Elian drew a deep breath, telling himself not to be distracted, and silently prayed for a smooth ride.

  "It's going to be fine, Zephyrus. I believe in you."

  He rode to the center of the arena and bowed to the judges.

  "Now entering the ring is rider number seven, Elian Lien. Once an active presence in youth equestrian events, he dropped out of the circuit for reasons unknown. This year marks his return. Will he deliver a surprising performance, or will the long gap show in his scores?" The commentator's voice carried across the arena.

  "The opening walk and trot are solid. He's keeping his body supple and in harmony with the horse. This mount has plenty of energy, with a strong stride and powerful hindquarters. It looks like the rider knows how to stay with the rhythm."

  Elian's expression was one of complete focus, every thought devoted to guiding Zephyrus. He felt like the melody carried within a chord, adjusting with each note while keeping the whole performance fluid and harmonious.

  "Wow, is that really Elian? Is it just the tailcoat, or does he actually look like a different person—and kind of handsome, too!" Ariya whispered, eyes darting between the big screen and the rider in the ring.

  "It's him," Vance said quietly. "I thought his past would have dulled that edge, but clearly he hasn't lost it."

  Ariya blinked, not sure if she heard him right. Vance wasn't speaking to her or anyone else; his gaze was fixed on the arena.

  "The half-pass went smoothly. Now he's moving into the figures. First the figure eight. The horse is restless, but still holding a steady rhythm. Let's see if the rider can keep him under control."

  Elian kept his attention on the rhythm of Zephyrus's steps. The horse disliked the slow, measured paces, yet the more restless Zephyrus became, the calmer he had to be.

  He chose not to press hard with his legs, but instead let his body soften. It was a risky move, since some horses would take it as permission to act out, but he wanted to send another message.

  Relax. There's no need to panic. You're safe.

  Zephyrus's ears flicked back, catching the signal. Gradually he returned to his best frame, tracing smooth arcs across the arena.

  "Look at those precise turns on the markers, and how he adjusts his posture with each change of pace. That's crucial, because losing balance or rhythm here would disrupt the entire sequence." The commentator's voice carried a note of approval.

  When the final movement ended, Elian guided Zephyrus back to the center. He saluted the judges, offered a small bow to the audience, and trotted out of the arena.

  "Well done, Zephyrus!" He patted the horse's neck.

  The wait for scores was agonizing. Elian thought about joining Ariya to distract himself, but stopped short when he noticed Vance still watching.

  At last, the numbers appeared: 31.4 penalties, placing him fifth.

  Almost by instinct, Elian glanced toward the stands. For a heartbeat he caught those blue eyes fixed on him, and quickly looked away.

  Soon after, Vance, Simon, Ariya, and the man in the hat left the seating area.

  "It's fine," Elian murmured, stroking Zephyrus's mane. "Even your weakest phase put us in fifth. We can handle the rest."

  Scanning the scoreboard, one name stood out: Dylan, ranked first with 25.8 penalties.

  Elian rubbed his chin. He hadn't expected to run into Dylan here, not after so long.

  ＊

  After the first day's competition, Elian headed back to the trailer, sat down, and dug into his chicken breast and broccoli.

  "Excuse me, are you Elian Lien?" A voice with a crisp British accent came from the side.

  Elian looked up, his mouth still full of food, and mumbled, "Mm? Yeah, that's me."

  "Where the fuck have you been!" The man suddenly grabbed Elian by the collar, so roughly that Elian nearly choked.

  "Whoa, hey—calm the hell down, man!" Elian raised both hands.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The guy in front of him had a striking head of copper hair, bright as flame, carrying an air of defiance and swagger. His slightly wavy locks shifted with every movement, a few messy strands falling across his face as he seethed.

  "Dylan?" Elian squinted and recognized him.

  Dylan Fitzgerald, an upperclassman he'd known back in boarding school. They hadn't run in the same circles; their paths had mostly crossed at equestrian events.

  "I messaged you and you never fucking answered! You dropped out before finishing school and vanished. Where the hell have you been these past few years?"

  "Huh?" Elian froze, then forced a baffled look.

  This was why Dylan had stormed up after all these years, just to grab him by the shirt over some unanswered texts?

  "Huh, what? Spit it out already!"

  "Alright, alright! But let go of me first."

  Dylan finally released him, folding his arms and waiting for an explanation.

  His parents were from England, and though Dylan carried the same accent, it came layered with mischief and rebellion. His brow bones were sharp, his eyebrows arched with a natural tilt, and his gaze always hinted at amusement. The corner of his lips curled upward in that perpetual, half-smiling smirk.

  "Sorry. My old phone got waterlogged, so I had to switch to a used one. Sometimes messages just... don't come through." Elian scratched the back of his head, sheepish.

