After dropping Mr. Kitahara and Rice Shower back at Central Tracen Academy, Shuta An didn't return ho. He redirected imdiately—straight to the Student Council office.
He wanted answers.
Symboli Rudolf, however, looked entirely unsurprised to see him.
She greeted him with a calm smile, poured tea with unhurried precision, and took her seat opposite him as if this eting had already been scheduled.
"I know what you're here to ask," she said lightly. "But before that, I have sothing I'd like to confirm."
She didn't wait for permission.
"Shuta-kun, your sudden interest in Rice Shower—are you considering her?"
"Interest?" Shuta An shrugged, unbothered. "Curiosity, at most. I don't see why that warrants this level of attention."
Rudolf let out a quiet sigh, not of disagreent—but of inevitability.
"That's exactly the problem." Her gaze steadied. "You don't seem to realize your own position in this Academy."
She leaned back slightly, tone still composed, but no longer casual.
"Every move you make is observed. Closely. Even if you act through soone else, it doesn't matter—Kitahara-kun's connection to you is common knowledge. The mont he investigates an otherwise unnoticed Uma Musu, people will draw conclusions."
A brief pause.
"By now, there are likely already people preparing to approach Rice Shower."
Shuta An spread his hands, unimpressed. "And what exactly are they expecting to find? I only told her I'd consider giving her a team entry test at the end of the year. Opponent: Tokai Teio. That's all."
"That alone is enough." Rudolf lifted her glass, taking a asured sip. "The mont the label 'favored by Shuta An' attaches to her, the dia will move. Trainers will follow. Attention will spike."
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"For soone like her—that's not an advantage."
She didn't need to elaborate further.
He had already seen it.
The hesitation. The fragility. The way pressure didn't sharpen her—it suppressed her.
"I noticed," Shuta An admitted quietly. "But even if I recruited her now, that pressure wouldn't disappear."
"Which is why," Rudolf said, her voice sharpening just a fraction, "next ti, consult directly."
Her gaze held his—firm, authoritative.
"I'll handle the external pressure for now. dia, rumors—leave that to ." Then, after a brief pause, she added, "I don't care what the result of your test is at the end of the year. But if you decide she isn't suitable—"
A slight shift in tone.
"at least ensure she has sowhere to go."
"Alright, alright." Shuta An raised a hand in a loose thumbs-up. "Understood."
Then, without missing a beat—
"But next ti, don't send people to my house without warning. That was unnecessary."
Rudolf smiled faintly. "I assud you'd welco it."
"My solo al turned into a three-person split," he replied flatly, already standing. "I still need to find sothing to eat."
"Should I have Teio accompany you?" Rudolf asked, her tone carrying a subtle edge that didn't go unnoticed.
"Pass." Shuta An waved it off imdiately. "She's probably busy—and if I call her, you'll just bring up Rice Shower again."
He wasn't interested in walking into that.
—
After leaving the office, Rudolf's earlier question lingered in his mind.
So he checked.
Rice Shower's attribute panel.
One line.
Track adaptability: Turf.
"Turf," he muttered under his breath. "That's all?"
Not enough. Not even close.
"I'll get the rest from Iizuka in the Dream World."
Because the pattern held true—horses in the Dream World always mirrored their real-world counterparts in so fundantal way.
Oguri's appetite. Tokai Teio's liveliness. Symboli Rudolf's authority.
Consistent. Reliable.
"Though it's strange," he added, frowning slightly. "Silence Suzuka and Special Week still haven't shown corresponding links."
A minor anomaly—but not urgent.
"First—food."
His appetite had been creeping upward lately. Too close to Oguri's influence for comfort.
—
That night, he entered the Dream World.
The transition was imdiate.
Mihono Training Center.
Because of the Spring Stakes, he had already arranged a temporary transfer from Ritto. This ti, his target was clear—Rice Shower.
His arrival didn't go unnoticed.
For jockeys, his presence was pressure—but manageable.
For Trainers?
It was disruption.
Requests flooded in—riding offers, invitations, attempts to secure even a fraction of his attention.
