Just as Fujiwara Chiya had expected, Orfevre adapted to the muddy track fairly well. Compared to the training ground where Shirayuki had lost count of how many times she'd wiped out, Orfevre went down far less often.
Not that she never fell.
Splat!
Her turn was too wide. Her sole lost traction against the slick, muddy turf, and Orfevre's body tilted hard. A second later, she was sprawled face-first across the soaked ground.
Fujiwara Chiya hurried over, but the moment he tried to help her up, she pushed him away with one hand.
"Tch. A mistake."
Orfevre wiped the mud from her face. Her beautiful golden hair was smeared with green grass stains, and even her usually crisp, neat bangs had fallen into a messy tangle.
That was what it meant to be an uma musume.
Behind every dazzling moment on the stage lay brutal training like this. Among all professions, theirs had to rank near the very top for injury rates.
"Do not disturb me, Trainer. I'm about to grasp the feeling."
After giving him that warning, Orfevre picked up her pace and ran off again.
Strictly speaking, both Fujiwara Chiya and Shirayuki could teach her. The two of them had gone through this exact stage before. But Orfevre wasn't particularly willing to learn from others. In her mind, a mere question of adapting to the track was something she could handle on her own.
Sometimes, that pride of hers became a stumbling block.
But Fujiwara Chiya couldn't exactly talk her out of it. Even if Orfevre was fairly obedient these days, once she got stubborn, he could spend the whole night coaxing her until his throat went dry and it still wouldn't work.
All he could do was wait until that stubborn streak ran its course, then have a proper talk with her.
Aside from Orfevre, the other two uma musume were running quite well.
By that, Fujiwara Chiya meant Shirayuki and Gold Ship.
Shirayuki went without saying. The hellish experience from last year was still carved into her bones. As for Gold Ship, Fujiwara Chiya was honestly a little surprised. Her aptitude for heavy turf was shockingly high.
Faced with this sticky, slippery ground, Gold Ship could maintain her balance perfectly.
She could even run backward!
"...Hm?"
Backward?
Fujiwara Chiya frowned.
"Gold Ship! What are you doing?!"
"Training."
"Who trains like that?! Turn around and watch where you're going!"
"It's fine, Trainer! I brought a rearview mirror. Look!"
Gold Ship waved the mirror in her hand.
"And I brought a helmet!"
She slapped the ridiculous ship-shaped helmet that had somehow merged perfectly with that bizarre ship hat of hers.
Great.
Wonderful.
Fujiwara Chiya wanted to swear.
But, weirdly enough, Gold Ship was actually running pretty well backward. Maybe she should just enter the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe like that. The first uma musume in history to finish a race backward. Even if she didn't win, she'd definitely go down in history.
By the time morning training ended, Fujiwara Chiya let out a long breath.
Whether it was the willful Orfevre or the chaos-incarnate Gold Ship, both of them drained him dry. Just the two of them were as much trouble as seven normal people. Later, he still had to investigate this year's Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe candidates.
The official list had yet to be announced, so Fujiwara Chiya planned to filter out the strongest possible contenders first, then study their past races.
Back when he trained in the VR World, Fujiwara Chiya had become acquainted with quite a few foreign uma musume. Among them were plenty of little Parisian fillies. The Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe warm-up exhibition had made Fujiwara Chiya famous in France, so when he spoke to them, everyone was especially enthusiastic.
When he asked who might be competing in this year's Arc, they gave him quite a few names.
There were only four months left before the race. Fujiwara Chiya needed to focus on investigating that group. He had to understand those uma musume even better than they understood themselves.
The first time he came here, he hadn't known anything. Only now did Fujiwara Chiya realize that Paris had plenty of empty training grounds. A large number of uma musume chose to train in the suburbs. Even Fujiwara Chiya himself was doing the same. The closer the race drew, the more cautious trainers became. They would run off to remote places with fewer people to arrange strategies and test running styles.
Gathering intel wouldn't be easy.
Fujiwara Chiya had to investigate every suitable running ground in the surrounding area ahead of time.
Things were probably going to get busy for a while.
He was in a foreign land, unfamiliar with both the people and the place. Fighting an information war here was already pushing his limits as a trainer.
With his uma musume in tow, Fujiwara Chiya decided to return to Paris Tracen first and prepare for going out. However, Orfevre shook her head and refused.