  Dylan brushed his unruly fringe aside with a lazy flick of his fingers, his anger easing a fraction.

  "That's the shittiest excuse I've ever heard." He gave a short, dismissive laugh.

  Elian thought: we were never close enough to be messaging all the time anyway. And over a couple missed texts you blow up like this?

  Of course, he didn't say that out loud. Instead, he offered, "Really, believe me—I didn't ignore you on purpose."

  "Didn't think I'd see you at a show again. Where the fuck did you run off to, pint-size?" Dylan's tone drifted, more like a taunt from a reckless young aristocrat than an actual question.

  "My family... hit some trouble. We were strapped."

  At the word strapped, Dylan blinked, as though it were a term from another language.

  "The tuition at that school was too much, so I had to transfer."

  "You couldn't have asked for help? From me, for example. My family could've covered your fees without breaking a sweat." Dylan said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

  Yeah right. Weren't you the one who couldn't stand hanging out with boring straight-laced kids like me? Elian thought.

  "So that's why you've been off the circuit all these years?" Dylan pressed.

  "Yeah..."

  "And what dragged you back now?"

  "It's thanks to Mr. Heaton's sponsorship. Without him, I wouldn't even be here."

  "Oh? The Heatons, huh." Dylan folded his arms, eyes gleaming with mischief. "That family's a pack of wolves. Careful you don't get chewed up and spat out, little guy."

  "You're the damn wolf!" Elian's face flushed. "And quit calling me little guy. I've grown a lot since then. Besides, being too tall is a disadvantage for riders anyway."

  Dylan had clashed with Elian plenty back in the youth division. They were old rivals, but Elian had never liked him much—Dylan always talked in circles, always had to poke fun. Years later, the guy hadn't changed a bit.

  "You have shot up," Dylan said with a crooked grin. "Finally starting to look grown up. But you're still just as easy to rile up."

  "And you're still just as annoying."

  Dylan clapped him on the shoulder, looking far too pleased. "Come on, you should be glad to see me. Hardly anyone here remembers you. Did you even see my score today?"

  "Yeah, yeah, I saw it."

  "Does it give you that familiar feeling of being crushed?"

  Elian swatted his hand away. "Crushed? Don't rewrite history. We were neck and neck back then. If anyone got crushed, it was you, later on, when you moved up to four-star and above and Mr. Heaton flattened you."

  In eventing, the star system divided difficulty: one-star was the entry level of international competition, while five-star was the pinnacle. The higher the stars, the harsher the test of skill, stamina, and partnership.

  Dylan's expression tightened at the memory. "So what? No matter how good he used to be, if he pulled out, that's still a loss."

  "That's because his leg—" Elian stopped himself. "Anyway, I'll give it everything these next two days. Don't underestimate me."

  "Good." Dylan's grin returned, cocky as ever. "Not that I've ever underestimated you, little guy."

  "Quit calling me that!"

  "And don't go kissing up to Vance Heaton just because he's footing your bills. Nothing's free in this world. For all you know, he's scheming like his sly old man."

  "Scheming? What the hell could he possibly want from me?"

  "Maybe he likes your pretty face and wants to make you his sugar baby." Dylan smirked.

  "Oh, fuck off." Elian's fist nearly flew. "You think everyone's love life is as messed up as yours?"

  "Still, I barely recognized you in the ring today. You've finally grown into yourself, actually looking kinda handsome."

  Elian rolled his eyes and brushed it off as another joke.

  "Elian!" a voice called from across the lot. Ariya came running, hoodie bouncing with her stride.

  "Looks like your friend's here. I'll take my leave. See you tomorrow, cross-country." Dylan gave an exaggerated bow before striding off, then yelled back over his shoulder, "And change that damn phone of yours!"

  Ariya jogged up, hair swinging.

  "Hey! I had a couple days off, thought I'd come cheer you on."

  She didn't say the real reason—that she knew his mom was sick and worried he'd feel lonely seeing everyone else with their families.

  "Thanks," Elian said softly.

  "No problem. The venue's not too far, anyway."

  "But... what's the boss doing here?"

  "Boss? I only noticed him in the stands after I sat down. And I'm pretty sure the man with him was your future coach."

  Elian covered his face. "I knew it—that was Jasper Jell. So... did they say anything after watching?"

  "The coach said you were 'not bad.' But he wants to wait until the whole event's over before giving his real verdict."

  "Not bad, huh... I can't afford any mistakes tomorrow."

  "Don't pile pressure on yourself. Horses don't always do what you ask. That's just how it goes." Ariya offered a reassuring smile.

  Elian nodded, grateful.

  "And you know there are other signed Heaton riders here, right? But during your round, the boss never took his eyes off you. For him, that means you did well."

  Elian scratched his head. Vance Heaton, impressed by someone? That didn't sound likely.