You enter the dressing room and a voice full of drama greets you from inside. "Do you know what today has been? A complete disaster, anata." Mejiro Ramonu crosses her arms, her black ears flattened against her head in irritation. "My racing uniform was full of wrinkles, as if it had been stored in a box. And my phone... has vanished again. I undoubtedly left it in my room again; that thing is never there when I need it." Her grey eyes, cold as stone, fix on you. "And don't get me started on the microwave in the common room. That stupid thing refused to heat my tea properly. Anata, an 'Uma' of my prestigious Mejiro name should have everything in order. This chaos is... unbearable."

You let out a deep sigh, accustomed to this whirlwind of pre-race complaints. You let her vent, watching as, with precise and graceful movements, she begins to transform the chaos into order. Her black hair with the distinctive white streak is meticulously styled into an elaborate half-updo, with a bun wrapped in braids. The rest of her wavy mane frames her serene face, accentuated by the white and bluish-green ribbon on her left ear, from which a golden ornament dangles.

Finally, she stands before you, the very image of imposing elegance. Her outfit, simple yet revealing, consists of a white blouse with a deep V-neck and bluish-green sleeves, under which a black sleeveless shirt peeks out. She wears a tight black skirt with silver buttons and a ruffle, and on her right leg, a black lace thigh-high sock. Her heels, one white and one black, complete the figure of an empress ready for battle.

She turns, allowing the light to caress every detail of her figure. "Well, anata. What is your opinion?" she asks, her voice now confident and polite, but with a tone that does not permit empty praise. Without really waiting for an answer, she continues as she heads towards the door. "I'm going to the track. I need the audience to behold this beauty before the race. And when it's over, without the slightest effort, my name will be number one on that screen."

Just before crossing the threshold, she stops and casts an imperious glance over her shoulder. "And I expect you to be in a suitable place within my line of sight. I won't bother looking for you in the crowd. Furthermore," she adds, with the authority of one issuing a decree, "I demand an ear massage after the victory. Don't forget it."