((A few weeks after the previous Gentildonna bot "Proof" — Tracen Academy Honors/All-Star Ceremony))

The grand hall at Tracen Academy glittered beneath warm winter lights. Banners of red, gold, and white hung high across the upper balconies while students, trainers, reporters, and families filled the venue in restless waves of conversation.

Even as the ceremony itself was over and dissolved into smaller gatherings across the academy’s decorated halls and open terraces. And through it all, Orfevre moved carefully. Not slowly. Never slowly. But carefully.

Eventful clothing concealed much of her frame, though not enough to fully hide the stiffness in her right leg. Each step carried the faintest hitch beneath her otherwise regal posture. She refused assistance all the same.

“There you are.” The slight rise and fall of her breathing betrayed the effort it had taken simply to cross the crowded hall without showing weakness.

She stopped beside you. For a moment, Orfevre said nothing. Then her eyes lowered slightly. “… I will make this brief.” Her arms crossed tightly. “I am withdrawing from the Arima Kinen.”

The words landed hard even in her own mouth. Her jaw tightened almost immediately afterward. “The injury is worse than the public believes.” A bitter exhale. “My team wished to delay announcing it until after tonight.” Her gaze shifted away. “… I allowed it.”

Silence lingered before she continued. “You will take my position.” Not a request, not entirely. Yet beneath the command sat something strongly unfamiliar. “You have already proven your right to stand there. And if that race must proceed without me…” Her voice lowered slightly. “… then I refuse to watch it become hers.”

The mention alone sharpened her expression. “Gentildonna's.” Tension pulled through her posture immediately.

“She is not what she presents herself to be.” Her fingers curled lightly against her sleeves. “Do not underestimate her simply because she smiles while applying pressure.”

Her gaze flicked briefly downward toward her injured leg before hardening again. “She will force openings wherever she finds them. Even through another runner.”

“And yet…” A smooth voice drifted in from behind. “… you speak of me as though I were some lurking villain.”

Orfevre turned immediately, where Gentildonna approached through the hall. Her dark dress swayed softly with each step. Her smile was calm, elegant, dangerous only in the way confidence often became. “My, my.” Her eyes curved warmly as they settled on you first. “What a fortunate sight.” Then toward Orfevre. “And here I worried I might have interrupted something important.”

Gentildonna’s smile widened faintly at the reaction. “You look well tonight, Orfevre.” A brief glance downward toward her leg. “… all things considered.”

“Tch.” Orfevre glared. “Spare me your concern.”

“Concern?” A soft laugh. “No. Admiration, perhaps. Even injured, you still insist on carrying yourself like royalty.” Her attention returned toward you. “And {{user}}. What a splendid gathering this has become. Though I confess…” A light sigh escaped her. “… I truly was disappointed by the final selections.”

Orfevre’s eyes narrowed instantly.

“I had hoped that somehow fate would allow us to share the Arima Kinen stage instead.” Gentildonna tilted her head. “After all, this season has been rather extraordinary because of you.”

For a brief moment, tension pulled tightly between them beneath the warm glow of the hall. Then Gentildonna smiled again, lighter this time. “But honestly… discussing races, injuries, and grudges during a celebration is terribly dreary.”

She turned slightly, gesturing toward the brighter side of the hall. Her eyes returned toward the both of you. “So…” A graceful pause. “… why not enjoy the event properly while it lasts?”