...
Special Week slowed to a stop; the muscles in her legs trembled uncontrollably from extreme exhaustion. She gasped for air, chest heaving violently, every breath burning.
But when she looked up at the giant electronic screen, the joy of victory flowed through her like warm current, filling her entire body.
"I... won?!" Special Week's eyes widened; even she found it hard to believe, her voice trembling slightly with excitement.
"Spe-chan!!!"
"Spe-chan—"
...
The members of "Dream" rushed out from the exit tunnel, tightly surrounding and hugging Special Week, conveying their joy through warm embraces.
Lucian, still walking through the exit passage, encountered Astrid, Penelope, and other strong Uma Musume.
Their faces still flushed and sweaty from the race, expressions varied. Lucian politely stepped aside, giving a slight nod in greeting, but didn't linger.
But when a certain golden-haired Uma Musume appeared in his field of vision, Lucian's steps halted involuntarily.
Broye stood in the shadow of the passage, her uniform particularly striking.
There was no unwillingness or dejection on Broye's face from defeat—just calm as she looked at Lucian. "Trainer, I think I finally understand why you came to Tracen."
Lucian smiled somewhat helplessly, unsure how to respond. "Actually, there isn't really anything that special about it..."
If Uma Musume anime had been published in France, he definitely wouldn't have come to Japan.
"But." Lucian paused. "Let's not bring up me going to France anymore—I won't go~"
"What if it's not an invitation to be a trainer?"
"Then what?"
"'Exclusive trainer'—remove the 'trainer,' and what's left? Do I really need to say it?" In a way, Broye was quite the flirt.
Lucian had even grown somewhat accustomed to it; sometimes he really couldn't tell if she was serious or joking.
The bond between him and Broye had indeed reached a level of intimacy where such teasing was possible, but it remained just teasing. Besides, she would soon return to France and begin her own new journey.
"No more teasing, Trainer Lucian. Your eyes weren't wrong." Broye put away that playful smile, her expression returning to calm. "I accept defeat completely."
In her mind, the stubborn, dazzling figure of Special Week crossing the finish line appeared vividly.
"Trainer Lucian, go greet your team member." With that, Broye elegantly stepped aside, clearing the path toward the cheers.
"Mm." Lucian nodded.
As he passed by Broye, he paused for a moment and softly encouraged her: "Keep going."
Long ago, Broye had learned to summarize lessons from failure on her own—she no longer needed his comfort. But encouragement was still necessary.
"Mr. Lucian, perhaps not long from now, I'll come back to Japan again."
"Coming back for revenge?" Lucian waved without turning his head, as if casually joking. "If it's a challenge match, you should make it just between you and Spe-chan—I don't want to be the referee."
He didn't notice that Broye's way of addressing him had quietly shifted from "Trainer Lucian" to "Mr. Lucian."
...
When Lucian finally arrived late at the exit tunnel, the interviews there had just ended.
The moment Special Week saw Lucian, without the slightest hesitation, she pushed aside a few blocking reporters and ran straight toward him.
Filled with the joy of victory and the urge to share it, for the first time she boldly threw herself into Lucian's arms in front of everyone.
"Whoa~" Lucian took half a step back, but his steady, open arms caught Special Week lightly.
He had meant to offer a few words of congratulations, but the soft, broken sobs by his ear made him pause slightly.
This Uma Musume who had gritted her teeth at the edge of despair, stubbornly refusing to shed a single tear—this newly crowned "Japan's number-one general"—now shed all her hard armor in his embrace.
She had been strong long enough; now it was time for her tense nerves and body to rest in this gentle harbor.
Speaking of which, a month before the race, Lucian had issued Special Week a "ban." Not on overtraining or overeating.
Special Week had endured it, obediently following Lucian's words.
"Wuu... Trainer-san, I won."
Lucian wrapped his arms around her trembling body, soothing her gently: "I saw everything. Spe-chan, you were amazing. You ran so beautifully—you're the 'Japan's number-one general' recognized by everyone."
"Mm..."
Hearing the affirmation, Special Week cried even harder.
Her tear-streaked, rain-soaked appearance formed a wonderfully contrasting cuteness with the resolute image she had shown the audience earlier.
Lucian finally couldn't hold back; a smile spread from the corners of his mouth, turning into a soft, low chuckle.
"Trainer-san... I'm crying this much... (sniff~), and you're still laughing at me... wuu wuu..." She lifted her tear-blurred face, complaining pitifully.
"I'm professionally trained—I don't usually laugh." Lucian took out tissues and carefully wiped the tears and sweat from her face. "Alright, look—there are still so many spectators watching. No more crying. Let's head back and celebrate properly."
"Mm-hmm."
The "Dream" Uma Musume once again gathered Special Week in the center, willingly playing supporting roles around this radiant flower.
...
That evening's winner stage, Lucian didn't stay because he had to hurry home to prepare the victory banquet.
But he didn't miss it—he watched Special Week's performance through the live broadcast.
In the end, there was still an exception: he broke his own rule and multitasked while cooking.
...
The night was ink-black, yet Lucian's small house shone like a pearl in a dark scroll—lights blazing, full of life.
Besides his own Uma Musume, Toujou Hana, Nishizaki Ryo, Minamizaka, El Condor Pasa, Grass Wonder, and Taiki Shuttle had all come.
It wasn't that Lucian didn't want to invite more people—he simply had no more room.
"Cheers—!!!"
Glasses clinked together, ringing with crisp, joyful sounds.
"Spe-chan, I have a surprise for you." Lucian clapped toward the kitchen. A figure with its back turned (or perhaps facing forward)—Silence Suzuka—slowly walked out.
...