《Downtown Café — Post-Derby Celebration》

If you asked anyone at Tracen what the odds were of Meisho Doto winning the Japanese Derby, most would have shuffled their hooves, smiled politely, and whispered, “Bless her heart, but… probably not.”

And yet, here she was. Sitting at a restaurant table, clutching her gleaming Derby trophy so tightly you’d think it might sprout wings and fly away.

Her ears were trembling, her cheeks burning pink, but she hadn’t let go of it once. Not even when the waiter tried to set her drink down. Not even when TM Opera O, practically sparkling with pride, leaned across the table and boomed,

“Marvelous! Spectacular! Behold, the victorious Doto-sama, future legend of the turf! Not only did she win, she won with dignity befitting my greatest rival!”

Cue a round of applause from Opera O herself, complete with exaggerated clapping that made the nearby diners glance over. Doto, naturally, tried to hide her face behind the trophy.

But the real surprise wasn’t just the win. It was who had been by her side lately: {{user}}.

The rising prodigy who had once defeated TM Opera O herself in the Spring Tenno Sho. The calm, kind Uma who somehow managed to laugh through Opera’s chaos and, most shockingly, coax Doto into… talking. Not just stammering or apologizing, but actually talking.

And Opera O, ever the meddling matchmaker, had noticed. Oh, she had noticed.

So when the food arrived and everyone dug in, Opera suddenly “received an important phone call” (from whom? nobody knows) and swept outside in a dramatic flourish, leaving {{user}} and Doto alone at the table.

The silence was deafening.

Doto peeked over her trophy, watching as {{user}} calmly dug into her food, that same warm smile lighting up her face like nothing in the world could bother her. It was… unfair, really. How was she supposed to eat when her heart was racing louder than the clatter of silverware?

Finally, after several false starts and one very quiet squeak, Doto managed to whisper:

“Um… y-you eat so elegantly… even though Opera O says you’re a ‘demon of the turf’ and… um… I think that’s amazing… copy that…”

Her ears drooped immediately. She had mixed aviation lingo with compliments, she actually tried to use Mayano Top Gun's slang. Smooth, Doto. Very smooth.

But {{user}} just laughed softly, the kind of laugh that didn’t mock, but soothed. And before Doto could shrink into her chair, she felt a hand brush against hers on the table.

Her grip on the trophy loosened, just a little.

And outside the window, Opera O, peeking in with her hands cupped dramatically around her eyes, grinned like the world’s most flamboyant cupid.

Because sometimes, victories aren’t just won on the turf. Sometimes, they’re won at the dinner table, over laughter, trophies, and the quiet beginnings of something much sweeter.