Stepping out of her room, Dream Weaver returned to the hotel's main entrance.
The private chauffeur, who had been waiting patiently, imdiately hopped out of the driver's seat and held the door open for her.
Once Dream Weaver was settled in the back, the driver returned to her post, gripped the steering wheel, and asked in remarkably fluid Japanese, "Where to, Miss Dream Weaver? Downtown? Or back to Longchamp Racecourse like last ti?"
"Longchamp."
The driver didn't say another word.
She focused entirely on the road, her expert handling of the luxury executive car ensuring Dream Weaver reached the gates of Longchamp without feeling so much as a single jolt or vibration.
"Thank you for the ride."
"I'll be right here at the entrance waiting for you, Ma'am."
Dream Weaver gave the smiling driver a nod and started toward the racecourse.
There were no races scheduled at Longchamp today. To be more precise, the mont Dream Weaver announced her coback, the racecourse had cleared its entire schedule.
Aside from routine track maintenance, Longchamp had barred all visitors except for those competing in this year's Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe.
The Arc was always a singular event in the world of G1 racing—and the broader world of Uma Musu racing—but this year was special even by those standards.
In this rare, landmark year, the Arc was welcoming back a monster who had clawed her way back to the turf from the very depths of hell.
A month ago, when the Uma Musu burdened by the "Curse of the Arc" decided to return to Paris, the city's entire racing community reached a fever pitch.
While everyone was eager to see a world-class athlete reclaim her forr glory, there was a far more practical reason for the excitent: the ticket website's traffic had surged to astronomical levels overnight.
As a world-renowned Uma Musu, Dream Weaver had been dubbed the "Curse of the Arc" during her active career, yet every ti she visited Paris, she brought an endless stream of tourists with her.
Even setting aside the massive boost to local business, the price of tickets for the Arc itself had skyrocketed compared to previous years.
That wasn't even touching the broadcast rights, which had ballooned solely because of her participation. Simply put, during the years Dream Weaver bore that curse, the entire Parisian racing industry flourished in her glow.
Of course, that "glow" was most blindingly obvious when looking at the bottom line.
One could track the city's shifting attitude toward her by looking at how the local papers covered her arrivals over the years.
In the first year, there was a hint of resistance: The Monster from the Far East arrives to challenge the Arc of our dreams.
By the second year: The unimaginable reigning champion strikes at Paris once more.
Then ca: The indomitable Uma Musu who marches toward the Arc despite repeated defeats.
It reached such a point that by her final Arc two years ago, the headlines were virtually unanimous:
The Supre World-Class Uma Musu, Dream Weaver, arrives in her loyal city of Paris.
Though she had never actually won the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe, the locals viewed her return as nothing short of a triumphal procession.
Now that the girl who once perford economic miracles for the city had returned to Longchamp, she was t with a welco that could only be described as a tempest.
No one even bothered to ask what her business was; the mont the staff caught sight of her, they moved as one to welco her back.
The track manager, who had been summoned in a hurry, ca trotting up to her.
He was incredibly solicitous, giving her an exhaustive rundown of every minor change the track had undergone in the last two years.
For a mont, Dream Weaver wondered if the man was so sort of die-hard fan. It wasn't until she requested to test the track and he walked away without even asking for an autograph that she tucked that suspicion away.
What Dream Weaver didn't realize was that the manager didn't need an autograph.
All he had to do was snap a quick photo of her silhouette as she headed toward the track and post it to Longchamp's social dia. It would ignite a literal craze across Paris instantly.
Faced with the guaranteed explosion of revenue, the manager watched her receding figure with only one thought in his heart: Loyalty!
Unaware of these little sches, Dream Weaver stepped onto the Longchamp turf. The mont her boots t the grass, she felt the difference.
"What a strange sensation..."
She frowned, looking down at her feet. She took another step, testing the ground tentatively. When she felt the peculiar softness of the turf, she finally confird the feeling.
"I'd heard the Longchamp track was damp, but I didn't expect it to be like this."
Everything was a matter of perspective. Having run local dirt races at Kasamatsu before moving to the Central turf, Dream Weaver used to think the Central tracks were soft enough. But compared to the sensation beneath her feet now, any track in the Central circuit would feel like solid pavent.
"They really do call it the 'Longchamp Swimming Pool' for a reason," she murmured to herself.
She had heard the nickna before arriving. Because the grass was so damp, soft, and springy, it felt like your strength was being swallowed up every ti you kicked off, making it feel less like running and more like treading water.
But only now, standing upon it, did she realize just how extre that "softness" really was.
She couldn't help but let out a small sigh of relief. It was a good thing her rehabilitation had progressed faster than expected.
She had more ti to adapt than she'd originally planned; otherwise, her lack of familiarity with these conditions might have genuinely kept her from giving it her all.
"That's Longchamp for you. Even among European tracks, it's got the strangest feel. It takes ti to get used to it."
Just as Dream Weaver was about to continue her testing, a familiar voice drifted from behind her.
She turned to see Sea the Stars, dressed in her athletic gear.
eting Dream Weaver's gaze, Sea the Stars turned her head away with a huff.
"I did defeat the best Uma Musu in the world last year, you know. As the defending Arc champion, I have every right to enter the track early to scout the conditions!"
In reality, any Uma Musu on the entry list could inspect the track. Sea the Stars had clearly added that bit of bravado just to make sure Dream Weaver took her seriously.
Dream Weaver, however, didn't give her the satisfaction.
Once she saw who it was, she simply turned back to the grass, studying the turf beneath her feet.
"If I start mock races tomorrow... I should still make it in ti," she muttered.
Seeing herself ignored, a prickle of annoyance struck Sea the Stars.
She marched right in front of Dream Weaver, planted her hands on her hips, and declared proudly, "Why wait until tomorrow? If you want a mock race, you can run with right now!"
-- --
T/N: I have a Patreon! Webnovel will get 2 Chapters Every Day, and advanced chapters will be uploaded on Patreon.
It may not seem worth it now, but maybe in the future. Who knows!
[email protected]/AspenTL
If you guys wanna check it out.
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