The British Uma Musume's eyes flashed with predatory intent. She didn't just use aggressive lane-pressing to squeeze Trêve's space; she seized a fleeting opening and threw a brutal, heavy elbow straight at the girl's shoulder!
Of course, it was a feint. While Western Uma Musume racing was relatively lenient regarding physical contact, malicious intent to injure was strictly forbidden. Had she truly committed to the strike, her results would have been disqualified instantly, followed by a lengthy suspension—a one-two punch that would have left her drowning in regret.
So, she didn't dare use her full strength. Instead, she applied the maximum force permitted within the rules to disrupt Trêve's rhythm.
Even so, if the opponent had been a Japanese Uma Musume, they would have likely cried out at the "unbelievable" violence; they simply weren't used to such aggressive racing.
Trêve, however, was different. She didn't even look at the girl leaning into her, nor did she make any move to evade.
The elbow strike landed flush against her!
Clang!
The British girl gasped, cold air hissing through her teeth. Her entire side went numb, her sharp stride faltered, and her rhythm shattered. Her speed visibly plummeted, and she was quickly swallowed by Trêve's wake.
Her face turned pale as she instinctively reached to rub her elbow. She felt as though she hadn't struck a living being at all, but had instead slammed into a body made of solid steel.
She grumbled inwardly: Just what is this Trêve made of?! Has France already developed technology to disguise robots as Uma Musume?
But even if she were a robot, it didn't make sense. Receiving an elbow at high speed should cause some degree of wobbling, forcing a racer to slow down to regain their balance. How was this girl maintaining such a razor-sharp closing speed?
The answer was simple: the blow hadn't actually hit home.
Listening to the messy footsteps fading behind her, Trêve tilted her head slightly and stuck her tongue out at the British racer who had lacked "martial honor."
The British racer: "#!"
The provocation worked perfectly. Almost every British racer on the field was incensed, and the collective irritation began to ripple through the pack's overall rhythm.
Watching Trêve on the screen, Fujimaru Ritsuka's expression became rather nuanced. He thought to himself: I've seen it many times now, but the "friendship" between Britain and France truly permeates every aspect of life, doesn't it?
Trêve looked like such a well-behaved child. Why did she become so cheeky the moment she faced off against British racers? It couldn't possibly be the influence of a certain Goddess of Venus, could it? Then again, the myths and legends circulating in this world were completely different from the ones he knew and had lived through; there should only be the Three Goddesses here.
But if that were the case, the inherent skill Trêve had just displayed was impossible to explain.
Unlike the racers on the track, Ritsuka saw it clearly. It was a skill called [Shining Great Crown].
A golden radiance swirled around Trêve, carving out a special Domain that screamed "Keep Away." It was this very barrier that had deflected the opponent's elbow, protecting Trêve from any impact. Not only that, but her stamina had clearly recovered—the very foundation that allowed her to maintain her fierce closing speed and charge toward the finish line with unstoppable momentum!
Shining Great Crown: Trêve becomes immune to direct attacks within a one-length radius. Small boost to speed, small stamina recovery. Duration: 3 seconds.
Trêve's slender silhouette left a trail of golden afterimages across the turf. Like a flickering teleporter, she bypassed one opponent after another.
Even the commentators and the audience were awestruck by the pink-haired girl's power: "Heavens! What a sharp closing speed! She's like a shooting star gliding over the grass!"
Trêve boldly overtook ten rivals. At the 200-meter mark, she pulled level with the pacesetter, Northern Spirit!
The clash between the two racers kicked up violent gusts of wind. Beneath their feet, the blades of grass were torn to shreds, pulverized into green dust, leaving the racers behind them in a miserable wake.
Sweat rolled down the girls' foreheads. Northern Spirit grit her teeth, refusing to lose at this final juncture, even if Trêve was displaying a level of power she couldn't comprehend.
As an Uma Musume, who wouldn't want to seize victory and bask in the glory?
Her eyes went wide, her mouth opened, and she let out a fierce, spirited roar: "Aaaaaah!"
Yet, in the face of this intensity, the corners of Trêve's mouth curled into a smile of effortless grace.
Even with sweat streaming down her face, making her look a bit disheveled, she could still flash a confident grin—a smile that declared the victory already belonged to her!
"Remember this day. Engrave the moment the earth shatters into your hearts!"
As her voice fell, the pink-haired girl took a deep breath. The stamina hidden in every fiber of her being was squeezed dry, poured into her next breath, her next heartbeat, and her next stride!
Northern Spirit felt an inexplicable pressure. She pushed with everything she had, trying to maintain a half-length advantage. However!
Wherever the pink-haired girl's feet touched, the green grass transformed into a blinding golden light. The very earth began to tremble, as if it had surrendered to her, becoming her most loyal servant.
The girl swept her arm up, her right index finger pointing directly toward the clear autumn sky—as if anchoring a war-star high in the heavens, calling down a crushing blow of judgment!
"Gracefully, magnificently, boldly—from the Great Heavens to the Great Earth, let it be crushed!"
[Mountain Shaker: Firewood of the Morning Star]
The concept of shattering the world was poured into the girl's legs, transformed into a sublime celebration of the phenomenon known as "running."
In an instant, a dreamlike golden flame, nearly material in its intensity, erupted from Trêve's body!
Her speed shattered the limits of what she was currently capable of. Her form blurred, replaced by a scorching, brilliant torrent of light, like a galaxy spilling from the sky!
Even the space around her seemed to warp slightly. Light collapsed toward the girl, making everything else on the track pale in comparison!
She had become a miniature Venus flying just above the ground!
Northern Spirit had given her all. she had executed her proudest closing speed perfectly, but in the face of this torrent of light, she was powerless.
One length, two lengths, three lengths... she could only watch as Trêve crossed the finish line with unstoppable force!
In front of the screen, Maruzensky's eyes went wide with shock. Although she had expected much, Trêve's mastery of the Domain far exceeded her expectations. After a long silence, she could only offer a helpless quip: "Is this still a sport? It looks more like a battle manga."
A Domain was supposed to be just a Domain; it wasn't meant to be used for "attacking"!
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