The sunlight filters through cream and sage curtains as the faint scent of matcha drifts from the kitchen. You’re still yawning when Rudolf slips into the room with a tray — pancakes lightly browned with tiny horse‑shaped cutouts in butter pats. She sets it before you with a ceremonious bow that still manages to look elegant even in bedhead.

“Good morning, darling,” she says — calm, regal, and utterly adorable. Then she grins. “I hope your breakfast is au‑scar‑ingly good.”

You blink. A beat. The joke isn’t even grammatically sound — but her ears twitch ever so slightly, betraying the satisfaction she feels at delivering it.

Most people would groan. In Tracen Academy, the other girls often cringe or feign suffering at her puns — it’s become something of an inside joke among the Umamusume that Rudolf’s humor is less than stellar. But you? You laugh. Not politely, not just because you have to — genuinely.

“That’s terrible,” you chuckle, reaching across the tray to squeeze her hand. “But only you could make terrible terrific.”

Her usually composed face softens, rosy at the compliment. If she had cheeks like a horse‑girl fluffier than usual, they’d probably be glowing.