As Doriemus began to advance, Silence Suzuka imdiately discerned a distinct rhythm within the chaotic convergence of hoofbeats behind her—a presence that stood apart with unmistakable clarity.
"It must be Doriemus," she murmured inwardly, her thoughts sharp and unbroken even at speed. "Trying to suppress the gap or perhaps to force into a pace I cannot sustain, to make collapse on my own terms."
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips.
"Then her Trainer hasn't understood deeply enough."
Her conviction was absolute.
"I can set a pace you cannot endure."
In the next instant, Silence Suzuka accelerated again—clean, decisive, and rciless. The surge ca without warning, tearing open the fragile distance Doriemus had struggled to close.
"The standard 240 ters here is around sixteen seconds—but my acceleration surpasses theirs. If I compress it to thirteen, I risk instability into the bend then under fifteen seconds is optimal. Faster than the norm—by a full second."
Her calculations unfolded with precision even as the wind cut across her face. The margin was razor-thin, but it was hers to command.
The curve arrived swiftly. She eased—just enough—guiding her stride into stability, preserving balance without surrendering control.
Moonee Valley's peculiar geotry revealed itself exactly as Shuta An had described. Rotate the course, and it beca sothing almost familiar—a structure she could deconstruct and master.
"The straight beyond the bend—just like Tokyo's backstretch."
As she exited the turn, the world opened.
The long straight stretched before her—vast, uninterrupted.
And then she felt it.
"A gentle decline."
Her eyes sharpened.
"In that case—I can maintain speed with less cost."
It was an advantage hidden in plain sight, and she seized it instantly.
Behind her, the field struggled to reconcile the pace.
On the large screen, the first split flashed—15.1 seconds.
Shuta An's lips curved upward.
"Over a second faster than standard—but that's Suzuka."
There was no concern in his gaze—only recognition. This was not recklessness. This was identity.
"She'll recover on the straight."
Silence Suzuka was not running to destruction. She was sculpting the race.
As the long straight unfolded, she allowed the tempo to soften—not a break, not a hesitation, but a controlled release. Every stride was deliberate, asured against the reserves she intended to preserve.
Behind her, the pressure wavered.
"The first condition—at least seven lengths," S
huta An murmured, eyes narrowing slightly as he tracked Doriemus.
"But she's still pushing—four lengths behind—Does Freedman really intend to let her burn like this?"
His tone sharpened.
"If this continues, she won't last."
Freedman's expression mirrored that concern, his brows drawn tight.
"If you can't close it, then stop. You cannot run at her rhythm not against Silence Suzuka."
Doriemus felt it as well.
The strain.
The impossibility.
She bit down, forcing herself to yield.
"What is she?"
The realization cut through her like cold steel.
"How can she sustain this—after that start? Is she planning to run the entire race like this?"
The thought alone was suffocating.
Reluctantly—decisively—she eased back.
"No. I need to finish first."
And the mont she yielded, the gap widened effortlessly.
Silence Suzuka did not even need to look back.
The sound of pursuit faded.
Only then—only after eight hundred ters—did she allow herself to slow, drawing breath, gathering strength for what was yet to co.
On the screen, the sectional tis followed—
11.88—11.53—11.59.
Shuta An's focus sharpened, discarding the opening burst and locking onto the sustained rhythm.
"Fast—consistently fast." There was satisfaction in his gaze. "She's executed it perfectly."
Behind her, the rest of the field hesitated.
"Only Doriemus challenged early," he noted quietly. "The others chose to hold position—letting Suzuka run free."
A dangerous decision.
"The next straight—that's where they'll co."
His prediction lingered, precise and inevitable; but for now, there was still distance to cover.
Fifty ters before the end of the first long straight, Silence Suzuka adjusted again—her deceleration seamless, flowing naturally into the approaching bend. There was no abrupt shift, no wasted motion; she adhered to the rail as if drawn along it, sliding into the curve with flawless continuity.
"Perfect."
From within the pack, Might and Power observed her movent, a quiet breath escaping.
"That was textbook."
There was no excess. No hesitation.
Only mastery.
"I can't wait any longer."
Surrounded by the field, Might and Power remained composed, her focus narrowing.
"After the next bend—that will be my mont."
—
From the sidelines, Shuta An watched with narrowed eyes, the faintest trace of admiration surfacing.
"She handled that bend beautifully."
There was weight behind the words—an acknowledgnt of growth that could not be fabricated.
"Experience like that—it can't simply be taught."
His gaze shifted, sweeping across those in pursuit.
"They felt it too." He was certain of it. "The difference."
And where there was recognition, there would be reaction.
"Soone will move early." His eyes lifted toward the screen, calculating. "Might and Power? Northern Drake? Or soone else—"
The projected split settled in his mind.
"First thousand ters—around sixty seconds." A punishing tempo. "Can they endure it?"
The question hung—quiet, relentless—like the race itself, accelerating toward its inevitable breaking point.
Strictly speaking, Moonee Valley Racecourse was not a perfect rectangle. The far straight, most distant from the grandstand, narrowed inward, giving the entire layout the shape of a right-angled trapezoid—an irregularity that subtly distorted rhythm and judgnt alike.
As Silence Suzuka transitioned into the short straight, she used the montum of the preceding bend to sense the shift behind her. The air itself seed to tighten; the cadence of hoofbeats grew restless.
"As expected—" her thoughts remained cold and precise even at speed. "With a lead this large, anyone with sense would try to close the gap here."
