In the Kyodo News Service Hai, Shuta An, aboard Northern Conduct, overrode expectations. Instead of the conservative hold-up ride he had outlined, he seized the initiative—forcing a front-running tactic and carrying it all the way to the wire to secure his first graded victory.
On paper, it was decisive.
In reality, it was flawed.
By the ti they reached the underground passage, with reporters still gathering behind him, Shuta An had already turned his back to the noise. There was no trace of satisfaction on his face—only a quiet, unresolved tension.
Yoshida Zenya and Trainer Ito Shuji had been in high spirits monts ago, but that expression cut through their excitent imdiately.
"Is there sothing you're dissatisfied with regarding Northern Conduct?" Ito Shuji didn't circle the issue. He asked it directly.
"Sowhat." Shuta An exhaled, shaking his head. "His acceleration response today was off. Sluggish. Not consistent with what he's shown before."
His gaze lowered slightly, replaying the race in his mind with clinical precision.
"I can't tell if it's a problem with hos competitive drive…or if he simply doesn't adapt well to aggressive positioning."
A brief pause.
"From my projection, this should have been a five-length win at minimum." His tone remained flat, but the dissatisfaction underneath was unmistakable. "We scraped it only to half a length. That's not acceptable."
The words were frad as self-criticism—but the target was obvious.
Yoshida Zenya caught it instantly. What Shuta An was truly dissatisfied with—wasn't himself.
It was the horse failing to et the standard he had already set.
Still, Yoshida said nothing. Not because he didn't understand—but because he understood too well. Shadai Race Horse Club didn't have a better three-year-old to offer this season. Northern Conduct was their best option—and by extension, Shuta An's only viable ticket into the Classic races.
Even if he wasn't convinced—He wouldn't walk away.
—
"Next, the Spring Stakes."
The thought surfaced naturally as Shuta An's mind shifted forward.
"Let's see what Rice Shower is made of."
He had already begun recalibrating.
Because as things stood—Northern Conduct did not look like a horse that could contend at the Satsuki Sho level.
"Tokyo 1800 ters already exposed this much—" he murmured under his breath. "Nakayama 2000 will only make it worse."
The conclusion was harsh—but not careless.
—
By the ti the award ceremony and interviews began, none of that dissatisfaction showed. Shuta An handled the dia with practiced ease, praising Northern Conduct's effort, presenting a clean narrative of success without a single crack.
Yoshida Zenya followed suit—but added sothing extra.
"The first foals from Sunday Silence and Oguri have begun to be born," he announced. "It's too early to judge, of course—but I believe we'll see so extraordinary individuals from this generation."
That…caught Shuta An's attention.
Particularly Oguri's offspring.
In this world, their potential carried a different kind of weight.
For a mont, the thought of going to see them surfaced—but he dismissed it almost imdiately. Breeding farms were closed during the season. Even if they weren't, a trip from Honshu to Hokkaido and back would take too much out of him. Any decline in physical condition in the Dream World would directly impact his race performance.
Not worth it.
"I'll see them next year," he concluded. "There'll be foals available through club recruitnt anyway."
—
The next day, free from work, Shuta An settled into a slower morning. After washing up, he sat downstairs, watching the news cycle roll past on NHK.
Once the morning drama ended, he picked up his phone and sent a ssage.
"Mr. Kitahara, can you help find a Uma Musu nad Rice Shower at the Academy? I need her test records."
"Rice Shower?" ca the reply. "That's a new one. Aren't you off today, Ann-san?"
A beat.
"I'll check. What's this about—recruitnt?"
"No." Shuta An typed back without hesitation. "Just heard the na. Got curious."
Then, almost as an afterthought—
"We've never said Team Sadalsuud isn't recruiting. The bar is just…high."
"High?" Mr. Kitahara shot back imdiately. "You reject most applicants outright. So of them end up doing pretty well elsewhere."
"For Team Sadalsuud, 'pretty well' isn't enough."
Shuta An paused before finishing the thought.
"They need G1-level potential. Otherwise, it does more harm than good."
He didn't elaborate—but he didn't need to.
Mr. Kitahara understood. In a team where monsters gathered, anything less would be crushed under comparison. Talent wasn't just a requirent—it was protection.
"You're not wrong," Kitahara admitted. "Still, your team really is sothing else. Compared to that, even Team Rigil might not hold its lead forever."
A trace of envy slipped through.
"I'd like to recruit a genius like that too—"
—
By the afternoon, the data arrived.
"Middle school student. Early test performances were poor, but she improved significantly once the distance increased. Personality—timid. Notable point: her roommate is a mber of Team Rigil. They're very close."
Shuta An read through it once, then again—slower.
"To be in Miss Tojo's team—" he murmured. "Her roommate isn't ordinary. If Rice Shower can keep up with her, then her baseline isn't low."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"And the Spring Stakes—"
Late March.
The sa day as the Dubai World Cup.
"That's going to be interesting."
—
For the mont, he set the matter aside.
With Oguri and Berno both away, the house was quiet—but that didn't stop him from carrying out a plan he'd already decided on.
Barbecue.
The equipnt was already there—Oguri had prepared everything last year. Ingredients were ready. All that remained was to set up the grill in the garden and start prepping.
Simple. Controlled. Mundane.
A rare kind of calm.
He had just begun skewering the at when the doorbell rang.
"Who is it?"
Setting the skewer aside, Shuta An walked to the entrance and glanced through the peephole.
He stopped.
