As Kitasan Black stepped out of the tunnel into the sudden brilliance of daylight, squinting briefly, the last conversation she'd had with her senpai echoed in her mind.
Or rather, a question she'd suddenly thought to ask.
"Um…Teio-senpai, I have a question. A few days ago, I had a dream and it made wonder… Before your Japanese Derby, what…what were you thinking about?"
At the ti, Tokai Teio—and the other senpai—had paused briefly, startled.
"The Japanese Derby, huh…"
Teio-senpai smiled, eyes softening into nostalgic warmth.
"I guess…about the Winner's Concert."
"Eh…?" Completely caught off guard, Kitasan froze in surprise.
"What Teio ans," Gold Ship-senpai chuckled, "is that even before the race, she was already thinking about what she'd do after winning."
"Mm, sothing like that," Teio-senpai admitted playfully, hands folded behind her head—a mischievous side rarely shown these days erging. "But not only the Winner's Concert. I was also thinking about what I'd say when I saw the Chairwoman."
"That's still sothing you'd do after winning..."
"Ah, right. Spe-chan, Vodka, how about you two?"
Ignoring Gold Ship's teasing, Teio turned towards Special Week-senpai and Vodka-senpai.
"Vodka and ?" Special Week tapped her chin, pondering briefly before pumping her fist enthusiastically. "I guess…I was thinking about how I'd win."
"How you'd win?"
Her ears perked up, unable to resist asking, "Then…Senpai, what exactly did you co up with?"
"Well…" Special Week gestured with her hands, one hand mimicking a racetrack, the other herself racing along. "I'd go whoosh out the gate, then dash ahead—swish! And finally zip-zip-zip across the finish line. Yep, sothing like that."
"Huh…?" Once again, Kitasan was montarily stunned.
"As expected of you, Spe-chan." Vodka patted Special Week on the shoulder, thought for a mont, then grinned, pointing toward Daiwa Scarlet. "As for … I was probably thinking I definitely had to beat her."
"Beat Daiwa-senpai? But Daiwa-senpai…didn't even participate in that Derby, right?"
"Yeah, but what does that matter?" Vodka laughed. "Originally, I wanted to beat her at the Oaks after she won the Oka Sho. But she caught a cold and couldn't run, so I decided on the Derby instead. There hadn't been a filly who'd won it in over 60 years. I figured if I won, maybe that'd count as evening things up a bit. Well, anyway, that's what I was thinking."
To be honest, these varied answers were completely outside Kitasan's expectations.
But after the initial surprise, she suddenly realized her senpais' very different ways of thinking echoed exactly what Yasui Makoto had told her just monts before.
No matter how your opponents run, never forget your own rhythm.
Repeating those words silently once more, Kitasan took a deep breath, stepping out onto the sunlit turf.
Instantly, as if given physical form, the cheers of the crowd mixed with the comntator's fervent voice, crashing over her in waves.
"The Japanese Derby is finally upon us!"
"This year, which Uma Musu will it be? What tactics will they use, and what spectacle will they create?"
"Will it be Durante, whose explosive late kick shook Nakayama Racecourse? Can she unleash that speed again on Fuchu's long final straight?"
"Or perhaps Satono Rasen, burdened by her family's dream of finally capturing a G1? Can she seize victory in this premier race?"
"Or could it be Kitasan Black, undefeated so far, winner of the Satsuki Sho, stirring up a festive storm wherever she runs?"
Hearing her own na reverberating above the track, Kitasan's ears twitched involuntarily.
The roar from the stands grew deafening, almost itching inside her ears.
Looking up with a slight shiver, eyes sweeping across tens of thousands of cheering faces, she opened her mouth slightly in astonishnt before finally locking her gaze directly ahead, toward the finish line.
Just as when she'd walked toward the tunnel entrance earlier, her senpai were already standing there, smiling and waving energetically.
Makoto waved as well.
Then, in a gesture intimately familiar, her trainer reached into the ever-present shoulder bag, pulling out a pair of binoculars.
Without aning to, she smiled softly.
eting those expectant and encouraging gazes, she nodded deeply, taking another breath just as she had when stepping onto the turf monts before.
Then she turned, walking steadily toward the starting gate.
...
15:35 exactly.
The Tokyo Racecourse resounded with the orchestral music exclusive to the Japanese Derby.
The passionate lody seed to amplify the cheering into an even more fervent crescendo, yet Kitasan Black felt oddly calm as she stood in the starting gate.
No matter how your opponents run, never forget your own rhythm… remain unchanged in the face of all changes.
Repeating this advice to herself, she slowly shifted her stance—left arm across her chest, right leg positioned slightly behind—preparing for the start.
Her eyes stared straight ahead, swiftly scanning both inner and outer lanes before focusing intently on the closed gate's top edge.
Ears twitching slightly, pressed low to filter out unnecessary noise, she concentrated entirely on the comntator's voice.
"A decisive race to crown the very pinnacle of this generation—the Tokyo Yushun, the Japanese Derby."
"18 extraordinary Uma Musu, each bearing their own wishes, wait tensely in the gates."
"They've given their all, now awaiting the mont their boundless perseverance earns them glory…"
"START!"
The instant the comntator's thrilling cry filled the air, Kitasan's ears caught the precise clang of the opening gates.
Her eyes trembled with intensity, muscles instantly tightening. The front-positioned left leg sprang forward like a coiled spring released.
Even as her body shot forward, her peripheral vision swept sharply left and right.
She'd drawn Gate 17, on the far outside—a position with undeniable disadvantages. Cutting inward imdiately would cost extra stamina, at least in theory.
But cutting inward wasn't the only choice at the start!
In a blink, assessing the starts of #16 beside her and #18 further outside, she decisively abandoned any notion of cutting inward, charging straight ahead toward the front.
"Number 6, Imperial Guard, breaks slowly! All other runners have ideal starts!"
The comntator's voice faithfully reported each gate exit.
"Approaching the stands, Number 1 Satono Rasen and Number 3 Kot quickly jump ahead."
"Number 18 Tagano Espresso and Number 14 Durante are moving inward rapidly."
"Number 10 Musee Alien bursts forward, chasing Satono Rasen and Kot… overtaking them!"
"Musee Alien currently leads!"
"Kitasan Black is charging up! She's bypassed the crowded inner lane completely, attacking directly from the outside!"
The stands erupted with cheers, mixed with gasps at the chaotic start.
"Oh! Nice reaction from Kita-chan!" Daiwa Scarlet nodded approvingly. "I was worried about her position way on the outside, but she willingly gave up the inner lane for positional advantage."
"Don't underestimate our kouhai," Vodka laughed. "You've seen how hard she trains. Besides, blasting through from the outer lane in one breath—way cooler, isn't it?"
"Cool, perhaps, but…"
Silence Suzuka suddenly frowned slightly.
"Kita-chan…doesn't seem interested in actually taking the lead?"
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