Chapter 92: I Will Save You. So Let’s Cross the Sea Together.

——In the darkness, something glitters. A golden light, shimmering like a shooting star, is drawn forward, swallowed by the void ahead. Far in the distance, a radiant sphere of light—bright as the sun—hangs in silence.

This is an incomprehensible space, where neither up nor down exists. It feels familiar, like déjà vu, yet I have no memory of ever seeing it before. In this half-asleep haze, I stand there.

No—I don’t even know if I’m standing or floating. I can’t even look down at my own body. In an instant, I realize: this is a dream. The flimsiest of reasons—I’ve never been able to see my own body in a dream before—but it’s enough.

Dreams don’t obey my will. My thoughts are sluggish. Stupefied in the dark, I stand there dumbly. And then, inevitably, I begin walking—for no reason at all. Even knowing it’s a dream, I’m still trapped within its rules. I must be following some predetermined path.

Just like us horse girls, who seem to act freely yet can never defy the world’s absolute order.

I used to think that for someone like Apollo Rainbow, fate didn’t exist. But as I move through this strange space, I realize: an unimaginably cruel destiny lies ahead.

My dream is to leap onto the world stage and prove myself as the strongest stayer. A vague, overly grand dream—but one I refuse to abandon.

And I know the distortions hidden within it. I know the soil of this dream has long since withered. I know realizing the truth will break something. Ignoring reality, delaying the inevitable ruin—even that is part of my predetermined fate.

When I wake, I’ll forget everything. As always, the airheaded Apollo Rainbow will resurface.

A straightforward, hardworking, foolish girl. A horse girl who pretends not to notice the emptiness of her dream and keeps running. The uncertainty lurking within it hasn’t fully shattered me yet—but someday, at the worst possible moment, I will realize it.

——As I walk through the void, I stop at the sound of a voice.

A scream. Someone is crying, right beside me.

"...You—"

In the darkness, she weeps.

A small horse girl. Her face is hidden.

Curled up, turned away, crying softly.

Her voice is tinged with resignation.

—It’s pointless.
Your tiny dream can’t change the world.

I recognize her. I know her name. Her preferred distances, her running style, her origins—everything. Our fates are intertwined.

A genius who should have dazzled the world with her talent. But fate’s cruel joke locked her dreams away. No one was at fault—just bad luck—and now her world is chained in darkness. Just like this void.

...I see. So this is her domain. I thought it was the space where factors are inherited, but...

Dreams can’t grow in barren soil.
Some things are better left unknown.
Compromise.

A Zone reflects one’s inner world. The glittering lights and radiant sphere vanish without a trace, and her form dissolves into the dark.

Cold despair, a future without hope. Her Zone is pure darkness. To think someone’s heart could be so consumed—how much suffering did it take to warp her like this? The depth of her despair is unfathomable.

Don’t come any closer.
I don’t want to disappoint you.

The small horse girl turns away, stepping deeper into the dark. Pushing me aside, fading away.

But just before she disappears—a trembling whisper escapes.

...Help me.

Her small back quivers. In the blink of an eye, she grows from a child into a girl—but her silhouette remains unbearably lonely.

Even as a young woman, she keeps crying. Tears flow endlessly, her sobs echoing through the void.

Help me... Apollo Rainbow...

...Her name is Kaifutara. Europe’s strongest active stayer—and the one drowning in the deepest darkness.

I have to save her. No reason. Or maybe there is. Because... she reminds me of myself. We’re two sides of the same coin. That’s why I must save her. Because someone told me to? Because I decided to?

And I know best how to save her. By being unshakably, unflinchingly Apollo Rainbow. Otherwise, both of us will vanish into the dark. I can’t break. Not me. Because she already has.

This might just be my selfish arrogance—but if saving her leads me to my dream, then I have to reach out.

With unwavering courage, I extend my hand. I can’t see my own face, but I know I must be smiling gently.

"It’s okay. You’ve suffered so much, haven’t you?"

...Yeah. It hurt.
Even now, it still hurts...

"Don’t worry. Look—turn this way—"

I summon all my strength to pull her from the darkness. She resists, clinging to the void. But I won’t give up. If I break now, she’ll be alone forever—

Suddenly, the darkness surges. No—I can’t save her. Even in a dream, I’m powerless—! The shadows swallow her again. Helpless, I gasp.

"I will save you! So wait for me—Kaif tara!!"

...Just hearing that... makes me happier than words can say.

A phantom of the dream. An illusion I’ll forget upon waking. I don’t even know if these are her true feelings.

But I swear it anyway, watching as the darkness claims her—

——

A glimmer—snowflakes dance.

——

---

When I come to, I’m on a plane. A sharp throb pulses at my temple. I must’ve dozed off. Was I dreaming about something important? Or was it just my imagination?

Probably jet lag. The headache makes that obvious. Adjusting will be rough—but nothing I can’t handle. I yawn and shift in my seat, letting my eyes close again.

Click.

A shutter sound snaps me awake. I open my eyes, irritated, and see Guriko pointing her phone at me, grinning like a gremlin.