"I am not leaving. I will train a little longer."
"It's already been four hours, Orfevre. Let's go back, rest, and eat something."
"Just a little more... I can almost find that feeling. I cannot leave now," Orfevre said stubbornly.
Fujiwara Chiya looked into her large blue-violet eyes and fell silent for a moment.
"Gold Ship, you go back with Shirayuki first. I'll train with Orfevre a little longer."
"Heave-ho～"
Gold Ship didn't want to stay in this bird-forsaken place for one second longer. Teaching those foreign fillies some crude phrases was way more fun than training, wasn't it? If one day that group went to Japan and their first words were "You die, die, die," Gold Ship would laugh herself awake from her dreams.
After sending Gold Ship off, Fujiwara Chiya walked up to Orfevre.
"I used to make this same mistake a lot last year. When you turn, your heel can't leave the ground..."
Fujiwara Chiya demonstrated for her, and Orfevre watched seriously.
"All right. Try to find that feeling first, then go run."
Fujiwara Chiya patted her head and plucked a blade of grass from Orfevre's bangs.
Orfevre took a deep breath, calming her heartbeat.
For some reason, whenever she was alone with Trainer, she felt nervous.
When Gold Ship and the others were around, she didn't feel this way.
But it wasn't an unpleasant nervousness.
It was a pleasant kind of tension.
"Very well. I'll try it now."
Orfevre nodded, took her starting stance again, and shot forward.
Before they realized it, the two of them trained for another hour. During that time, Fujiwara Chiya had Shirayuki send over bentos. He and Orfevre sat on the grass and ate lunch together. After that, Orfevre lay on his lap and rested for a while before continuing training in the afternoon.
Originally, Fujiwara Chiya had planned to go out.
Now, it looked like he had no time for that.
By the time Orfevre finished training, the sun was already sinking toward the horizon.
"One last lap, Trainer," Orfevre said.
Under Fujiwara Chiya's gaze, she bent down and started running. Her entire sole brushed against the ground, giving her maximum traction. When she turned, she kept her center of gravity and both legs aligned in one straight line.
She passed through the corner perfectly.
Then Orfevre began her final sprint, stopping right in front of Fujiwara Chiya.
"How was it... Trainer? My running form."
"Perfect."
"Heh..."
Orfevre smiled.
Large drops of sweat slid continuously down her cheeks. Looking at Orfevre, who was nothing like her usual self and had been reduced to the absolute peak of disheveled, Fujiwara Chiya took out a handkerchief and wiped the mud from her face.
"Let's go. It's time to head back."
"...Mm."
On the way back, Orfevre looked down at her filthy thighs. Her socks had been torn and worn through from all the falls, exposing the fair skin underneath. Even the clean white cuffs had been stained yellow-brown by mud.
Seeing herself in this state, Orfevre couldn't help but speak.
"Trainer. I looked rather pathetic today, didn't I...?"
Fujiwara Chiya glanced at the dejected look on her face and said,
"An uma musume giving her all is always the most dazzling sight. Today, Orfevre shocked me as much as ever. Mastering such a complicated technique in a single day, you absolutely lived up to the name of the 'Tyrant.'"
The moment she heard that, Orfevre's heart gave a fierce thump.
She lifted her head and saw the gentle smile on the man's face. Unable to stop herself, she pressed a hand to her chest. Her face felt a little hot. Maybe it was because of the sunset, painting her cheeks in a soft crimson glow.
"Hmph. It seems Trainer's taste isn't half bad."
She brushed aside her messy bangs. After a moment of silence, she took Fujiwara Chiya's hand.
"Why are you walking so quickly? I trained all day. Slow down for me."
She pulled Fujiwara Chiya to her side.
The two walked shoulder to shoulder. Feeling the warmth of the man beside her, Orfevre's heart grew even more restless.
"There really aren't many people in these Western countries. You can't even see a single car out here in the suburbs."
She began trying to find a topic.
"Yeah. And the plazas are circular too, so it's easy to get lost."
Fujiwara Chiya had gotten lost several times himself.
"Then Trainer had better hold my hand tightly. If you make me get lost, I will have words with you."
"Don't worry. Follow me, and I won't let you get lost."
Looking at the man confidently making that promise to her, Orfevre lowered her head.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
Then, in a soft voice, she murmured, "Mm."
And tightened her grip on his hand.