The following evening, Shuta An retired early.
At that hour, jiro Dober and Tokai Teio were still imrsed in bright storefront lights at the Beverly Center beneath Beverly Hills, moving from boutique to boutique with youthful enthusiasm. Their laughter belonged to the waking world.
He belonged elsewhere.
When sleep claid him, the Dream World unfolded once more.
He stood again inside the jockey waiting room at Kyoto Racecourse. The air carried the faint scent of leather and linint oil. Today, he held four riding commissions. The first three would conclude before the Queen Elizabeth Cup—ideal warm-ups before the main event.
All four mounts, including Scarlet Bouquet, belonged to Shadai.
For once, he felt almost like Shadai's principal jockey.
In the past, there were race days when he had not received a single commission from them. But circumstances evolved. Shadai's stable was not vast at this ti, and while Shuta could theoretically ride up to eleven races per day, he and his agent had long since agreed on a principle: if a horse had no plausible chance of winning an allowance race, he would decline.
He prioritized win rate over volu.
Even with Shadai, unless it was a major stakes commitnt or a prior agreent, he occasionally refused. Yet this discipline did not damage his standing with the Yoshida family. On the contrary, his steadily climbing winning percentage strengthened their trust. Within the Shadai Race Horse Club, a rumor had even taken root—if Shuta An rode a horse in its debut, the investnt would at least break even.
Today, the three preliminary races passed smoothly.
He won all three.
His body ward. His instincts sharpened.
Then ca the Queen Elizabeth Cup—the final leg of the Dream World's Triple Tiara Route.
This race was notorious for volatility. Last year, the least favored runner, Suna no Kifu, nearly caused a catastrophe for bettors nationwide. Only Edge Cut—Shuta's mount—had narrowly suppressed the late surge to prevent chaos.
Scarlet Bouquet had won the Japanese Oaks. Yet this race was 200 ters shorter, diminishing her comparative advantage. Public confidence was restrained.
Privately, Shuta assessed her ceiling with brutal honesty.
A top-five finish would constitute success.
Gate draw: fourteen. Outside.
To her left stood Rinden Lily, tenth in the Oka Sho, partnered with Yaeno Muteki's principal jockey. To her right: Yuki Etoile, the least popular entrant in the field.
He had studied them.
Rinden Lily preferred to drop to the rear and wait. Yuki Etoile favored an aggressive lead.
For a forward-running horse like Scarlet Bouquet, tracking Yuki Etoile was the logical approach.
The gate snapped open.
He urged imdiately.
Yuki Etoile broke even faster, seizing the front decisively before cutting inward under Muramoto Yoshiki's assertive guidance. Because Shuta was positioned outside, he avoided interference. Exploiting the compression occurring behind the leader, he guided Scarlet Bouquet forward and secured an advantageous early position.
But sothing felt wrong.
The battle for the lead intensified beyond expectation. Before the field even reached the final straight, control of the pace changed hands at least four tis.
In the end, Yuki Etoile reclaid the front—but the damage was done.
The first 1000 ters clocked at 59 seconds.
Too fast.
Shuta had sensed the escalation when the first position shift occurred. He allowed Scarlet Bouquet to settle slightly off the speed. Had he not adjusted, her stamina would have evaporated before Kyoto's long final straight.
Even so, her limitation revealed itself when it mattered most.
Scarlet Bouquet lacked explosive acceleration.
He drove her forward with disciplined urgency. Whip, rhythm, balance—every technique optimized.
They finished third. Three lengths behind Rinden Lily, the race favorite.
After crossing the line, he already understood.
Scarlet Bouquet might never capture another G1.
Her capacity had been asured.
When he awoke, the disappointnt lingered faintly. He did not even check the Dream World rewards. Third place ant prize money and nothing more. Without victory, there would be no special bonus. He knew the system too well to expect otherwise.
After washing up, he picked up his phone to browse the morning headlines.
A knock interrupted him.
He opened the door to find Tokai Teio standing there in a coffee-colored mini-dress, bright as ever.
"Trainer! Dober-senpai and I are visiting West Coast Tracen Academy today! Would you like to co?"
"I'll pass," he answered imdiately. He knew that place thoroughly. There was nothing left there for him.
Then his expression sharpened slightly.
"Teio, when you arrive, keep your distance from the trainers. Do not visit the research institute. And do not casually consu anything they offer. If there is the slightest issue, contact Miss Secretariat at once."
Teio blinked twice—then nodded rapidly.
"Mhm! We're touring with Miss Secretariat anyway. We agreed on it during the celebration party!"
"I see." His shoulders eased. With Secretariat present, interference was unlikely. "Then enjoy yourselves."
After Teio bounded downstairs, jiro Dober erged from near the stairwell.
She had clearly been listening.
Wearing a cape-sleeved shirt, she stood quietly, eting Teio's eyes. Her lips parted slightly—then closed again.
