zee Zee Top had also clinched a G1—the Prix de l'Opéra.

The little sister she meant must’ve been Zee Zee Top. I hadn’t met her—or Opera House—since arriving. But it was obvious how deeply she cared.

I love my parents too, but I’ve always been an only child. I’ve never known sibling bonds. A pang of envy struck me as Kayf Tara spoke of hers.

"...You probably think my sudden change in attitude is weird. Well… let’s just say a few things happened. For one, my sister recently scolded me for 'being too rude.'"

"That’s absolutely true!"

"Hah? Watch your—ahem. Anyway, I’m trying to behave now. Lemos also chewed me out yesterday… and you don’t argue with her."

"Ah… Yeah, that tracks."

"But it’s not just Lemos. I’ve been… reflecting. I’ve found a dream worth fighting for again. I’m not the same Kayf Tara I used to be."

"……!"

"Or maybe it’s more accurate to say… I remembered my dream."

Dream. The word hit me like a physical blow. My knees nearly gave out.

My heart still wandered in darkness, unresolved frustrations festering beneath daily distractions.

While I’d been drifting, Kayf Tara had moved forward. She’d faced her demons, reclaimed the stability she’d lost—emerging renewed, like she’d shed an old skin. Her growth, both mental and physical, was undeniable. It felt like Kayf Tara’s prime was only just beginning—

Feeling her presence up close, I understood how far she’d come. The incident with Angely-chan a few days ago showed she wasn’t perfectly composed yet, but the gap between us—clear and widening—was impossible to ignore.

"Sorry for rambling, but there’s one thing I want to ask. Listen closely."

"Y-yes… What is it?"

"I’m asking you because you’re from Japan. Be honest—do you think Europe’s staying division has a bright future?"

"————……"

"…Don’t hold back. Just say it."

"W-well... that's..."

"That is?"

"——I... don't know."

"...I see. Thank you."

She lowered her gaze—then suddenly cupped my face, forcing our eyes to meet.

"I don’t believe Europe has a bright future. The staying division’s decline is obvious. But are we stayers just castoffs? Horses who couldn’t cut it in the Classics or jumps? A bunch of half-baked runners who can’t handle extremes? ...Hell no. We chose this. We run long-distance flat races with pride. We’re not some second-rate leftover from the golden age. Our spirit’s not dead yet. There’s still a chance for revival."

Her grip tightened.

"'I don’t know'—that’s not the answer I’d expect from you. What’s holding you back?"

Her golden eyes blazed.

Her words hit just as hard as before—but now they carried something more. Purpose. She wasn’t the same. That wild spark she always had—now it had direction.

Her conviction only threw my own weakness into sharp relief.

"We’ll end it here—the cycle of decline, the fading popularity. We’ll create hope. I thought you believed that too."

I’d assumed she’d merely shed a layer. But she’d shed layers. Now, she radiated a golden brilliance. The noble spirit she always had—it was visible now, manifesting as raw, overwhelming presence.

The night deepened. And the part of me that once thought I could save her—that part had withered into dust. I was the one left struggling to breathe.

Back during the Dubai Gold Cup, her heart had been lost. And even then, her strength was terrifying. But now—with clarity restored—her power was absolute.

What about me?

I couldn’t even see the core of my dream anymore.

Clutching my chest, I let out a low, broken question:

"How... How can you still see your dream?"

Kayf Tara exhaled, brow furrowing. She scratched her cheek, eyes darting sideways—then spoke.

"...Because of you."

"Huh?"

"I envied you. Racing in the St. Leger, pleasing Double Trigger. I hated the gap between Europe’s stagnation and Japan’s fire. When I snapped at you in Dubai... it was just petty frustration."

"...But I..."

"Your running showed me a dream. I get it now—your state. You pushed too hard. Lost your way."

Under the pale crescent moon, she pulled me into a rough embrace. Through her sleepwear, her skin was warm. Suddenly, heat pooled behind my eyes. My vision blurred, my throat caught—and I broke down, sobbing into her shoulder.

I pressed my forehead against her. I couldn’t stop. I was lost. Left behind. And everything I couldn’t name spilled out as tears.

The woman I’d once seen as brash stroked my hair with careful hands.

Is this how she comforts her little sister too? The thought floated up, distant and dull.

The night deepened further. And her heart grew again, expanding into something vast—breathtaking.

Unknown Territory Zone.

It was Doncaster Racecourse—rising from the void. The oldest classic, reborn. A dazzling parade. Petals in the air. Thunderous cheers. A heartbeat of revival.

It looked like a symbol of the staying division’s return.

"Apollo Rainbow. I’ll make you remember your dream—through my running. Just like you once did for me..."

Wrapped in her warmth, I slowly closed my eyes.

The world dissolved into darkness.
The monstrous cherry tree vanished into the blizzard—