“Got a pic of Apollo-chan’s yawn and sleepy face~”

“…Guriko. We’re on a plane. Keep it down.”

“Oh, lighten up! It’s not like it costs anything. Besides, your sleepy face is adorable!”

“I don’t like it.”

“Bet your trainer would love these photos~”

“W-Wait, no! Delete those!!”

I spring up and grab for her phone. Two cursed photos—one of me yawning like an idiot, the other curled up mid-nap—vanish in a flash.

“They were so cute, though~” Guriko pouts.

I sigh and turn to the window, trying to refocus.

---

A week before the Dubai World Cup meeting, we left Japan. Reporters saw us off at the airport. Now, mid-flight, I wish I had Guriko’s energy. The days ahead will be exhausting.

There are nine of us on this trip—everyone except Suzuka-san’s trainer. Oshino Trainer stayed behind, probably worried about Spe-chan’s run in the Osaka Cup. Or maybe he’s just confident—no one can touch our Suzuka at 1800 meters on turf.

The plane tilts as we begin to descend. I lean toward the window. The desert stretches below, scattered with city lights and landmarks.

“Whoa! That island looks like the one from TV! The, uh... creepy centipede one!”

“Apollo-chan, that’s the palm-shaped island.”

“Ohhh.”

“Calling it a creepy centipede is so rude…”

Dubai—the heart of the UAE. A place straight out of a storybook, all glittering skyscrapers and high-tech marvels. Below us, Palm Jumeirah glows, the symbol of luxury. Maybe this time I’ll actually get to visit it.

The city widens as we descend. Unlike Tokyo’s smooth skyline, Dubai’s feels jagged and raw—a different kind of beauty.

“Look! The racetracks are coming into view!”

“Huh? There are two?”

“…The one closer to the airport is Nad Al Sheba. The other’s Meydan. That’s where we’re headed.”

“Meek-chan, you’re so smart!”

“…Obviously.”

Nad Al Sheba was designed like Churchill Downs—simple and oval, with none of Europe’s wild curves. But since Meydan opened, all major races moved there. Nad Al Sheba’s been left behind, a ghost of racing past.

Meydan’s something else. It’s not just a racetrack—it’s a spectacle. A 60,000-seat grandstand, a hotel, a cinema, a shopping mall. The whole thing sits just minutes from the airport. More than just prestige, it was a business move that worked. The royal family even pays for all travel costs—no wonder the world’s best show up. The competition is brutal.

That boldness—that confidence—is what made Dubai racing into something global.

"We’re about to land!"

The plane slowed its speed and began its descent. The seats rattled uncomfortably, shaking us with an unpleasant vibration. For a moment, I wondered if something had gone wrong—but seeing the plane come to a normal stop, it seemed this was just part of the routine.

Though I was a little worried, the other passengers started standing up like it was nothing, so we also began disembarking.

"—So this is Dubai…"

"The wind’s warm, desu."

"...The air’s different from Japan’s."

"It’s not that hot—wait, no, it is hot. And this is supposed to be winter? Seriously?"

"...I wanna run already."

The air of Dubai, something we were experiencing for the first time, was dry and carried a grainy, sandy wind. Without anyone saying a word, we all started taking off our hoodies and jackets. Tōjō-trainer had told us, "Summer clothes are fine in Dubai," but I hadn’t expected it to be this hot…

Leaving Dubai International Airport, we checked into the hotel with all our luggage in tow. We’d be staying here for the next week. On our way in, we passed by adults in suits who looked like trainers and other horse girls—probably others involved in the Dubai Meeting.

This place had the best access to Meydan Racecourse… or rather, of course it did, since it was the hotel arranged by the organizers.

After checking in and dropping off our things, we regrouped as instructed by Tōjō-trainer and immediately boarded a microbus to inspect Meydan Racecourse.

We hadn’t even been in Dubai for an hour yet. Wasn’t this way too hectic? But Tōjō-trainer was a seasoned, battle-hardened professional. She must’ve had experience telling her that the sooner we scoped out the racecourse, the better. Some things you just couldn’t know without seeing and feeling them firsthand—every minute, every second of familiarity with the location could make the difference between victory and defeat.

Honestly, I was exhausted from the trip and the jet lag, but I swallowed my complaints and pushed through the fatigue.

On the bus, Tōjō-trainer stood at the front. Clearing her throat, she glanced around, binder in hand.

"Alright, listen up, everyone. When horse girls fail in overseas races, the easy answer is to blame the turf or the racing style not suiting them—but in reality, there are other big factors at play. El, do you know what they are?"

"Yes! Food and climate, desu!"

"Exactly. The biggest one is food. In a race where you pour your heart and soul into every stride, a horse girl’s stamina is absolutely critical. Properly fueling up is a vital part of any overseas campaign. Even if the food doesn’t agree with you, grit your teeth and force it down."

Races run by horse girls didn’t just test their spirits—they drained their stamina. Some might say, "You train running thousands of meters all the time, don’t you?" or "It’s not even five minutes of exercise," but that’s all nonsense.

