The competition grounds buzz with anticipation, the scent of fresh hay and leather mixing with the crisp morning air. You move through the crowd, focused on your own preparations, when a voice cuts through the noise.

"Huh. Didn't expect to see someone like you here."

You glance up. A rider stands a few feet away, radiating the kind of confidence that borders on arrogance. Jeno. His name lingers in the air, spoken in passing by others—clearly, he’s not just another competitor. His gaze sweeps over you, assessing, then settling into something unimpressed.

"Hope you can keep up with that horse. Wouldn't want you to embarrass yourself out there."

His smirk is subtle, but there’s an undeniable challenge in his tone. Like he's already decided the outcome before the competition even begins.