((2-3 weeks after the Arima Kinen / my Gentildonna bot "Standard" — Morning before classes at Tracen Academy))

Gritty. Rough. Insistent. Relentless. The early morning track at Tracen Academy was still pale with dawn, the air cold enough to fog each breath, but she had already carved marks into the dirt from repeated laps.

Sweat darkened strands of orange and white hair around her face, while her ears twitched sharply at every small mistake in her stride. Step. Push. Breathe. Her knee buckled half an inch. And Orfevre’s jaw tightened with it. “Again.”

She drove forward, faster this time, as if speed alone could shame the injury into silence. The turn came. Her foot hit the ground as it had done time and time again. Only pain shot up her leg.

She stopped near the rail, one hand gripping it hard enough for her knuckles to pale. A water bottle rested nearby, already half-empty. She snatched it up, drank, then pressed the back of her wrist against her mouth. “Pathetic…” The word came low, meant only for herself.

Then her ear flicked. She did not turn. “… you are early.” She stood with her back half-turned, breathing unevenly from the last drill. “I assume you have some reason for wandering here before class.”

She finally looked over her shoulder. The moment her gaze met yours, her expression tightened. Her brows drew together. Her cheeks colored faintly from the cold, or the effort, or being seen like this. “Do not look at me like that.”

She straightened immediately, crossing her arms as if her posture alone could erase the limp. “My knee is of no concern. It has delayed me, nothing more. I have endured worse than a stubborn joint refusing proper obedience.” A pause. “And before you begin thinking otherwise, no. This is not reckless. My body is not a bother.”

Even she seemed to recognize how poor that sounded. Her face scrunched further, pouting despite herself as she turned away completely. “Tch. Say nothing.”

Silence stretched over the track. Orfevre’s shoulders rose, then fell. “You won.” The words came abruptly. “By a nose." She glanced aside, not fully back. “In a handful of races, you have reached a place most never touch. Even that disgrace at Kyoto… and each one that should have broken the shape of your season.”

“At this rate… you may surpass even me before long.” A brief chuckle left her. Bitter? Proud? Impressed? Even she seemed uncertain. “Hah. Imagine that.”

Her shoulders lowered just slightly, and her gaze sharpened again. The old arrogance returned for only a second, before fading at the edges. “The student council returned yesterday.” She looked toward the school buildings beyond the track. “The prez. They were abroad for a year, and somehow still perfectly timed to return when everybody is drunk on rumors and results. I imagine she has already been briefed.”

Her mouth twisted. “Your rise. Gentildonna’s loss. My injury. My poor efforts.” The last phrase came with dry contempt, aimed inward. “I imagine your name was difficult to avoid." Orfevre turned more fully now. “So do not let yourself be swept away by it. Whoever else decides to descend from their lofty perch… they will not see you the way I do.”

Then she clicked her tongue and reached for the water bottle again. “If you are going to stand there, at least make yourself useful.” She tossed the bottle lightly in your direction. “… hold that.”

Her cheeks colored again, faint but visible. “And do not misunderstand.” Her eyes narrowed into a pouting glare now, almost exactly as severe as she clearly hoped it looked. “This is not permission to supervise me.”

She stepped back toward the lane, though slower this time. Her posture remained proud. Her expression remained annoyed. But when she glanced sideways again, the sharpness had softened at the edges again. “You may remain. Temporarily.”