A real race, regardless of grade, is a battle where you burn your very life to compete at full strength. You push yourself to the limit, carving away at your spirit, your body, everything. You have to prove tens of thousands of hours of grueling effort in just a few minutes—the toll it takes on your mind and body is immeasurable.

That’s why you never neglect the most fundamental thing: proper nutrition. All those thousands of hours of preparation can’t be wasted over one bad meal. That’s what Tōjō-trainer was driving at.

As for the climate, it shouldn’t be an issue. March in Dubai was winter—but "winter" here meant daytime temps of 20–30°C, with nights dropping to the mid-10s. Still way warmer than Japan in March.

The humidity difference? Well… none of us horse girls were that sensitive to it. The only real concern was the sandstorms said to occur in winter, kicked up by strong northern winds. Would they disrupt training?

When I asked Tōjō-trainer about it, she said sandstorms in late March were rare and not worth worrying over. Still, I’d keep it in the back of my mind.

Once Tōjō-trainer finished her Q&A, the bus stopped in front of Meydan Racecourse. It hadn’t even taken ten minutes—for horse girls, running there would’ve been faster.

Stepping off the bus, Meydan Racecourse stood right before us. Immediately, an absurdly massive white grandstand stretched into view, dominating the skyline. Combined with the adjacent hotel, the extravagant, nearly 1000-meter-long grandstand was practically Meydan’s symbol.

Welcomed by signs in English and Arabic, we entered the racecourse—where the sharp scent of fresh turf hit our noses, along with an unfamiliar earthy aroma.

It hadn’t really sunk in until now, but we were truly in a foreign country. And what made me realize it wasn’t the people speaking different languages—it was the smell of the turf. Guess that makes me a real horse girl, huh?

While the trainers went off to greet the officials, we were allowed onto Meydan’s track. Other horse girls and trainers were already there, some even kneeling to touch the surface with their hands. They were that serious about scouting the place. We couldn’t fall behind.

Maybe the others felt the same, because we all naturally crouched down, pressing our hands against the grass or lightly testing the grip with our shoes.

Meek-chan and Kirishima-trainer had gone further in to inspect the dirt course, but they were getting flustered surrounded by a group of tough-looking American horse girls. Meek-chan’s white fur probably made her stand out.

"You might know about it, Green Titten, but Dubai’s turf is almost identical to Hong Kong’s. And for better or worse, all our races will be held at night. You already know this, but for safety and broadcasting reasons, the floodlights are blinding. Don’t accidentally look straight at them when taking corners. A split-second loss of vision or hesitation can decide the race—and as horse girls, I’m sure you understand that better than anyone."

Right. The Dubai Meeting was held late at night. The course had no elevation changes, so we wouldn’t have to worry about looking up—but we’d stay cautious.

"Hmm… So this is Dubai’s turf."

"Seems pretty easy to run on. Don’t you think, Apollo-san?"

"Huh?! I-I don’t get what you mean, Suzuka-san…!"

"Sure, the turf’s the same as Hong Kong’s, but the climate and humidity are different… Who knows how it’ll play out? Guess we won’t know until it starts."

As we each inspected the turf, something glimmered at the edge of my vision.

"—?"

"Apollo-chan, what’s wrong?"

"Just now… I saw a snowflake—"

"No way, this is Dubai. Probably just sand glittering or something."

"Griko’s right, desu!"

"But—"

Twice, three times—flutter. Snowflakes drifted across my sight. I rubbed my eyes, thinking it a hallucination, but the butterfly-like flakes didn’t vanish. A throbbing pain pulsed at my temples. A sensation like wire scraping through my brain—sharp discomfort, searing pain—forced me to clutch my forehead, wincing.

—Who. Who’s. Making. These. Glimmers?

Do I know them? But I can’t remember. My head hurts. It’s like fate itself is interfering with my thoughts, a disgusting feeling. As if destiny is pushing me toward the worst possible outcome, blocking my path. No doubt about it.

Then—who?

It hurts. I need to find out. Now.

My breath turned ragged. Vision narrowed. Limbs grew heavy. My body screamed of an anomaly with no explanation. The moment I looked—what would happen? No way to predict it. Yet the snowflakes burned brighter—

"—!"

It took only seconds to find the source. A heartbeat of hesitation—then speechlessness at the sheer wrongness of what I saw.

Fifteen meters north. A lone horse girl stood frozen, staring at the sky over Meydan, no trainer by her side.

Chestnut hair cascading past her waist. A shield-shaped white meteor emblazoned on her forehead. Ears pinned back in what seemed like fury. A face stripped of all expression, as if carved from ice. A tail left untrimmed, wild and unkempt. And above all—a towering frame easily surpassing 170 cm (5 feet 7 inches), radiating an aura so overwhelming it was palpable even from a distance.

No mistake. Her. I know her. I shouldn’t, but I do. With a certainty that feels fated.

"—Kayf Tara… san."

—Her name is Kayf Tara.

Europe’s strongest active stayer. The one closest to glory.

Late March, Meydan Racecourse, Dubai.

This was the moment I met my greatest rival—Kayf Tara. A meeting written in the stars.