"Next ti, Dober-senpai can knock on Trainer's door herself," Teio said lightly, perceiving the hesitation.
"I…" Dober bit her lower lip, faint color rising to her cheeks. "I will try harder next ti."
There was no mockery in Teio's smile.
Only warmth.
And upstairs, Shuta An, unaware of that small exchange, returned to his room—where decisions in both worlds continued waiting for him.
After greeting their Trainer, Tokai Teio and jiro Dober—both already finished with breakfast—were driven by the assistant to West Coast Tracen Academy.
Although they had spoken with Miss Secretariat earlier, the Student Council President's schedule was perpetually full. So when their car stopped at the academy gates, the one waiting for them was not Secretariat herself, but a gray-haired Uma Musu whose aura carried a similar sharpness.
"My na is Lady's Secret," she said succinctly. "The Student Council President instructed to show you around West Coast Tracen Academy."
Her introduction ended there. She turned imdiately, clearly uninterested in small talk.
"My na is Tokai Teio! Thank you for taking the ti to guide us, Miss Lady's Secret!" Teio called out brightly toward her back, undeterred by the cool reception.
"I am jiro—"
"jiro Dober," Lady's Secret interrupted flatly. "You won this year's Breeders Cup Juvenile Fillies Turf and the Natalma Stakes. I do not know why the Student Council President has taken interest in turf-oriented Uma Musu, but I assu you possess sothing distinctive."
"Sothing…distinctive?" Dober echoed, slightly flustered.
If she had to identify a specialty, perhaps painting—but that was hardly the kind of uniqueness that would attract Secretariat's attention.
Lady's Secret did not elaborate. "Follow ."
They complied.
Curiosity about the place where their Trainer once worked outweighed any discomfort.
The first stop was the central courtyard.
It was enormous—far larger than the one at Central Tracen Academy. Despite the early hour, it teed with Uma Musu moving briskly in all directions. The energy felt compressed, efficient, purposeful.
"It is nearly class and training ti," Lady's Secret explained. "Few choose to linger. As the academy's transportation hub, this area carries the highest foot traffic."
"That's very different from ours," Teio observed. "We hold tea parties in our central courtyard. That might be impossible here—there's too much movent and noise."
"I do not fully understand Japanese customs," Lady's Secret replied. "But the density reminds of comrcial districts in Los Angeles."
"It does feel similar," Dober admitted quietly. "I feel as though many people are looking at us."
"They are," Lady's Secret said without hesitation. "The three of us together hold thirteen G1 victories. Attention is inevitable."
"Thirteen?!" Teio froze for half a second.
The arithtic required no effort. Dober possessed two. Teio had yet to debut.
That ant eleven belonged to Lady's Secret.
Dober and Teio exchanged a glance. An accumulation comparable to Oguri-senpai.
So this was the caliber of guide Secretariat assigned them.
There was nothing to complain about.
They continued onward.
Next ca one of the academy's training grounds. Nurous Uma Musu were already engaged in warm-ups, acceleration drills, and interval runs. The rhythmic pounding of hooves stirred sothing deep inside Teio. She almost leaned forward instinctively—but she was wearing small leather shoes unsuitable for running.
Reluctantly, she suppressed the urge.
Dober, having contested a G1 just two days prior, remained composed. The scene did not stir impatience within her.
"This is our largest training ground," Lady's Secret stated. "Do you know why?"
"We don't," Teio and Dober answered together.
"Because this was the Student Council President's preferred training ground during her active Twinkle Series years. After her retirent, the academy expanded and renovated it into the largest Uma Musu training facility in Arica."
Her tone shifted slightly.
"Unfortunately, a few years ago, those fools on the East Coast constructed an off-campus training ground even larger."
There was unmistakable irritation in her voice. Even without seeing her expression, the displeasure was audible.
"Forget it. Let us proceed to the library. That remains the largest Tracen Academy library in the United States."
She turned sharply—and then a voice cut through the air.
"Lady's Secret. Showing prospective transfers around?"
All three Uma Musu frowned simultaneously.
"What does it matter to you?" Lady's Secret's tone dropped several degrees. "Move aside."
"How could it not matter?" The man stepped directly into her path, then shifted his attention to Teio and Dober. His gaze was evaluative, calculating.
"Hello, ladies. Interested in joining my team? Bob Baffert's."
The na ant nothing to either of them.
Teio and Dober exchanged a brief glance—silent coordination.
"Sorry," they answered in unison. "We already belong to a team."
It was an effortless response. They were not even students here. Recruitnt attempts held no aning.
Lady's Secret's expression darkened further.
The atmosphere, monts ago rely tense, now carried a sharper edge.
And West Coast Tracen Academy's morning bustle continued around them—unaware that sothing far more deliberate had just attempted to insert itself into their path.
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