The comntator's frenzied shout ignited the entire stadium. Thousands of hands pounding against tal railings set off a continuous hum, mingling with roars of encouragent that surged through the skies above Nakayama Racecourse.
Golden afternoon sunlight transford the track into a molten corridor, upon which fifteen shooting stars simultaneously ignited their trailing flas.
At storm-like speed, Kitasan Black's short black hair and long ponytail whipped straight behind her. Grass continuously erupted beneath her racing shoes, creating a vivid erald ripple chasing her shadow—only to be imdiately crushed under the stampede of the pursuing Uma Musu.
"They're coming out of the final corner!"
"The crowd-favorite Satono Crown has begun her sprint!"
"She's locked onto Kitasan Black! She's chasing down Kitasan Black, sprinting from the outside, overtaking one rival after another!"
"After so many years, will we finally witness another undefeated Uma Musu claim the Satsuki Sho?!"
"Can the Satono family's long-cherished dream finally beco reality in such perfect fashion?!"
Eyes locked onto the figure ahead, pouring every ounce of strength into her sprint, Satono Crown clenched her teeth, a flicker of regret stirring in her heart.
She hadn't expected that after such a grueling early battle, uphill climbs, and repeated corner accelerations, her childhood friend—now rival—would still possess such incredible stamina.
Unaware of the comntator's impassioned words, Crown had only one thought dominating her mind.
Catch up!
Catch up to Kita-chan!
To fulfill her family's long-held dream, she had to close the gap, surpass her, and seize the victory in this Satsuki Sho!
Yet suddenly, her vision opened wider, and as the final straight appeared clearly before her, her heart lurched sharply.
In quick succession, two figures appeared, positioned diagonally ahead of her.
"They've entered the final straight!"
The comntator's voice cracked, raw with excitent.
"The rear group is quickly catching up! But the leading pack on the inside is equally determined!"
"Nakayama's straight is notoriously short! Now entering the final incline, Cheval Grand accelerates from the outside!"
"Her target is Kitasan Black! Just like Satono Crown, she has locked onto Kitasan Black! And she's closing the distance!"
"However, Satono Crown remains in mid-pack—can she truly win this?!"
"Directly ahead of her is Durante, who also has eyes locked on Kitasan!"
"But, but! Kitasan Black still leads!"
"Kitasan Black maintains a lead of six—no, five lengths!"
"Only 200 ters remain!"
"Kitasan Black is still holding on, still charging furiously!"
"Kitasan on the inside! Cheval Grand is furiously closing the gap from the outside, shortening the distance to just four lengths!"
"Can she overtake Kitasan Black?!"
"But wait—Durante is catching up!"
"Durante is actually charging from the outside!"
"She's overtaken Cheval Grand!"
"Now it's Durante chasing down Kitasan Black!"
"The gap is rapidly shrinking! Rapidly shrinking!"
"Four lengths… Three lengths…"
"Only two lengths separate her from Kitasan Black now!"
"100 ters left!!"
The comntator's frantic narration, trailing after the swift figures on the track, triggered the day's loudest cheer from over a hundred thousand spectators.
Yet Durante, the reflection of Kitasan's black-and-gold form shimring in her deep blue eyes, heard none of this.
She disliked noise.
She never ntioned to many people that whenever she stepped onto the racecourse, the overwhelming attention and commotion always filled her heart with irritation.
But right now, it was as if soone had pressed pause on the world itself. All the annoying noise disappeared.
Although the noise hadn't truly vanished, it seed frozen—just like Kitasan's fluttering hair, suspended midair.
Tiny beads of sweat clung to her hair tips, glittering under the sun with a strangely amber hue.
Suddenly, a month's worth of mories flooded Durante's mind.
During one rainy training session, covered in mud, Kitasan laughed brightly while breaking an energy bar in half, handing Durante one half with clean fingers, then carefully wiping a smudge of chocolate off Durante's mouth.
That bittersweet taste, the dampness of rain, and the softness of Kitasan's fingertips vividly lingered on her lips, summoned clearly by these unexpectedly resurfaced mories.
Unconsciously, Durante's lips curled slightly upward.
The mories shifted again.
Kitasan's figure blurred and distorted, becoming the carved arch of the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe's finish line.
The arch quickly transford into her father's stern face, her mother's gentle smile, Air Groove-san's exasperated expression—
—and finally returned to the figure of the friend she'd known for barely a month.
This ti, Kitasan stood before a vending machine, smiling warmly as she waved.
"Dura-chan, want to try this new lemon soda? Teio-senpai endorsed it, it tastes amazing!"
Again, Durante's lips lifted into a smile.
She watched as the mory's swinging soda can tab overlapped bit by bit with the distant finish line marker, glittering ahead under the sun.
Right…
I'm… running in the Satsuki Sho right now.
But it seems like being the fastest, strongest, or greatest…
Isn't everything a race has to offer.
There's also you, Kita-chan…
Now fully aware she was still racing, less than 100 ters from the finish line, and astonished that she had just let her mind drift, Durante felt no panic at all.
Her swinging arms felt strangely hot; she unconsciously stretched and flexed her fingers.
The air itself seed to ripple visibly around her, splitting aside like water, the track becoming dense and viscous like deep ocean currents.
She felt her leg muscles and bones with extraordinary clarity, keenly aware that she was slicing through invisible gaps of airflow at absolute precision.
Blades of grass burst beneath her feet, their fresh green juice unfurling into erald mist suspended in midair.
She could hear sounds again—but not the irritating shouts from the stands.
The gentle rise and fall of her own lungs.
The chaotic, labored breathing behind her.
The faint crackling sound of soone crushing a soda can in the front row of the stands.
And clearest of all, the loud, rapid heartbeat and faltering footsteps directly ahead.
As this realization struck, she distinctly heard the faint pop of fizzing bubbles.
The paused world suddenly resud motion and noise rushed back—but this ti, none of it disturbed her at all.
With the finish line directly ahead, and Kitasan's figure now suddenly positioned just diagonally before her, Durante surged forward without hesitation.
"Has she caught her? Has Durante actually caught her?!"
"Is Durante truly this powerful?!"
"Kitasan Black's massive lead is practically gone! Her six-length advantage is almost completely erased!"
"Fifty ters!"
"Can she surpass Kitasan, can Durante capture her?!"
"Or can Kitasan hold on to the very end and resist Durante's charge?!"
"At this very mont—"
"They cross the finish line!!"
The declaration practically shattered the sky. Durante's ears involuntarily twitched, signaling the race had ended.
She instinctively tried to slow her pace to a jog, only to discover with astonishnt that her body felt utterly drained of strength. Her legs buckled suddenly, and she collapsed toward the turf.
"D-Dura-chan! Are you alright…?"
Hearing the familiar voice, unusually breathless with concern, Durante instinctively smiled.
She glanced toward Kitasan Black, ready to thank her—but instead, her eyes followed Kitasan's gaze toward the large electronic board far away.
"…Photo finish…?"
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