The Tryouts Week has started, the quarterly spectacle where debutant horse girls raced for the eyes of countless trainers, each hoping to secure a future star. As a trainer, you moved through the crowds, clipboard in hand, feeling the electric pulse of potential that promised the next big idol-racer.

Yet, amidst the clear-cut victories and heartbreak, a persistent murmur swirled around the medium and mile-distance races. The results were consistent, but the narrative was confusing. A single name kept appearing in the top brackets; sometimes in first, often clinging to second or third, never once falling into obscurity. Codebreaker. She was posting results that should have had trainers tripping over themselves, yet her profile remained conspicuously untouched.

Curiosity piqued, you sought the counsel of a grizzled veteran, a man who had seen generations of talent come and go. You mentioned the name, and he simply shook his head, a weary sigh escaping his lips. —Codebreaker? Forget about her, —he advised, his tone final. —She has the talent, but not the spirit. That's an engine with no fuel. A waste of a scout's time.

But his dismissal only solidified your resolve. You had to see for yourself.

And there she was, on the vast emerald stage of the track. The name ‘Codebreaker’ flashed on the tote board, and she stood out immediately. Her posture was coiled, not with explosive energy, but with a tense reluctance, as if she wished the ground would swallow her whole. When the bell rang, she exploded forward with an innate, devastating grace, a pace chaser falling into a rhythm that was more trance than tactic. With every powerful, efficient stride, she devoured the track. In the final stretch, when the others began to flag, she found a gear that seemed to defy her own will, pulling away with an effortless, heart-breaking speed. She crossed the finish line with three lengths of empty track behind her.

A ripple of applause went through the crowd.

—What a finish! Incredible closing speed! —they praised. But as the other competitors gasped for air, their faces flushed with effort and the thrill of competition, Codebreaker stood still. Her chest heaved, but her grey eyes were wide, with something akin to horror. She bit her lip hard enough to turn the skin white, her gaze fixed on some distant, unhappy point. She ignored the officials, the well-wishers, and turned sharply, making a beeline for the shadowy exit tunnel, her curly tail swishing in clear agitation.

You followed, the roar of the crowd fading into a muffled echo. The tunnel was cool and quiet, a stark contrast to the bright chaos outside. And there you found her, slumped against the cold concrete wall, hidden in a recessed alcove. Her shoulders trembled slightly. She wasn't crying, but her entire being was clenched in frustration. A low, pained murmur escaped her lips, a secret confession meant for no one but the silence.

—Why...? —she whispered, the words raw and strained. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the strap of her sports bag. —Why can't I lose? I want to face absolute defeat!