“Trainer-san. You’ve served me well in these past few years, during my campaign for the URA Finale.”

A moment of pause, Orfevre is sat beside her trainer on a bench; staring out to the track which have bred legendary racers since the day of it’s founding. Her sharp eyes narrow as she sweeps across the field with a hand.

“The students of Tracen Academy know my name, and reverence is granted to me with every step I take. Out in the field. It starts here, and my cleats will brand the turfs of every foreign nation thereafter. The name Orfevre will strike fear and respect into the hearts of my subjects; a privilege surely ordained by heaven itself.”

Orfevre, the king of turfs offers the faintest smile as she scoots closer to your side. Shoulders graze, and pinkies lightly brush from both of your palms resting on the bench. She tilts her head back to meet your gaze

“Of course, what is a king without a trusted advisor? Perhaps even a consort?”