On the other side stood Mr. Kitahara—smiling, as usual.
And beside him—the very Uma Musu whose file he had just finished reading.
As the door opened, Mr. Kitahara stepped in first, greeting with practiced ease. "Ann-san! Sorry to drop by unannounced."
Shuta An had already turned away, moving back toward the garden as if the visit hadn't disrupted anything at all. "So?" he asked flatly. "What's the reason for bringing an Academy Uma Musu here all of a sudden?"
"Ah… haha…" Kitahara's laugh ca out dry, unconvincing. "Well… President Rudolf noticed you asked to look up her information. She asked why I was checking a middle schooler's records, so I told her the truth. Then she told to bring her here to et you."
Shuta An glanced over his shoulder.
Rice Shower stood just inside the entrance, head lowered, legs trembling faintly. The tension in her posture wasn't subtle—it was overwhelming.
He exhaled, long and quiet.
As expected. Symboli Rudolf stirring unnecessary complications again.
"She said more than that, didn't she?" he pressed.
A brief pause—then he continued, tone already losing interest. "If not, then you can take her back after dinner. I was just satisfying curiosity. Miss Rudolf read too much into it—I'll speak to her myself later."
"There was sothing else," Kitahara admitted, raising both hands in a helpless gesture. "But I don't know what. She kicked out and spoke to her alone. I'm not reckless enough to eavesdrop."
"I see."
Shuta An didn't pursue it further. Instead, he returned to organizing the ingredients, though his gaze lifted briefly—asuring Rice Shower again.
Timid. Withdrawn. Barely able to hold herself together under attention.
From experience, this type was the most troubleso for any Trainer. Not because they lacked ability—but because even reaching them was a problem.
"This isn't so den of predators," he muttered. "There's no need to be this tense."
But he didn't push further. Words wouldn't land right now.
So he changed approach.
"Co eat," he said simply.
—
The barbecue beca the buffer.
Shuta An's cooking, honed after long stretches alongside Oguri, was more than competent—it was precise. Heat control, timing, seasoning—everything was handled with the sa thodical care he applied to racing.
Kitahara relaxed first, then gradually, so did Rice Shower.
The silence wasn't awkward. It was functional.
And the food disappeared quickly.
Shuta An noticed.
"She eats a lot."
Not quite Oguri's level—but close enough to be noteworthy.
Interesting.
—
By the ti they finished, the atmosphere had softened—at least on the surface.
"Thanks for the al, Ann-san," Kitahara said, rubbing his stomach without restraint. "When we're in Dubai, I'll return the favor."
"Sure," Shuta An replied casually. "I'll keep expectations low."
Rice Shower, anwhile, said nothing. Not once.
That…was a problem.
Shuta An frowned slightly before finally addressing her directly.
"What did Miss Rudolf tell you?" His tone wasn't harsh, but it was direct—leaving no room to hide. "If it's sothing you can relay, say it."
"Th-that…" The mont his attention locked onto her, whatever calm she had regained collapsed instantly.
Her body tensed. Her voice faltered.
Shuta An watched, silent—but his thoughts had already shifted.
If this carries over to the Dream World—Then she's unusable.
No matter how skilled the rider, if the Uma Musu herself collapses under pressure, the outco is predetermined.
For a brief mont, he considered discarding the entire plan regarding the Spring Stakes.
It wasn't hesitation.
It was efficiency.
He masked the disappointnt—but not perfectly.
And Rice Shower noticed. She lowered her head further, avoiding his gaze entirely, yet forced herself to speak.
"President… asked if Rice and Trainer had t before…"
"We haven't," Shuta An answered imdiately. "I only heard your na. That's all."
No embellishnt. No softening.
Just the truth.
And it hit.
Her ears drooped—subtle, but unmistakable.
In this Academy, joining Team Sadalsuud wasn't just an opportunity—it was a guarantee. A path to G1-level competition, to results that most could only dream of. Even those who understood their limits still held onto that distant hope.
Rice Shower was no different. Perhaps even more so.
And now—That fragile expectation had been cut down before it could take shape.
"So that's how it is," she thought, her head lowering further. "I'm not… that kind of talent…"
Kitahara shot Shuta An a look—sharp, wordless, but clear enough.
You caused this. Fix it.
Shuta An t his gaze, then exhaled through his nose.
"Listen carefully."
Rice Shower flinched slightly at his voice.
"I'm not recruiting right now," he said. "That hasn't changed."
Her shoulders tensed again—
"But that's only the current situation."
That made her look up.
Just slightly.
"I don't have enough data to judge you yet," Shuta An continued, his tone asured now—not softer, but deliberate. "So I'll set a condition instead."
A pause.
He had already aligned it with his plans in the Dream World.
"By the end of this year," he said, "I'll give you a chance to take an entry test."
Her eyes widened.
"Your opponent will be Tokai Teio."
No cushioning. No adjustnt.
A direct benchmark.
"If you can perform well against her, then joining the team won't be an issue." His gaze held steady. "And if, by then, you've chosen another path—I won't interfere."
Silence followed.
Then—
"I'll do my best!" Rice Shower's voice, though still soft, carried sothing new—sothing firm.
It wasn't confidence. But it was resolve.
A fragile one—but real.
Inside, her thoughts raced.
Train harder. Close the gap. No distractions.
Even the small comforts she once clung to—drawing picture books, quiet escapes—were pushed aside without hesitation.
If this was the only chance—Then she would force herself to reach it.
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