Sunday in Takarazuka City dawned bright and hot. Sumr had fully settled in, and even in the early morning the air carried a dense warmth. Shuta An checked the forecast, then opened his suitcase and selected accordingly: a breathable undershirt, a thin overshirt loose enough to catch the breeze, and cropped pants light enough for movent.
Looking at himself in the mirror, he tilted his head.
"I look like I'm heading to the beach." Then he snorted softly. "Takarazuka doesn't even have a beach."
Before Silence Suzuka entered the restricted lounge, while ssages could still pass freely, he snapped a quick selfie and sent it.
"This is what I'm wearing today. After the tenth race I'll stand by the finish line. You should be able to spot easily."
Her reply ca almost imdiately.
"Understood. Ann, don't forget sunscreen. The UV is strong today."
"I will. No one from the team is coming to watch. Does that bother you?"
The response was quick—almost too quick.
"Not at all."
She held her phone for a mont longer and murmured under her breath, unseen by him, "This is exactly how I want it."
"That's good," he replied. "I was worried you might feel lonely. After the race, I've booked a restaurant. Look forward to it."
"I'll make sure Ann's preparations aren't wasted."
Then another ssage appeared.
"I'm about to enter Hanshin Racecourse. Let's et this afternoon."
"Go, Suzuka!"
After he sent it, there was no "read" notification for quite so ti.
"She switched it off imdiately," he muttered with a faint sigh. "Focused as always."
He had traveled to Hanshin Racecourse in Takarazuka City, Hyogo Prefecture, ho of the historic Takarazuka Kinen held at Hanshin Racecourse. The trip had been quiet. Today, he saw no familiar faces from Central Tracen Academy. That was normal—three hours from Tokyo was no trivial commute unless one's own team was racing.
For him, the solitude was welco.
He spent the early part of the day in the VIP box, alternating between the televised broadcast and the live view through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The air-conditioning humd softly.
One race in particular caught his attention—the debut race.
He scanned the entry list. The nas were unfamiliar, yet his eyes sharpened.
"There's that legend again—"
Within Central Tracen Academy, rumors persisted: the 1600-ter Tokyo debut, the Hanshin debut on Takarazuka Kinen day, and the debut held on Kikuka Sho day—winners of these were said to flourish later in their careers.
He had checked the statistics himself.
It was not entirely superstition.
"And Dober is already one of them," he murmured with quiet satisfaction. "I hope she rembers that."
When the Hanshin turf 1600-ter debut concluded, the winner's na registered imdiately.
Kyoei March.
She had taken the lead boldly, setting 60.1 seconds for the opening 1000 ters, and still found another gear in the final straight. The margin back to second was decisive.
Shuta An ntally logged the data.
"Need to monitor Kyoei March. Was it weak opposition, or genuine class?"
If sustained, she would be a major factor on the Triple Tiara route—possibly a direct obstacle for jiro Dober.
But today, his focus belonged elsewhere.
The minutes ticked toward the Takarazuka Kinen.
He rose from the sofa, grabbed a bottle of water, and descended to the trackside restricted area. Clusters of Trainers and teammates were already gathered. Almost all had entourages.
He stood alone.
When he stepped into the enclosure, several heads turned. Recognition flickered quickly. His attire—cool and unbothered—contrasted sharply with the tension in the air.
A few Trainers approached with brief greetings. Polite. Professional. Distant.
Soon they would be competitors.
Shuta An selected a position closest to the finish line. He loosened the cap on his water bottle and took a asured sip, then fixed his gaze on the underground passage exit.
Carrot hair and Carrot earmuff.
He would never mistake it.
The entrants of the Takarazuka Kinen filed in according to gate order. Silence Suzuka stood nearest the tunnel exit—but as Gate 11 finished its introduction, she was last to appear.
The comntator's voice rang out over the course.
"From Team Sadalsuud—Silence Suzuka! With two overseas G1 victories, she challenges for her first dostic G1 title today! Can the runaway performance that astonished overseas audiences be reproduced here at Hanshin? It is rumored that if she wins today, she may head to the United States to contest the Arlington Million!"
Shuta An blinked.
"The Arlington Million?"
He hadn't even finalized her next target. Where had that rumor originated?
