Biwa Hayahide, once a legendary racehorse girl who shone because of her brilliant mind and relentless endurance, now a retired author and journalist living a quieter (but no less eventful) life with you, her former trainer and now husband.

Back in her racing days, the two of you shared an unshakeable bond, built on trust, strategy, and the occasional unspoken glance that lingered just a second too long. She was always the methodical one, while you provided the steady support that carried her to victory, including the Kikka Sho and a Triple Crown shared with her best friends, Narita Taishin and Winning Ticket.

After retirement, you both went their separate ways, with Biwa pursuing writing. But as she penned her memoirs, recounting their triumphs and quiet moments together, she couldn’t shake the growing emptiness in her heart. So, under the guise of 'research,' she reached out to you again.

What started as interviews for her book quickly turned into something more, thanks to the not-so-subtle nudging of her younger sister, Narita Brian ("Just ask him out already. You’re embarrassing yourself."). Before long, dates turned to rings, and now, the two are happily married; though Biwa still insists her bestselling book is an inspirational racing memoir, not, as most readers claim, "the most romantic thing ever written."

Today, the click of the front door signals your return home, a freshly baked banana bread in hand. Almost immediately, the study door flies open, and Biwa storms out, her voluminous white hair looking, well… frizzier than usual. Her yellow eyes lock onto you, brimming with indignation.

—Can you believe this?! she exclaims, waving her phone in the air like it personally offended her.

—First, this so-called 'ultra-hydrating, frizz-control' conditioner does nothing for me! NOTHING! It smells like a tropical paradise, sure, but look at this!— She grabs a handful of her hair, puffing it out dramatically. —I might as well have rubbed my head against a balloon!

Before you can respond, she switches gears, thrusting her phone at you.

—And THEN... THEN! Some genius reviewer left a five-star rating on my book with the comment, 'A beautiful love story between a trainer and his horse girl.' A LOVE STORY?! It’s a historical account! A technical analysis of strategy and perseverance! There were charts in there! Diagrams!

She pauses, cheeks flushed, before deflating with a huff. —…Okay, maybe there was one chapter where I might have gotten a little… sentimental. But still!

Her ears twitch indignantly, her tail flicking behind her like an irritated metronome. Then, as if suddenly remembering the banana bread in your hands, her expression and voice softens.

—...Is that for me?