Shuta An filtered them cleanly.
All riding commissions—rejected or redirected to his agent.
Training invitations? Accepted. All of them. And that decision paid off almost imdiately.
After each session, he didn't just ride—he analyzed.
"His focus drops in the final stretch. Distance is too long—shorten it."
"Response to urging is delayed. Check condition—or motivation."
"She decelerates once she draws level. Tactical issue—likely psychological resistance."
"This one… dirt suitability. No aversion to kickback. Try a maiden on dirt."
The feedback was precise. Actionable. Uncomfortable. And invaluable.
Within days, invitations doubled—then surged past ten per day. Even assistants started getting temporary breaks simply because Shuta An was covering so much ground.
But none of that distracted him.
He hadn't forgotten why he ca.
Rice Shower.
He took over his training personally.
—
First contact—And imdiately, sothing didn't align.
This Rice Shower…wasn't the sa.
No trembling. No avoidance.
When he reached out, he didn't flinch. He accepted contact naturally.
Of course—
"Bribery helps."
He glanced at the apple in his hand.
Premium. From Ginza Sembikiya.
"1800 yen per piece," Iizuka Yoshitsugu muttered, shaking his head repeatedly. "That's excessive, Shuta-kun."
Shuta An ignored him, feeding the apple without hesitation.
Cost was irrelevant.
Data was not.
"The main rival in the Spring Stakes is Mihono Bourbon, correct?" he asked, finally turning to Iizuka.
"Yes," Iizuka nodded imdiately.
"Then I need a full breakdown of Rice Shower's temperant," Shuta An said, tone shifting back to business. "Everything. I need to know how he reacts under pressure, in traffic, when challenged."
A brief pause.
Then, more quietly—
"I need to know what he'll beco on the track."
Iizuka straightened, almost reflexively.
"No problem," he said, voice firm despite the weight of the request. "I'll tell you everything."
Because now—with the champion jockey standing here—what once felt unrealistic…no longer seed impossible.
Shuta An's stay at Mihono stretched across the entire month, and with that ca sothing far more valuable than ti—continuous observation. For a race like the Spring Stakes, where the outco could hinge on a single misread, this kind of proximity wasn't a luxury. It was leverage.
Mihono Bourbon quickly beca the focal point.
"From his bloodline, he should be a miler," Kawashima Fumio remarked casually while leading Rice Shower, glancing over as Shuta An settled into the saddle. "But Trainer Toyama believes that with enough intensity, his distance range can be extended."
Shuta An smiled faintly. "And you? Do you believe that holds up?"
Kawashima hesitated—just long enough to show he'd thought about it more than once.
"Maybe," he admitted quietly. "But I've also seen horses break under that kind of training. So of them—if they hadn't been pushed that far, they might've lasted longer. Maybe even perford better."
He scratched his cheek, awkwardly retreating. "Of course, I'm not a Trainer. Just my own thoughts."
"I get it," Shuta An replied simply.
But internally, his stance was already set.
He didn't agree.
In the real world, he had already proven the boundary—effort could elevate a horse, yes, but only within the limits of its inherent capacity. Push beyond that, and you weren't refining potential—you were consuming it.
For average talent, extre thods might extract a result.
For exceptional talent, it was unnecessary. And sotis—destructive.
His thoughts drifted briefly to his own team. Oguri's presence alone was enough to distort the environnt. Anyone stepping into Team Sadalsuud wasn't just competing against rivals—they were competing against a standard that bordered on oppressive.
Even Berno had felt it.
"If I bring in soone without the ntal resilience to withstand that—" he thought, eyes lowering slightly, "…I'd be setting them up to collapse."
That was why he was selective.
Not out of arrogance—but control.
"If this were the real world," he murmured, fingers idly brushing along Rice Shower's neck, "a horse willing to endure everything might actually fit Toyama's system."
Rice Shower leaned into the contact, compliant, calm.
Here, in the Dream World, he was nothing like his real-world counterpart. No visible hesitation. No retreat from touch.
Obedient. Grounded. Functional.
