Triple Crown

"And we are heading to the final corner! Ibarra leads by a length at a steady pace, followed by Es Twenty Six. Treasured Ack at third... NO!!! Here comes Golden Sutter! Golden Sutter races ahead of Treasured Ack, falling down to fourth..."

The caster at the announcer's booth raved as he leaned forward, eyes narrowed on the field. The spectators held their breath at every word, hearts racing with the runners stomping on the dirt track like a stampede.

Ibarra's legs worked in overdrive to sustain her lead, guarding the advantage she had built a minute into the race.

Es Twenty Six tailed her by a length at a consistent pace, while Golden Sutter tried to seal the gap and take the lead from the outside.

"You're not getting away…" Es glared at Ibarra, loathing how the latter never looked back once ahead, as if dismissing her competition — even in a Triple Crown race.

Es's grit finally paid off. Taking the best position just before the curve, she spotted an opening to strike.

"IBARRAAAA!!!"

With a growl, she pressed forward to challenge Ibarra in a dogfight. She accelerated, doubling her firepower.

Unfortunately, if there's one unshakeable thing about Ibarra, it's her focus.

Time seemed to freeze around her, but her legs kept moving. Locked in like a bird of prey diving for the kill, soil exploded behind her as she drove her feet into long, powerful strides.

"Ibarra bursts forward! Ibarra, now leading by two lengths! Es Twenty Six can’t break through! Golden Sutter slows down at third. And Ibarra lengthens the gap toward the home stretch!"

In the last hundred meters, Ibarra had completely cleared, leading by five to six lengths as she dashed past the marker.

"Aaaand we have a winner!"

The arena erupted. Ibarra slowed, facing the sky with shallow gasps. The other horse girls jogged past her, thankful just to finish.

"The victor of the second leg of the Triple Crown Series… IBARRA!!!"

Confetti fell like fireworks. Her name echoed through the arena like a tidal wave. Catching her breath, she graciously returned the praise, bowing like a gentleman in her princely garb.

Es Twenty Six bent forward, sweat dripping down her face. Not far away, Golden Sutter patted her own shoulder as consolation.

In the audience, a doe-eyed Uma wagged her tail as she gripped the side rail, eyes wide with excitement. She waved both hands toward the winner, pigtails flailing as she bounced happily.

Amid the noise and chaos, Ibarra finally noticed her—and waved back with a wide, victorious grin.

---

The day settled with everyone tuned in to their televisions for the press conference. Cameras flashed without end, strobing the platform and the victor standing on it.

"Congratulations on your win, Ibarra. How do you feel about winning two consecutive races in this series?" one interviewer asked.

"I am very honored and lucky to get another win today. I will prepare harder and be in my best form for the next race. I’ll leave nothing to chance."

Another reporter raised a hand. "One more win, and you’ll be a Triple Crown Champion. No horse girl has done that in the past six years. Do you think you can do it?"

"It's hard to say. After all, I am running against the best of the best. But if anyone shares the same fire I do—running like it’s our last—then anything is possible. "

Staring straight at the camera, she slowed her words to make sure everyone heard them.

"And as for me, I only have one dream.’"

Her statement stirred immediate curiosity.

"What’s the dream? The Philippine Gold Cup? Another Triple Crown? Overseas competitions?"

And Ibarra pulled the curtains back herself.

"A new era…"

The crowd froze. Camera shutters fell silent.

"A renaissance. That is my dream. And it begins when I win the Triple Crown."

The entire hall buzzed. Confused reporters shouted more questions, flooding the audio with chaos.

---

Meanwhile, rivals at the Academy watched every word.

"Hey Es, I think you should rest for now…" a concerned classmate said told her.

Es Twenty Six barely heard anything. She squatted under a barbell, breath heavy, eyes fixed on the television. As soon as Ibarra appeared onscreen, she dropped the weights with a loud clang, her glare sharpening like a blade.

In the cafeteria, Golden Sutter shoveled bowls of rice and heaps of hamburger carrot steak, watching as she munched mouthfuls without pause.

At the Student Council office, a fiery-haired Uma leaned back in her chair, drinking in Ibarra's bold declaration.

"As expected, Ibarra’s poking lions." She sighed in amusement.

The door clicked open, and the Vice President stepped in.

"Did I miss anything, Pres?"

The President smirked as she rewound the video. The Vice President drifted to her side, arms crossed, ears tilted forward.

Across the academy, every Uma who listened felt the weight of it—the challenge of a new age.

Es grinned like a wild beast baring its fangs.

Sutter had ordered her seconds.

The President leaned forward in anticipation.

And as the cameras rolled to a close, Ibarra smirked at the house she had set on fire.