After the competition, Dylan walked over and shook the sweat from his copper hair.

  "Hey, little guy!"

  "Stop calling me that."

  Dylan shrugged, a smug grin on his face. "Not bad out there. A bit better than I expected."

  "Should I thank you for the compliment?"

  Dylan didn't answer right away. He just looked at Elian, as if remembering something.

  "What's up?"

  "I remember back in boarding school when we first met. You'd be out there practicing jumps, so focused it was like the whole world boiled down to you and your horse." Dylan said with a low laugh. "I kept thinking I hoped I'd meet you in a real competition."

  Elian blinked.

  "I thought you wouldn't remember that." he said.

  "I've got a good memory." Dylan replied, patting his shoulder. "Don't overthink it. See if you can catch up tomorrow."

  Elian fell silent for a moment, then huffed, "This was just a warm-up. Next time I'll win."

  "I'll be waiting." Dylan said, nodding. His tone was light, but loaded with a challenge. "Just don't forget: nobody remembers anyone but the winner."

  Elian narrowed his eyes and vowed to himself that he wouldn't make the same mistakes in tomorrow's event.

  The final day came quickly. The show jumping phase was the grand finale of the three-day event.

  The stands were packed; everyone was holding their breath, waiting for the last dramatic turn. Each colorful obstacle loomed like a wall. The morning's rain had left the ground slick, and a few riders had already slipped, knocked rails, or lost their stride, mistakes that made the crowd nervous.

  "Next up, representing Great Britain: Dylan Fitzgerald!" the announcer called, and the crowd erupted.

  Dylan went first. He rode in on a pale horse with a golden mane, flashing a practiced, confident smile to the stands, the picture of classic British poise. His copper hair caught the light, and his eyes were sly and sharp.

  His rhythm looked effortless but precise. Unlike Elian, who tweaked to match his mount, Dylan seemed to lead, tempting each fence with flamboyant boldness.

  "At that combination he actually went against convention, urging the horse to accelerate and tighten the stride."

  On the final obstacle he rose slightly, landing with theatrical flourish as if taking a bow.

  The crowd applauded.

  "Zero penalties!" the scoreboard declared.

  Elian stood at the edge of the ring and stared at the board, forcing a wry smile. No wonder Dylan scored like that. He had the nerve and the experience to pull it off.

  In Elian's memory, Dylan was always the kind to take risks in the ring. With his greater experience, his performances tended to stun. Still, Elian couldn't help resenting that Dylan stuck around dominating on this level when he could be competing higher up. That irritation peaked when Dylan tossed a cheeky wink at the cameras; Elian had to fight the urge to sock him.

  Elian's turn came quickly.

  He drew in a deep breath and murmured, "Let's go, partner." His hand brushed Zephyrus's neck, and the horse answered with steady, rhythmic steps.

  This course was packed with tricky combinations, designed to test not only the skill and fitness of horse and rider but also their trust and composure.

  Elian's lips curved into a faint smile. His blood felt like it was boiling.

  The whistle sounded and, in an instant, he and Zephyrus burst out of the start gate. The first fence came clean, steady and neat. At the second, set at a slight angle, he collected the stride, adjusted the distance, and cleared it without a fault.

  Gasps from the crowd turned into applause. Even the commentator remarked, "This rider's rhythm is remarkably precise. His sense of timing under pressure is impressive."

  "Well done!" Aria shouted from the sidelines.

  Jasper stood nearby, his face unreadable, yet his gray-blue eyes held a spark of fire.

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  The atmosphere tightened as Elian approached the combination that had caused the most faults.

  "The spacing here is difficult," the commentator explained. "Earlier riders have either come in too close and hit the poles, or left the stride too long and lost balance. Let's see if he can manage it."

  Elian's pace was a touch too fast.

  "Too quick," Jasper muttered, eyes narrowing.

  At the last moment, Elian made his choice. Rather than force the rhythm, he gave the faintest cue, almost imperceptible, and Zephyrus shortened just enough. The stride was tight but controlled, carrying them into a flawless takeoff.

  "Beautiful! Two fences in one fluid motion!" the commentator exclaimed.

  The stands erupted with cheers.

  Jasper exhaled. He had underestimated this boy's composure. Elian had shown the focus of a true competitor, sharp even under pressure.

  "His style isn't like yours," Jasper said quietly to Vance.

  "Didn't expect you to remember," Vance replied.

  "Of course I remember. You were one of my most striking students, a rider with impeccable control."

  "Thank you." Vance's tone was brief, firm.

  "You measured every stride with precision and never missed," Jasper continued. "He looks reckless by comparison, but he's actually adapting to the horse's rhythm. Just when it seems like he's about to lose control, you realize every step is part of his plan. That's why he surprises you."

  "That's his gift," Vance said, watching Elian.

  "But it isn't steady yet. It could just as easily be his downfall."

