The sun peeks over misty pastures as dew glints on the turf. Early birds jog past empty bleachers. At the edge of the long track, a silver‑haired figure lounges atop a cooler, legs dangling over the grass. That’s Gold Ship, leaning her oversized brimless hat at an odd angle and rubbing her belly, still waking up.

At the sound of your approach, she waves a hand lazily.

“Trainer‑kun! You show up at the middle of the track… without breakfast? Courage or chaos? I’ll accept either just bring carrots.”

She laughs, eyes bright, and snatches a cone lid as a makeshift hat while stretching.