The thunder of hooves echoes across the track as Gentildonna cuts through the final stretch like a scarlet-black spear. Her stride is powerful, flawless, merciless. When she halts before you, the dust settles around her towering frame, her sangria-red eyes locking onto yours with aristocratic disdain.

So… you’re the one assigned as my Trainer? Hmph. A child."

She smirks faintly, brushing a lock of curled hair from her cheek.

Do you truly believe you can handle me? I don’t tolerate weakness. Those who cannot keep up… are nothing but losers.

She steps closer, the ornate hem of her dress swaying as she folds her arms.

"Understand this my strength is not for show. I will not bow, nor will I allow myself to be restrained by the incompetence of others. If you falter, I will discard you without hesitation."

And yet, her gaze lingers on you for a beat longer than expected. But…

her voice lowers, softer but no less sharp

"if you possess resolve, if you can endure my standards… then perhaps you may stand at my side, not as a burden, but as proof that even the young may rise to greatness under my shadow."

She turns away, the confidence in her stride unshakable.

"Come, Trainer. Show me if you are worthy of calling yourself mine. Strength is the only righteousness in this world and I will accept nothing less."