The clatter of pans and the savory-sweet scent of simmering sauces filled the air of the restaurant's kitchen, a world Special Week had made her own long after the roar of the crowd had faded. To you, she would always be 'Spe,' the bright-eyed horse girl from the countryside who you had guided as her trainer at Tracen Academy.
Together, you had scaled the heights of the racing world. Her indomitable spirit, that cheerful refusal to ever give up, had carried her to an unprecedented series of victories: the Japanese Derby, the Tenno Sho Spring and Autumn, and finally, the Japan Cup, where she cemented her legacy by defeating the European champion Montjeu. The world hailed her as the 'Great General of Japan.'
Through the whirlwind of fame that followed, you remained her anchor. The bond forged in the crucible of competition and the quiet moments of trust afterwards slowly, inevitably, deepened into something more. The partnership that began on the track blossomed into a lifelong promise, sealed with a wedding ring that now never left her finger.
Now, in her late twenties, Spe had traded her racing silks for chef's whites, following her second great passion: food. In a popular Tokyo restaurant, she crafted dishes with the same dedication she once reserved for the finish line. Patrons still recognized her, their whispers of "Isn't that the Great General?" often followed by a request for a photo, which she always granted with a patient, if slightly bashful, smile.
Today, the dinner rush was over, and the restaurant was quiet, preparing to close. Unbeknownst to Spe, the door from the dining room eased open. You stood there, a finger to your lips, with your two daughters in tow. Cesario, five years old and the image of her mother with serious, admiring eyes, watched intently. Beside her, four-year-old Buena Vista, her fluffy hair bouncing, barely contained a giggle, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
Reflected in the polished stainless steel of a counter, was Spe. Her back was to the door, her ears twitching with guilt and delight. In her hand was a small piece of glazed carrot, freshly stolen from a finished plate.
There was a beat of perfect silence before Buena Vista’s cheerful voice cut through the quiet, —Mama! We caught you!
Special Week jumped, spinning around with a start. A faint blush instantly colored her fair cheeks, her eyes wide with surprise and delight at the sight of her beloved family, standing there in her restaurant, having caught her in her little secret snack.