Still, speculation was irrelevant now.
He raised his arm and waved.
Silence Suzuka spotted him instantly. Her expression softened; she waved back with quiet confidence.
From the grandstands, cheers erupted. Many assud she was greeting the crowd.
"So popular," he thought.
Despite lacking a dostic G1 victory, her overseas performances had already built a substantial following.
Perhaps that was significant.
Dostic G1 opportunities were finite. Internal competition compressed pathways. Overseas campaigns expanded them.
"If more Uma Musu look outward," he reflected, "the ceiling rises for everyone."
The sun blazed overhead.
And at the edge of the turf, as the field prepared to load, Shuta An's expression settled into complete focus.
Now ca execution.
Twelve Uma Musu stood loaded into the gates.
The gates burst open.
All twelve broke cleanly. No hesitation. No stumble. A perfect collective launch.
From the far outside stall, Silence Suzuka exploded forward.
The long 470-ter run to the first turn gave her room—but she did not waste a single stride. Rembering Shuta An's instructions down to the second, she accelerated decisively, overtaking Yusei Top Run within monts. Spotting hesitation from Midnight Bet and HoeiCosmos, she cut inward sharply, claiming the rail before they could react.
By the ti they crossed the finish line for the first ti, she had secured the lead.
And no one challenged.
No reckless early duel. No suicidal press.
Each of the eleven behind chose what they believed was optimal for themselves. No one wished to sacrifice their own winning chances rely to harass the frontrunner.
In the VIP area, Shuta An allowed himself the smallest exhale.
"Good. Rational opponents."
If soone had decided to disrupt Suzuka out of spite—burning themselves just to drag her pace down—it would have complicated matters. Though even then, he believed she could have responded with a 57-second opening kiloter and simply incinerated the instigator.
Her stamina base was no longer what it had been early in the year.
Not Oguri Cap level—but more than sufficient for a high-tempo 2200 ters.
"A clean start is ideal," he murmured.
Entering the first bend, Silence Suzuka subtly assessed the field using the curve's natural sightline. GoingSuzuka trailed several lengths behind—clearly content to let her go.
Five lengths.
Then six.
"Sa na," she thought faintly, noticing GoingSuzuka behind her. "But you're not coming."
The gap widened further.
"So the consensus is to let exhaust myself?"
A faint smile touched her lips.
"The one who understands best is Ann."
Behind her, the comntator's voice sharpened.
"Silence Suzuka is already opening a gap of more than five lengths! The rest of the field appears to be maintaining standard pace. Do they believe she cannot sustain 2200 ters?"
The question rippled through the crowd.
"She's never run this distance before."
"Her specialization leans shorter."
"Even Team Sadalsuud can't be completely certain, right?"
In the VIP area, Shuta An glanced at the data panel on his device.
High-Speed Lead — Active.
His lips curved.
"If you all choose to ignore her—you may regret it."
Across the stands, Stay Gold's Trainer, Kumazawa Yasuro, frowned deeply.
He had not agreed to any "consensus." In fact, he had instructed Stay Gold not to give Silence Suzuka free rein.
But his Uma Musu was running mid-pack—eighth—her body language casual, almost distracted.
"She's probably just conserving focus for later," he told himself.
Yet he knew better.
Stay Gold had never once been fully engaged from start to finish in a race.
On the track, Stay Gold's attention drifted.
She sniffed faintly.
"What perfu is Sunrise Flag wearing today? That's surprisingly nice—"
An inappropriate comparison flickered in her mind—her Trainer's wife's fragrance, sharp and overwhelming. She suppressed a laugh.
Only when they entered the latter half of the first bend did she truly look ahead.
And there—
Silence Suzuka.
More than ten lengths clear.
"Oh? That's the one he warned about."
Stay Gold raised an eyebrow.
"She's running like that before the backstretch? Isn't she afraid her legs will die later?"
The thought nearly made her grin.
Up front, Silence Suzuka did not glance back again. Her breathing was steady. Her stride perfectly asured.
Fifty-nine seconds for the opening 1000 ters—exactly as instructed.
She extended the margin on Going Suzuka with chanical precision.
This was not reckless escape. It was calculated separation.
And the race had only just begun.
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