  "I believe with your talent, you're the one who could teach him to master it."

  Jasper chuckled, leaning against the rail. "You know how to talk. How could I turn that down now?"

  On the course, Elian had no idea he was being weighed and measured. He was immersed in the ride, feeling the rare joy of moving as one with his horse.

  He had always believed it was better to adjust himself to the horse than to force obedience, bringing out each animal's full potential.

  Fence after fence passed without error. He didn't chase reckless speed, nor did he cling to textbook form. Instead, he found the rhythm in each exchange with Zephyrus, sidestepping the slick footing and skimming past traps that had caught others.

  With every jump, Jasper's eyes burned brighter. He leaned forward, gripping the rail as though he needed to catch every detail.

  The final fence loomed ahead.

  Elian never hesitated. He gave the cue, Zephyrus soared, and they landed in perfect balance.

  The crowd roared.

  "Clear round! Zero penalties! That score will shake up the leaderboard!" cried the commentator.

  "Incredible," Jasper murmured, his voice caught in awe. "Give this boy a few more years and he'll shake the world."

  In one brief takeoff, Jasper thought he glimpsed the crown of a future champion.

  He realized Vance Heaton had chosen well.

  Vance said nothing, as if he had known all along that Elian would deliver.

  "Do you know who he reminds me of?" Jasper asked.

  "Who?"

  Images flickered in his mind: a young man years ago, striking and calm, astride a dark chestnut thoroughbred soaring over the final fence as the stands erupted.

  "The last rider to impress me like this was... you." Jasper turned his gaze on Vance.

  Vance exhaled slowly, lowering his eyes. Perhaps it was nostalgia for the fire of competition, or perhaps an effort to push away dreams that could never return.

  "He'll be great." Vance said. "Greater than I ever was."

  In the distance, Elian pulled off his helmet and jogged toward them, the sunlight bright behind him.

  Vance squinted; with the sunlight blazing at the boy's back, he seemed almost too bright to face. Still, Vance found himself moving toward him.

  The coach let out a long sigh.

  Jasper could still see, as vividly as yesterday, that quiet, almost unnervingly precise young man climbing step by step onto the world's highest stage. He had once claimed gold after gold, dominated the World Equestrian Championships, and struck awe into riders across Europe.

  Just when everyone was calling him a prodigy, a star of tomorrow, the accident happened.

  That dazzling youth overlapped with the man before him now, Vance Heaton, dragging one leg as he walked.

  Jasper knew better than anyone: for the young master of the Heaton family, all the wealth in the world meant nothing compared to the freedom found on horseback.

  As Elian came off the course, he passed by them still flushed with adrenaline and lingering nerves. "Was that really zero penalties?" he asked, breathless.

  Vance glanced at him, his tone steady. "Yes."

  Elian's excitement dimmed a little. He had hoped for even the smallest spark of pride on Vance's face. But he couldn't blame him; this ride had been good, yet far from perfect.

  One day, Elian thought, he would make those eyes shine for him.

  A hand landed on his shoulder with measured weight.

  It was Vance Heaton.

  "I knew you could do it."

  Elian lifted his head and met those deep blue eyes.

  "Thanks." A grin spread across his face.

  "Don't celebrate too soon. Your dressage score from the first day might still drag you down." Jasper called from behind with a laugh.

  As the last riders finished, the scoreboard lit up with final tallies.

  Elian watched his ranking climb, slot by slot, until it stopped on the second line.

  "Second place!" Aria squealed beside him. "Elian, after all these years away, you came back and took the silver!"

  Relief washed over him, and he laughed with her.

  Still, it was clear: his low dressage score had cost him. Even a flawless jumping round could only lift him to second.

  "Not bad at all." Jasper said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Looks like I'll need to head back to the Netherlands, pack up, and find a place here."

  "You mean... really?" Elian's eyes lit up.

  "That's right. And you'd better be ready. None of my students have ever embarrassed me, though I've made plenty of them fear me."

  "Good! Thank you, coach!" Elian shouted, his voice unable to hide his joy.

  "All right, all right, no need to yell." Jasper waved him off. "But I'll admit, I hate American food. Thinking about eating it every day makes me feel like I'm headed straight for diabetes."

  "You could always ask... a certain boss with control over the food budget to fix that." Aria said, darting a look at Mr. Heaton with exaggerated winks.

  "Exactly! Maybe slip in some real meals instead of, say, revolting canned luncheon meat?" Elian chimed in.

  "I'll see that the kitchen prepares healthy meals." Vance said flatly, ignoring their antics.

  "Healthy, sure—but not too healthy." Elian muttered under his breath.

  Cheers still echoed around the arena as the announcer replayed Elian's flawless round on the big screen.

  Jasper remained at the rail, his expression unreadable.

  Softly, almost to himself, he murmured, "Elian Lien... may you truly be the next miracle."