Chapter 1: Hopes have Arrived

"You're sending us to Japan?"

Heavy like a boulder and flat like the ground, originated from the throat of a frail; skinny, and thin; an unimpressive looking man with skin cloak in white; adorn in a white and red outfit fit for a trainer; an inverted-triangular symbol, with an "H" letter within the middle, pin upon his right chest area; an inverted-triangle face with a horizontal ovoid shape pupil surrounded in hazelnuts with his right eye was silver like cutlery.

"If that's the case, you should've spoken earlier to the both of us." the trainer said as one scrawny hand ran through his black crown whilst the other pointed at his companion to his right.

"It's true, you should've-" a voice similar yet different, the New Zealand accent still tightening his thickened throat, to the trainer on his left, this trainer was the opposite to the thin "pops" with some similarity: skin cloak in white; a trainer outfit of white, red, and black; a squarish face with pupils like the trainer next to him that both are surrounded in chestnuts; and a body of an athlete "-Afterall, you still have time, Sir Barton".

Greyish hair in a business suit, an old man - no, an old horse-man - facing the duo as he sat the opposite side, placing elbows on the wooden desk whilst his chin rested at both the back of his hands. Within the room, the President's Room, was what you expected: two sofas line parallel with a grand table at the center - with a candle in the center of it; two rectangular bookshelves dwarf sat at the corners of the room; and two sets of tables and chairs are present within the room.

"I have my reasons-" the old gentleman say, shifting the monocle up and down as moved by his dried, old lips "-one of them is discussing with the other "Triple Crown" whoever to be assigned to Japan…and we have agreed to let the two of you go."

The Triple Crown, along with the Triple Tiara, are a series of horse races for Thoroughbreds - male for the Crown, female for the Tiara. These races are important races for horse-man and horse-women all alike as these races are the sole evidence that show that the partitioner existed in this world, and the winner to prove there are the best of this world. The races are hard to achieve, and to this day, only thirteen existed in the U.S.A…and Sir Barton is one of them.

Both "Pops" and "Bobby" ovoid pupils wide as a platter as they stare at the first of the Triple Crown winner. They both ran in thought - both were overjoyed that the thirteen have chosen them for this mission, despite how lazy "pops" were - however they know that whatever mission they are given only fitted them to handle and finished.

"What luck…I'm too tired to handle it…but choosing between letting them down or not…need to choose the latter" thought by "Pops" as the scrawny shoulder, attached to the scrawny body which is being hunched, moved his thin arms into his pocket before sighing.

"I wonder what the mission…but it doesn't matter, I-no we will finish this no matter the cost" thought by "Bobby" as he regained his composure with his eyes as evidence as they returned back into their normal state, along with his lips mutated into a smile.

"...Sound like both of you already agreed…-" the old man's one end of his lips raised up into a smirk "-well then, let start shall we?"