After the afternoon buffet, Shuta An chose not to return to the restaurant again that evening.
Instead, he remained in his room, enjoying the rare quiet. The fatigue from the journey had not fully faded, and compared to the lively atmosphere of a group dinner, this kind of solitude suited him better.
anwhile, jiro McQueen followed the others back to the restaurant for another round of buffet.
The reason was simple.
She had spent the entire afternoon indulging only in desserts.
This ti, she fully intended to "correct" that imbalance—her attention now firmly set on Hokkaido's seafood.
—
Tokai Teio, however, took a completely different path.
After returning to her room, she sat down at her desk and began watching race footage.
Sapporo Racecourse.
Turf mile and middle-distance races from recent years—open races, listed races, graded stakes—one after another played across the screen.
These were not ordinary recordings. They had all been compiled by Shuta Trainer.
More than that, he had annotated key races with his own insights—details about pace, positioning, tactical adjustnts, and subtle mistakes that were easy to overlook. If such material were to circulate publicly, it would undoubtedly beco invaluable reference material for any Uma Musu preparing to debut at Sapporo.
But here, they existed for one purpose only.
To broaden Tokai Teio's perspective.
And once that purpose was fulfilled—they would be destroyed.
—
By the ti she finished watching last year's Sapporo Kinen, a soft vibration ca from her phone.
A ssage.
From her Trainer.
"Teio, co to my room. I'll check your legs and feet."
Tokai Teio paused slightly. She rembered—he had done sothing similar for Silence Suzuka before.
Without hesitation, she stood up. But just as she reached the door, she wrinkled her delicate nose slightly.
"I already showered and soaked in the hot spring earlier… but…"
A brief hesitation.
"maybe I should wash up again?"
The thought lingered only for a mont before she turned back. If it was a palpation, then she wanted to be properly prepared.
—
By the ti she arrived at Shuta An's room, she instinctively reached out to close the door behind her.
"Teio, leave it open."
His voice stopped her.
"Oh."
Though she didn't understand the reason, she complied without question. She moved to the living room and sat down on the sofa, her gaze drifting around the suite.
Despite being the largest room in the hotel, its design was not extravagant.
Instead, it carried a refined simplicity—clean lines, soft tones, and a quiet elegance that felt more like a carefully arranged ho than a temporary accommodation.
Shuta An liked this style.
In fact, he found himself thinking that if Silence Suzuka ever moved out of the academy dormitory, a room like this would suit her perfectly.
Tokai Teio, however, wasn't particularly focused on the decor.
What caught her attention—was him.
When Shuta An stepped out of the bedroom in light-colored loungewear, the atmosphere shifted subtly. For a brief mont, it didn't feel like a hotel at all.
It felt… personal.
—
He approached her.
And imdiately noticed.
"Distracted."
His gaze lowered slightly.
Her legs.
Covered in white over-the-knee socks—smooth, almost silk-like in texture. Even without touching them, he could tell how soft they would feel.
Visually appealing.
But—
"They're in the way." His voice was low, almost to himself. "It's better to take them off."
"Eh—?"
By the ti Tokai Teio fully registered what was happening, the over-the-knee socks had already been removed and set aside neatly.
Her left foot—was already resting in his palm.
A faint stiffness ran through her toes.
"How is he this natural at it…?"
The thought flashed through her mind. As if this action had been repeated countless tis. As if it required no conscious effort.
—
For Shuta An, it truly didn't.
This was sothing he had done repeatedly with Silence Suzuka.
Compared to the tights Suzuka usually wore—which had once forced him to resort to tearing them before learning better technique—Tokai Teio's socks were almost effortless to remove.
Over ti, practice had turned necessity into instinct.
Now, every movent flowed smoothly, precisely.
Without hesitation.
—
His fingers moved carefully along her foot, applying asured pressure, reading the subtle responses of muscle and structure.
For Tokai Teio—every touch felt unfamiliar.
And impossible to ignore. Her toes tensed slightly, betraying her awareness.
—
But for Shuta An, the process was purely clinical.
Step by step, he built a clear picture.