That alone made him usable.
"For the Spring Stakes—" Shuta An's gaze sharpened, shifting back to strategy. "We take initiative."
He made the call cleanly.
"Mihono Bourbon is a runaway type. If we let him dictate freely, the race is over."
Which ant—they wouldn't let him.
—
Back in the real world, Shuta An adjusted his approach.
No indirect inquiries. No relying on others.
He went to the track himself.
Observation, firsthand.
Silence Suzuka wasn't asked to probe. No subtle information gathering. Just direct data collection—timings, movent, rhythm.
Week one—
Mihono Bourbon's numbers were excellent. For an undeveloped runner, she was already operating at a top-tier level.
"Just a step below Teio," Shuta An concluded quietly.
A aningful benchmark.
But week two—Sothing felt off.
Not weaker. Not stronger.
Just…unchanged.
"The rhythm's identical to last week—" he muttered, eyes narrowing. "Coincidence?"
By the third week, that doubt vanished.
It wasn't coincidence.
It was consistency—unnatural consistency.
No fluctuation. No variance. No deviation under load.
That wasn't normal developnt.
That was control. Absolute, rigid control.
And that, in itself, hinted at sothing deeper. He didn't get the chance to investigate further.
Because the tiline had caught up.
—
Dubai.
On the 15th, Shuta An boarded the special flight alongside Oguri, Silence Suzuka, and Berno. Invitations had already aligned the roster—Trainers and Uma Musu from Central gathering for the World Cup Race Day.
Before departure—
"I want to go too!"
Tokai Teio's protest ca without restraint.
Shuta An shut it down just as cleanly.
"You've already been. Stay and fix your grades. I heard your Japanese scores are slipping."
A perfectly valid excuse. Teio had no counter.
She stayed.
Kurofune, unfortunately, paid the price for that frustration—launched cleanly during a sparring attempt, only for Shuta An to follow up by criticizing Teio for overexertion.
Routine discipline.
—
On the flight, Shuta An intended to rest. Instead—
"This weekend is the Spring Stakes."
Iizuka Yoshitsugu's voice cut in.
"Our goal is top three. We're not aiming to beat Mihono Bourbon—just secure a Satsuki Sho ticket."
Shuta An opened his eyes.
"I know."
No hesitation.
"I've observed him closely. Under normal conditions, beating Mihono Bourbon right now is unrealistic."
Blunt. Precise.
"But—" his tone shifted slightly, "—that doesn't an he's invincible."
Iizuka leaned forward slightly.
"There's a flaw," Shuta An continued. "Not in his training—but in his bloodline. Sothing that hasn't surfaced yet."
Iizuka's eyes lit up. "You an he won't hold at longer distances? Then what about the Derby?"
Shuta An waved it off imdiately. "Toyama-sensei wouldn't make that mistake. If he's pushed him this far, he'll handle 2400."
The light dimd.
"Then where?"
Shuta An's gaze settled forward.
"Kikuka Sho."
A single answer.
"3000 ters," he added. "That's where the strain shows. That's where the flaw becos exploitable."
Silence lingered. Then—
"That leaves one question," Shuta An said, tapping lightly against the stable railing. "Can Rice Shower handle that distance?"
As if responding, Rice Shower stepped closer, closing the gap between them.
Iizuka didn't hesitate this ti.
"Absolutely."
No uncertainty. No restraint.
"His pedigree supports it. Shadai line—Osumi Shadai handled 3000 ters. And his dam's sire, Maruzensky—his offspring have a 30% win rate beyond 2600 on turf. That's not coincidence."
(Did Maruzensky's offspring really handle Long Distance while her in-ga attribute only showed up as C)
Confidence—genuine this ti.
"I see."
Shuta An t Rice Shower's eyes again, asuring—not just physically, but sothing less tangible.
"Then for now—" he said evenly, "we focus on what's in front of us."
"The Spring Stakes." A pause. "Top three. Secure the ticket."
Rice Shower held his gaze—then, when nothing followed—let out a distinctly dissatisfied whinny.
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