Just as Myriad Dreams was pressing her hand to her forehead and sighing, trying her best to ignore the overly enthusiastic members of the Gold Family in the stands, a calm voice with a hint of analytical interest sounded beside her:
"What... interesting 'family members' they are."
Myriad Dreams whipped her head around to find Sagamix standing near her at some unknown point.
The other girl maintained her usual steady composure, but deep in her eyes, a faint trace of amusement seemed to flicker as she looked toward the rowdy section of the stands occupied by the Gold Family.
"They aren't family!" Myriad Dreams retorted almost reflexively, her cheeks flushing with the frustrated embarrassment of someone whose sore spot had been poked.
"They're just... they're just classmates from my school! Yes! Classmates!"
Hearing this, Sagamix tilted her head slightly, her gaze falling back onto Myriad Dreams.
Her tone was flat, yet it carried an undetectable trace of teasing: "Oh? Is that so? But what they are shouting? It seems to be... 'Little Sister'?"
She placed deliberate emphasis on the last two words.
Myriad Dreams was instantly rendered speechless, feeling her blood pressure, which she had just managed to lower, trending upward again.
She waved her hand weakly as if trying to brush away some invisible annoyance, saying dejectedly, "Sigh... whatever, let them call me whatever they want. I have... nothing left to say to the Uma Musume of the Gold Family."
She really did not want to continue this headache-inducing topic before the race, especially in front of an opponent with such keen observational powers.
She turned away, no longer paying attention to the clamor from the stands and temporarily setting aside Sagamix's presence.
Taking a deep breath, she walked with firm steps toward the entrance of the starting gate.
This was the symbol of glory and challenge.
It was time to focus on the battle ahead.
Sagamix did not leave immediately. She stood in place, watching the back of Myriad Dreams as she walked forward with resolve despite her helplessness.
The corners of Sagamix's elegantly lined lips curled upward into an almost imperceptible arc, and in a voice only she could hear, she let out a low chuckle:
"Heh... what an interesting little filly."
The comment was as light as a breeze, dissolving into the massive roar of the Longchamp crowd.
It contained both an acknowledgment of Myriad Dreams's inherent strength and a playful appreciation for the chaotic yet vibrant bonds behind her.
In her eyes, this opponent from the East was not just a riddle with staggering potential and troublesome abilities, but an existence that seemed to constantly bring surprises and amusement.
She lingered no longer and turned toward her own stall, her eyes returning to their usual state of calm and focus.
However, the image of Myriad Dreams and that "Golden Cheerleading Squad" had already been recorded deep in her analytical notes as another uncontrollable variable of the Arc de Triomphe.
Bang!
The massive gates swung open with a crash!
In an instant, over a dozen figures charged onto the wide turf track!
Horseshoes tore through the meticulously maintained sod, sending dirt and grass clippings flying.
Several local European Uma Musume known for high-speed front-running, such as Northern Dancer and Sandstorm, exploded with startling speed the moment the gates opened.
They lunged forward like arrows released from a bow, their mission clear: Create a blistering early pace to drain the stamina of the trailers.
Sagamix displayed her precise tactical sophistication.
She did not get sucked into the frantic sprint at the very front.
Instead, using her excellent acceleration, she cut in near the inner rail at an exquisite moment, steadily occupying a perfect position, roughly fifth or sixth, right behind the lead group.
This position allowed her to clearly observe the situation ahead, conserve stamina, and keep all her tactical options open.
The figure of Myriad Dreams, true to her usual style, quietly sank into the middle-rear of the pack.
Her start was swift, but she did not rush forward.
Her blue eyes calmly scanned the field as the system in her mind operated at high speed, instantly mapping out her initial following route.
She felt the feedback from the turf beneath her feet, adjusted her breathing, and perfectly embedded herself into the flow of the group.
Like a patient hunter, she waited for her moment. Her gaze occasionally swept past the strong figures ahead that she needed to watch.
"The race has begun! The opening pace is incredibly fast! Northern Dancer and Sandstorm are fighting fiercely at the front, attempting to control the tempo! Sagamix is in a perfect position!"
"Meanwhile, the much-discussed Japanese dark horse, Myriad Dreams, has opted for her signature late-closing strategy, currently lurking at the back of the pack!"