"Compared to Suzuka, Teio's condition is stable."
That was his first conclusion.
However—the mory of the Dream World lingered.
After the Derby, there had been subtle signs of instability.
Nothing visible. But enough to matter.
"In the real world, her race schedule must be controlled carefully."
That decision had already been made. This was also why he had no intention of entering her in the Sapporo Nisai Stakes.
The timing conflicted too closely with major overseas races like the International Stakes and the Yorkshire Oaks. Managing condition across such tight intervals was unrealistic.
If the goal was an undefeated Triple Crown—
Then every step had to be precise.
—
"There's no problem with your feet."
By the ti Tokai Teio's cheeks had just begun to warm, the palpation was already complete.
"Put your socks back on."
"It's good that there's no problem." She quickly adjusted her socks, trying to steady herself. "Trainer~ you're really skilled at this."
"I learned it when Oguri was still active," Shuta An replied casually. "But I didn't use it much until Suzuka got injured. After that, I started checking her condition regularly."
He shrugged slightly.
"Dober's situation is different, so I couldn't apply the sa thod. But since you're preparing for your debut, it's only natural I use everything I know."
He paused briefly before adding:
"From now on, twice a week. Wednesday and Sunday."
"I understand!" Tokai Teio responded imdiately, her voice firm. "I won't let your effort go to waste!"
"There's no such thing," Shuta An said gently, waving it off. "Your effort already makes mine aningful."
"No."
Tokai Teio stood up. Her hand reached forward, lightly grasping his wrist.
"Only results count." Her eyes were steady. Unwavering. "I will make you a Triple Crown Trainer."
A faint smile appeared on Shuta An's lips. He didn't pull his hand away.
"It's not for ," he said softly. "It's for yourself."
—
The next day, with no training scheduled, Shuta An had barely finished breakfast when he was pulled out by Silence Suzuka.
Only after boarding the train did he finally ask, glancing at the Uma Musu seated beside him,
"Where are we going?"
"To the Art Park in the South District," Silence Suzuka replied without hesitation, her tone carrying a quiet anticipation. "I saw online that there are exhibitions of Hokkaido artists there. I'm a bit curious, about the style of creators from this region."
Shuta An listened, then leaned back slightly.
To be honest, his impression of so-called "modern art" was not particularly favorable.
There were even a few pieces hanging in his own ho—works that others praised as "cutting-edge" or "thought-provoking." Yet no matter how long he looked at them, he simply couldn't extract any sense of beauty or aning. Compared to those abstract expressions, he found far more resonance in the works of painters from earlier centuries—where craftsmanship, structure, and clarity of intent were undeniable.
But when he turned his head and saw the faint expectation in Silence Suzuka's eyes—
He said nothing.
There was no need to.
—
After arriving at the Art Park, Silence Suzuka, having clearly prepared in advance, didn't waste a second. She reached out, took his hand, and led him straight toward the first gallery.
She wasn't here to purchase anything.
Only to experience.
To imrse herself in what she believed to be the artistic atmosphere unique to Hokkaido.
—
The mont they stepped inside, Shuta An raised an eyebrow.
The gallery's interior was minimal.
Almost to the point of emptiness.
Plain walls. Sparse arrangent. A deliberate absence of decoration.
"I've seen this style before."
He recognized it instantly.
So of the smaller galleries in Los Angeles adopted a similar approach—stripping away everything unnecessary, forcing attention entirely onto the works themselves.
But recognition didn't equate to appreciation.
As his gaze moved from one piece to another, his expression gradually flattened.
"I still don't like it."
A fish preserved in formaldehyde.
Sheets of paper pierced through with knives.
Steel wires twisted into irregular, almost aggressive shapes.
No matter how he looked at them—he couldn't find "beauty."
Only intent. And even that felt distant. A quiet sense of resistance settled in his chest, reinforcing the bias he already carried.
"This might just be a wasted trip."
The thought surfaced, uninvited.
Not because of the ti—but because he couldn't share what Suzuka was searching for.
—
By the ti they finished touring the Art Park, Silence Suzuka's earlier excitent had faded noticeably.
