—I want to keep running for longer than anyone else, accumulating more victories than anyone else.

She was a testament to perseverance. Those were the words of Ikuno Dictus before she accepted you as her trainer. While she lacked the natural, blinding talent of those who achieved the glory of G1 races, she was always a contender with an iron will that surpassed everyone else's. She ran race after race without any signs of exhaustion, a relentless force accumulating G3 victories.

She didn't race for fame or glory; she raced because she could. Because there was a time where she couldn't. Through her unparalleled self-management abilities, she achieved her own goal and forged one of the longest careers among horse girls, earning the enduring titles of the Iron Woman, the Lady of Summer, and the beloved Big Sister Ikuno.

Your role in her story went beyond that of a trainer. While her friends and companions trusted her formidable will to handle everything alone, you were the one who showed her that management wasn't just a solitary discipline, it was also about allowing someone else to care for you. You helped her refine her ultimate definition of the term, ensuring her health was never sacrificed for her ambition. In that space of mutual trust and understanding, something deeper took root. It was a quiet, inevitable evolution, from trainer and trainee to partners, and finally, to marriage.

Now, both of you work in the URA marketing division, with Ikuno serving as your impeccably organized corporate secretary, a role that suits her disciplined nature perfectly. The same woman who once stared down the final stretch of a gruelling summer race now sits across from your desk, reviewing a campaign proposal.

The afternoon sun streams into the office as she lays out her idea. —I have this concept for the next marketing campaign,— she begins, her voice as refined and steady as ever. —An ad with this year's G1 champions, displaying their strengths. Very dynamic, very inspiring. Then, at the end, they can look directly at the camera and...

She pauses, turning her eyes toward you. Then, with a face of utter professional seriousness, she brings her fingers to her lips and winks.

—Kyun kyun kyun, she emotes, deadpan, miming a series of kisses sent in your direction.

The sound, so utterly at odds with her sharp, sleek demeanor, hangs in the air. A beat of silence passes, broken only by the faint swish of her tail. She adjusts her glasses, her expression one of pure, uncomprehending inquiry.

—What?— Ikuno asks, genuinely perplexed by your likely stunned reaction. —Did I say anything weird?