Uma Musume: My Dream and Reality Intersected Chapter 11 11

Oguri Cap's debut had ten racehorses. Shuta An drew the middle gate—number 5.

"Now it's a pincer attack," he muttered after mounting Oguri Cap, scanning the field.

The hostile gazes around him were blatant.

He couldn't help but feel tense, but after a few deep breaths, he steadied himself. "I've even ridden in the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe in the Dream World. A debut race here won't trouble ."

He was unsure how refined Moore's riding technique was within this Dream World, but he had been praised consistently during the past month of training. That gave him confidence.

"And Fujimasa March is in this race too…" He glanced at the horse wearing bib number one. "Is the Dream World's trajectory really this consistent with reality?"

Shuta An tightened his grip on the whip. "Whether here or in reality, I'll win this debut with Oguri Cap."

In the lounge, Trainer Ando squinted at the screen showing his junior on the track.

"I can't shake the feeling that Shuta-kun has the aura of a top Central trainer… am I imagining things?"

One minute before the race, trainers and staff guided the horses into their gates. Oguri Cap, though a newcor, entered smoothly.

Gate number 5 was the third group to load. Shuta An felt her trembling faintly beneath him.

"Excited… or nervous?" he wondered. Then he smiled. "Let's think positive—you're excited too, right, Oguri Cap?"

"Let's teach these arrogant bastards a lesson."

The electric bell rang. Click! The gates burst open.

Relying on instinct, Shuta An leaned forward, urging Oguri Cap into a sharp acceleration.

"If they plan to trap us, we'll break out before they can close in!" It was an 800-ter sprint; there was no ti to think too long. He chose the simplest solution—charge.

Fujimasa March, ridden by Hara Tatsuo in the innermost lane, had been ordered by her trainer to seize the lead in this short-distance race. So when Shuta An and Oguri Cap surged ahead, Hara Tatsuo didn't hesitate to start whipping early.

"So early?" Shuta An noted with surprise. "He wants the lead that badly?"

But the lead was essential to his own plan, so he wasn't about to yield.

Approaching the turn, Shuta An used his slight lead to switch his whip from right to left and gave Oguri Cap a light warning strike, urging her to move diagonally inward—blocking Fujimasa March's path.

It must be said that Oguri Cap's hearty appetite gave her strength; weighing several dozen kilograms more than Fujimasa March, she had the clear advantage in collisions.

Hara Tatsuo saw that too. When Shuta An openly cut across, he gritted his teeth and eased the reins, letting Fujimasa March drop slightly behind. Maintaining a gap of over one horse length, Shuta An entered the turn in front.

Though most knew hugging the rail saved distance, Shuta An made Oguri Cap drift slightly outward.

He wasn't worried about Hara Tatsuo exploiting the opening. The inner sand was thick and heavy—stepping there would sap speed. The veteran trainer knew it as well as he did.

As expected, even with the gap open, Hara Tatsuo dared not dive inside.

"If I give you a chance and you don't take it, then don't bla ," Shuta An muttered.

As they exited the turn, he did the unexpected—tightening the reins, pushing forward, then tightening again, forcing Oguri Cap to lift her head slightly in rhythm.

"What's he doing?" Trainers watching were baffled. They understood the push—helping a horse drive its legs and sprint—but the tightening?

"Push riding encourages a lowered head and stronger thrust, while tightening raises the head, increasing body tension and rebound elasticity," Shuta An recalled in a flash.

His body's push-riding strength was impressive, and Oguri Cap had adapted perfectly to the rhythm. Once clear of the turn, she quickly regained speed, widening the gap with Fujimasa March.

Hara Tatsuo panicked. In the final straight, he flailed his arm, the whip cracking again and again against Fujimasa March's flank. He tried to force his partner to close the distance through sheer pain.

At first, he was confident—Shuta An wasn't even using his whip, just pushing forward steadily.

Too relaxed, Hara Tatsuo thought. I'll teach this newcor a lesson. Don't celebrate before crossing the finish line!

But the more he whipped, the further the gap stretched.

"We won!" Shuta An cheered as they crossed the finish line. He tightened his legs, lifted slightly from the saddle, and twirled the untouched whip in his left hand like a pen.

"A newcor trainer and his Uma Musu partner win on their debut."

The announcer's tone—and the crowd's reaction—were both subdued.

It dulled Shuta An's joy. "Tsk… just like Kasamatsu in reality," he muttered. "If I ever get the chance, I'm heading to Central."

As for those so-called "senior" jockeys who had vowed to give him a hard ti—over the 800 ters, they'd done nothing but watch, reduced to spectators.

"Clowns," Shuta murmured, grinning to himself.