Hachiman's Point of View
"The view is wonderful, isn't it, Big Brother?" Rice Shower chirped, her eyes fixed on the passing scenery.
"Yeah," I replied, keeping my eyes on the road. "It's good to get a breath of nature every once in a while."
Symboli Rudolf, seated nearby, offered a small, apologetic smile. "My apologies for saddling you with the escort duties again. It's not that we lack capable staff, but when everyone else insists on taking their own cars, it becomes… difficult to ask. You were the only one I could rely on to take the wheel."
"I see. So I'm the path of least resistance," I muttered. "That explains why the short straw always finds its way into my hand. But seriously, why am I heading to the Miho Dorms? We talked about this before boarding, but wouldn't the Ritto Dorms have made more sense?"
Rudolf shook her head. "The Ritto Dorms are already well-stocked with reliable leaders—Air Groove and Fuji Kiseki are there, not to mention Biwa Hayahide, Katsuragi Ace, and Bamboo Memory. But the deciding factor? Of the three girls under your direct care, two are residents of Miho."
"So, in the end, it was a mix of logistical pragmatism and personal bias? Good to know."
"Oh, stop it, Hachiman!" Mr. C.B. interjected, leaning forward with a playful pout. "Are you saying you'd rather be on the bus to the Ritto Dorms? Is that it?"
"That's not what I meant. It was just a question."
The June racing season had drawn to a close, giving way to the heat of the Summer Series. Yet, while the rest of the world looked toward the summer sprints, we were preparing for the trials of autumn. C.B. and Rudolf would continue their rigorous training as planned, but for Rice, the schedule was more surgical: July would be dedicated to performance tuning, and August to refining her closing sprint. A single month hadn't been enough to fully shake off the physical toll of her 'Spartan' training regimen. It was a necessary compromise.
The elevation changes at Longchamp, the 'false straight,' the turf itself… it's a different beast entirely, I thought to myself, the gears turning. Even once we arrive in France, we can't afford a single moment's lapse in focus.
"Lost in thought, Brother?" Rudolf asked, her keen eyes catching my reflection.
"…Something like that," I admitted. "Just thinking about Longchamp."
"I've heard it's the most elegant racecourse in the world," C.B. added dreamily. "And that's where we're headed, huh?"
"It is. But more importantly, the Prix de Royallieu—the race Rice is entering—is held the day before the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe, the race that decides the strongest horse girl on the planet. Seeing that atmosphere firsthand is a rare opportunity."
Rice looked up, her expression a mix of awe and anxiety. "I heard that while girls from all over the world try their luck there, only the Europeans ever seem to win. Is that true?"
"It is," I said, my voice dropping into a more serious register. "European turf is longer and softer than what you're used to in Japan. It requires immense power just to move, but that's not the only problem. The drainage over there isn't great. Even ten minutes of rain can turn a 'good' track into a muddy quagmire. That's the home-field advantage. The Royallieu is no different. If we get hit with heavy, rain-soaked ground, our win probability plummets."
C.B. blinked. "Is it really that different?"
"Think of it this way: Japanese tracks are masterpieces of human engineering—meticulously maintained and consistent. European tracks are raw nature. They're unstable and at the mercy of the weather. If it rains, it's a nightmare."
"I knew it was a difficult course," Rudolf mused, "but to think the weather could swing the odds so violently…"
"Well, for now, focus on what's in front of you," I said, cutting through the heavy atmosphere. "The goal is to get through this camp safely. If we don't hit our milestones here, we won't even make it to the starting gate in France. Rice, listen to your body while you train. No overdoing it, and no reckless stunts. Clear?"
"Yes! I understand, Big Brother."
I could worry about the technicalities of Longchamp on my own time. For now, I had a bus full of girls to get to camp.
"Still," Rudolf said, her tone lightening, "I must admit, I'm looking forward to your cooking this year, Brother."
C.B. turned to Rice, her eyes sparkling. "You've had his food before, right? How was it? Is it as good as they say?"
"It's amazing!" Rice exclaimed. "It's not like the usual stuff—it's so fancy and perfectly balanced! Oh, Big Brother, what are you making for us this year?"
"I could tell you," I teased, "but that would ruin the surprise, wouldn't it?"
"No! Don't tell us!" C.B. squealed, covering her ears. "The anticipation is half the fun!"
"Fine, fine. The menu stays a secret. And as for the rest of you eavesdropping in the back…" I raised my voice slightly so the other girls on the bus could hear. "You're welcome to catch a scent of the cooking, but don't expect a plate. I'm not running a catering service."
A collective groan erupted from the back of the bus. "Ehhhhhh? No fair!"
"What do you mean, 'no fair'? You all look like you're ready to swoop in like vultures. Sorry, but I'm only prepping for these three."
"But Trainer-san," one of the girls called out, "you know Oguri Cap or Narita Brian are going to sniff you out eventually. What are you going to do then?"
…Dammit. She had to bring up the one thing I didn't want to think about. Those bottomless pits would haunt my nightmares.
"Don't worry," I said, my voice hardening with resolve. "I'm the designated 'leftover disposal' officer. I'm not cooking a single gram more than necessary. There won't even be a morsel left for them to find."
"Oh, really? Maybe I should go tell Oguri-san that you said—"
"Don't you dare do something so unnecessary!" I barked, though there was a hint of a smile in my voice. "I'm warning you—if anyone snitches, I'm breaking out the Senburi tea."
Rice tilted her head. "Big Brother? What's Senburi tea?"
"It's a medicinal herb tea," I explained. "Extremely bitter. Some people call it 'the tea of regret.' One sip and you'll wish you never had taste buds."
There aren't any girls in the Miho Dorms wicked enough to tattle on me, right? I'm trusting you all.
(And to all you "good kids" reading this—don't you dare snitch to those four gluttons, okay?)
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