Her lips pressed together slightly, a faint pout forming.
"I thought it would be different."
Her voice carried a trace of disappointnt.
"I wanted to see sothing unique to Hokkaido. Sothing seasonal—sothing that belongs to sumr here."
She looked away slightly.
"But these, feel no different from what you'd see in Tokyo."
"Artists are like that," Shuta An replied with a small shrug. "Style tends to converge."
He didn't elaborate further.
Instead, he glanced at the sky, then back at her.
"It's almost noon. Where to next?"
Silence Suzuka leaned lightly against him, her earlier enthusiasm replaced by a softer, more relaxed mood.
"Let's go back to the hotel."
She let out a small sigh.
"If I'd known it would be like this, I would've dragged you into the city instead."
"Shopping?" Shuta An responded imdiately, almost reflexively. "Then you should go with Teio and the others. I'm not going."
His refusal was clean. Direct.
There was no room for negotiation. Accompanying Suzuka alone was manageable. Add more Uma Musu into the mix—
He could already imagine the number of bags he'd end up carrying.
"I'm not really planning to buy anything," Silence Suzuka said softly, fiddling with the hem of her skirt. "If we go, it'd just be to look around."
She paused briefly, then added,
"Most of my sumr clothes were bought in Tokyo anyway. And the URA Association already sent my new racing outfit. When we go to the beach later, I'll show it to you."
"Isn't that outfit basically a swimsuit?" Shuta An leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice near her ear. "In that case, you don't really need to wait for the beach."
"How about wearing it in the hot spring tonight?"
Silence Suzuka's ear flicked downward instinctively, as if trying to hide itself.
She didn't respond.
—
After returning to the hotel and finishing lunch, Shuta An had barely settled down when his phone vibrated again.
A ssage.
From Tojo Hana.
"Has Air Groove gotten used to the environnt there?"
Shuta An stared at the screen for a mont before replying.
"Why don't you ask her directly?"
"Air Groove hasn't read my ssages," Tojo Hana replied almost imdiately, her tone as composed as ever. "So I'm asking you instead. I entrusted her sumr to you, after all."
"As for her…"
Shuta An thought back briefly.
Then answered.
"She was dragged out by Curren Chan for a photoshoot. She looked…pretty happy."
"Curren Chan?"
On the other end, Tojo Hana paused.
The na felt familiar. Without hesitation, she opened Umastagram and searched.
The result appeared instantly. And the mont she saw the number—
Her pupils shrank.
"3.4 million followers?"
The figure alone was enough to shift her entire perspective.
This level of influence already surpassed many A-list entertainers—and it had been built purely through her presence on the platform.
"So Shuta-kun brought her to Hokkaido." A faint crease appeared on Tojo Hana's brow. "If her fans find out… this could beco troubleso."
Her thoughts moved quickly.
If Curren Chan were to officially join a team at Central Tracen Academy, it would already attract significant attention.
But if that team were Team Sadalsuud—the situation would escalate entirely.
Inside the academy, there would be doubts.
Outside, among Twinkle Series fans, there would be resistance.
An internet celebrity—soone who had never proven herself on the track—joining the strongest team?
"That wouldn't be easily accepted."
And yet—Tojo Hana didn't dismiss the possibility outright.
"If Shuta-kun chose her…" Her gaze lowered slightly. "then perhaps there's sothing there."
Still, she had no intention of interfering.
She understood her own limits. Without being able to assess Curren Chan's ability personally, she wouldn't take the risk of recruiting her.
—
Her thoughts gradually returned to Air Groove.
"Going out with Curren Chan…" A faint curiosity surfaced. "Air Groove isn't the type to casually associate with others."
Proud. Disciplined. Selective.
For her to willingly go out—
"…she must have sensed sothing."
Among Trainers, this was a quiet, unspoken understanding.
Uma Musu with vastly different levels of talent rarely ford close bonds.
Not by rule.
But by nature.
And yet—exceptions existed.
Like Berno Light and Oguri Cap; a relationship that had once surprised everyone. Because under normal circumstances—by the ti one rose too high—distance beca inevitable.
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