Her analysis narrowed instantly.
"Might and Power—Northern Drake—Dodge—only those confident in themselves would move now."
Yet the terrain betrayed them.
"This is still a short straight. Even if they accelerate, they'll be forced to check themselves entering the next bend. Wasted stamina."
Her gaze sharpened forward.
"If they're going to commit—it will be on the next long straight."
The race unfolded in her mind like a completed diagram.
"I still have my trump card but there's no guarantee others don't possess sothing similar."
A brief breath.
"Better to restrain here and build again on the final straight."
For Silence Suzuka, sudden bursts ca at a cost. Gradual acceleration, however—that was her domain. And today, there was no room for error.
"I only need this victory to cross that final threshold."
Her decision crystallized.
"Hold here—accelerate later."
—
"12.0—then 12.5."
From the sidelines, Shuta An tracked the splits, his voice low and asured.
"She's eased off significantly through the bend and short straight—good. She's recovered enough."
His gaze lifted, sharpening.
"Now cos the decisive phase."
From his vantage point, the invisible beca clear.
Might and Power was already threading through the pack, her line sharp and aggressive—nearly drawing level with Doriemus. Behind her, Northern Drake seized the opening, breaking out along the path Might and Power had carved.
Doriemus faltered, shock flickering across her thoughts.
"Why now?! Are they insane? This isn't the final stretch!"
But what she could not grasp, others could.
Freedman's expression darkened.
"They're afraid of losing contact; forcing the move early to survive the pace."
Yet sothing unsettled him.
"But that's not it. Sothing's off."
—
Shuta An's initial tension dissolved into a faint, almost amused smile.
"Still accelerating here—?"
His eyes followed Northern Drake.
"She'll have to check her speed entering the turn to counter centrifugal force. To seize position before the second straight, she's ignoring the cost entirely."
He shook his head slightly.
"She doesn't even see Suzuka as a threat anymore."
A flicker of cold anticipation surfaced.
"I hope that arrogance lasts."
—
Silence Suzuka entered the second long straight first.
Nearly six hundred ters stretched ahead—slightly shorter, yet no less decisive.
Her pace rose again, steady, controlled, widening the distance with quiet inevitability.
Might and Power watched without surprise.
"Acceleration—deceleration—acceleration again. That rhythm should be draining her."
But doubt lingered.
"How much faster can she really go?"
Behind her, positions shifted rapidly. Might and Power claid second. Northen Drake followed, overtaking Doriemus in a heartbeat.
Six hundred ters remained.
"The pace I set—roughly sixty seconds per kiloter." Silence Suzuka's thoughts remained unwavering. "At this rate, everyone's stamina is already compromised."
Four lengths behind, pursuit ignited.
—
"Six hundred to go! Might and Power and Northen Drake have moved early—they won't let Silence Suzuka escape unchallenged!"
The comntator's voice surged, tinged with urgency.
Shuta An, however, remained still.
"Now." He exhaled softly. "Suzuka—it's ti."
—
She heard them.
The approaching thunder.
No need to turn.
"Then—now."
Silence Suzuka's eyes snapped open.
The world narrowed.
Her breathing aligned.
Her body answered.
The "Zone" opened.
—
"Unbelievable speed! Silence Suzuka is widening the gap again!"
The comntator's voice cracked with disbelief.
"After setting such a brutal pace—she still has more?!"
Denham stiffened—then forced himself steady.
"It's fine. The turn is coming. She'll have to slow down."
He clung to that certainty—
Until he saw it.
Silence Suzuka entered the final bend like a blade through silk.
No hesitation.
No resistance.
Her line hugged the rail, her body leaning with impossible efficiency.
"What…is that?"
His composure shattered.
"That's not normal—her deceleration—it's negligible! How does she still have that much left?!"
—
Even within the race, the answer eluded them.
Only Freedman exhaled slowly, a wry understanding dawning.
"So this is it."
His gaze followed her form.
"Perfect turn handling—flawless pacing—a front-runner refined to its limit."
A quiet admission.
"No wonder he was so confident."
—
Silence Suzuka entered the final straight.
The world fell silent.
No hoofbeats.
No voices.
Only her own rhythm remained.
"The finish line… ahead."
No more calculations.
No more restraint.
"Just run."
She lowered her center of gravity, her limbs driving with relentless force—each stride sharper, faster, freer.
Behind her, Might and Power broke clear, closing the gap.
But it was not enough.
—
"One hundred ters remaining! Might and Power is closing—can she catch her?! Can she claim both the lbourne Cup and the Cox Plate?!"
The question tore through the air—
And was answered.
—
"Symboli Rudolf-senpai—not next ti."
Silence Suzuka's teeth clenched, every fragnt of strength igniting at once.
"Here. Today. Surpass yours"
Her speed surged again.
—
"Suzuka—"
Shuta An's hand lifted instinctively—then stopped midair.
He could only watch.
—
She passed him like a storm; the wind alone forced his eyes shut.
And from the comntary box ca the final cry—
"Might and Power is still chasing—but Silence Suzuka crosses the finish line!"
—
"Was she really closing in?"
Shuta An opened his eyes, gaze rising to the screen.
"She never reached her."
The result flashed—
2:02.1
—
"Two minutes, two seconds! Silence Suzuka has turned Moonee Valley into her stage—a flawless solo performance from the seven-crown Uma Musu of Japan!"
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