With four days left before the Arlington Million, the gate draw was officially announced. Silence Suzuka drew Gate 4—a relatively central slot.
"Given the strange layout of the current 2000-ter turf course after the renovation at Arlington Racecourse, Gate 4 is far better than drawing 1 or 2," Shuta Ann remarked with visible irritation.
"Why?" Suzuka asked, tilting her head slightly.
"The 2000-ter start is positioned at the end of a bend," he explained. "If you draw the innermost gates, you imdiately run into a slight curve, while the outer lanes effectively begin on a straighter trajectory. From Gate 4, your launch angle approximates a straight line. From Gate 1 or 2, you'd lose efficiency in the first strides."
Suzuka blinked. "That's unexpectedly odd. The post-renovation design is rather unusual."
"Heaven knows what managent was thinking," he muttered. "If they continue experinting like this while other circuits increase prize money, Arlington's influence will only erode."
"But that doesn't affect us, does it?" Suzuka replied calmly. "After this race, we won't be returning."
"Exactly." His expression softened as he ruffled her hair. "All you need to do is execute properly and secure the prize—over 600,000 dollars."
"I'll fulfill my responsibility as a senior," she said firmly. "I'll give everything."
"Just don't worsen Labeeb's trauma," he added quickly.
Originally, Labeeb's Trainer had no intention of entering the Arlington Million. He had planned to aim for a G2 turf stakes at Saratoga instead. But upon learning of Silence Suzuka's participation, he reversed course and registered Labeeb—despite her strong objection.
"I know you're afraid," her Trainer told her bluntly. "But avoiding Suzuka won't heal anything. If you keep evading her, the trauma will deepen."
"I can't help it," Labeeb admitted quietly. "The mont I step onto the turf, I picture her overwhelming pace. I know I've beco timid—but—"
"Then this ti," he cut in, "fight her for the lead. Even if you get ahead for a single mont. If you manage that, afterward you can choose freely—even retirent."
The condition stunned her.
"Understood!" she answered at once.
She had drawn Gate 1.
"The innermost lane is ideal for seizing the front," she resolved. "I may not win—but I will lead her, even if only for fifty ters."
Yet she and Suzuka were not the only ones targeting the front. Marlin's camp had reached the sa conclusion.
"You cannot allow Suzuka to dictate pace uncontested," Marlin's Trainer instructed. "Get ahead and disrupt her rhythm."
Marlin nodded. As a Hollywood Derby winner accustod to Arican turf dynamics, she was comfortable leading at varying tempos—controlled or aggressive. Moreover, she had drawn Gate 5, directly to Suzuka's outside, providing positional leverage.
Shuta Ann was fully aware of Marlin's tendencies. He simply was not concerned.
"No one in this field can match Suzuka's initial acceleration," he assessed. "If it were Dober, Teio, or even Oguri, I might calculate differently. But Suzuka is distinct."
In Hokkaido, he had once remarked that Curren Chan's relentless drive reminded him of Suzuka in her earlier days. Yet he understood sothing deeper: Suzuka's persistence had never vanished.
It was simply channeled. In pursuit of the "leading view," that fixation sharpened into absolute resolve. Even if Marlin applied early pressure, Suzuka would not falter. She would respond.
Still, a faint question lingered in his mind. Suzuka's persistence extended beyond racing—yet in daily life, it manifested subtly, almost invisibly.
Back in her guest room, Suzuka lay on the bed in her pajamas. It was still afternoon; sleep would not co.
"If I want Labeeb to break free," she thought, "should I use my true weapon?"
Ann Trainer's race plan called for a first-1000-ter split of 59.5 seconds—quick, but controlled. Not an all-out runaway.
She stared at the ceiling.
"If I unleash everything from the start…would that free her—or crush her further?"
The question lingered, unresolved, as she turned onto her side and closed her eyes, deep in contemplation.
—
On Sunday, the skies above Arlington Racecourse were brilliantly clear. Though autumn lood on the calendar, Chicago still simred under lingering sumr heat. Shuta Ann remained inside his private box for most of the afternoon, calmly sipping sparkling water in the cool air. He had no intention of stepping trackside until Silence Suzuka's race approached.
Before the Arlington Million, three turf races had already been run. Shuta reviewed their outcos carefully—and a pattern erged.
"All won by front-runners who broke away decisively," he muttered, his expression tightening.
On the surface, a speed-favoring track benefited Suzuka. But racing was rarely that simple.
"Once the others recognize this bias, they'll all scramble for the lead," he reasoned. He could already picture a contested opening—Suzuka pressured imdiately, forced into a pace duel.
"If she adheres strictly to my original 59-second opening Mile, she may not secure the front."
The realization ca quickly and decisively.
He could not contact her now. The only solution was to deliver revised instructions as she erged from the underground tunnel. That ant abandoning the comfort of air conditioning and positioning himself trackside early.
"The other Trainers won't understand Japanese," he calculated. "Even if I shout, they won't grasp the content."
Whether nearby reporters might turn it into headlines no longer mattered.
At 2 p.m., he entered the restricted area near the tunnel exit, remaining apart from others. He waited in silence, eyes fixed forward.
Inside, Suzuka lingered away from the heat, enjoying the interior air conditioning. But when she noticed the broadcast feed displaying her Trainer—straw hat tilted, eyes narrowed toward the tunnel—she imdiately rose to her feet.
"Ann wants to tell sothing," she sensed at once.
When staff announced the entrance sequence, Suzuka positioned herself at the very front. No one contested her place. She was the most accomplished entrant in the field; if she wished to lead the procession, it was granted without resistance.
"As long as it isn't the race result," Marlin murmured from behind her, "anything else is fine."
Suzuka's heartbeat quickened—not from nerves, but anticipation. She wanted to hear what he would say.
The entrance began. Suzuka was the first to step into sunlight—and imdiately spotted him.
Shuta Ann raised his hand, signaling her closer. She approached without hesitation.
"For this Arlington Million," he said evenly, locking eyes with her, "you have full discretion. Several may commit to the lead at the last mont. My planned 59-second opening split may no longer suffice. If you fail to secure the front, your performance will suffer."
"I understand." Her smile shone brilliantly. "I'll bring you another G1."
"Not for ," he corrected gently. "For yourself."
He instinctively reached out—but distance prevented contact. For a brief second, he began to withdraw his hand.
Suzuka stepped forward.
She brushed her cheek lightly against his fingertip and winked.
"Keep watching ."
Then she turned and strode toward the starting gates.
Shuta Ann stared at his hand, then at her retreating figure.
"I always am," he murmured quietly.
Inside the gates, Suzuka assessed her surroundings.
Gate 3, to her left, held Awad—recent winner of the G1 Sword Dancer Stakes.
"A 2400-ter specialist," Suzuka recalled from Ann's analysis. "If I set a sharp tempo over 2000 ters, she'll struggle to respond."
Gate 5, to her right, held Marlin—her Trainer's designated primary threat.
"One who intends to fight for the lead," Suzuka acknowledged silently.
Marlin, too, asured Suzuka with unwavering focus. Two Arican G1 victories already marked the Japanese runner's record—each delivered with authority.
"She'll try to control the pace," Marlin resolved. "But this is our ho circuit. I won't surrender the front."
The tension at the line was palpable.
And when the gates opened, the first decisive second would determine everything.
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