Chapter 62: A Suspicious Uma
When it came to preparing for the Spring Stakes, Kitasan Black clearly understood everything.
However, in the end, she still asked Makoto to stay a little longer. She wanted to go over everything on her own and then head to the track for a test run—just in case any new questions came up, she could ask him right away.
Makoto naturally had no objections to a request like that.
Before Kitasan Black, Makoto hadn't trained any other Umamusume.
But thanks to his own experiences back in school, he could sense that this black-haired girl had the potential of an academic prodigy.
One obvious trait was how quickly she picked things up—but what stood out more was her steady, diligent study habits.
During one lunch break, Kitasan Black had mentioned her personal motto:
"I'll train until I'm completely exhausted."
And she didn't just say it—whether it was training, studying, or pre-race briefings, she never stopped at doing something once or twice. If she didn't get it in one try, she'd go through it ten times. If ten times wasn't enough, she'd keep going for dozens, even hundreds of repetitions.
From the time they met until now, Makoto had seen this happen more than once.
In his eyes, this was indeed the mark of a top student.
But not the "I just get it" genius kind.
Rather, she was the "I've done this before" hardworking type.
. . . . . . . .
By the time they arrived at Nakayama Racecourse the next day, Kitasan Black still hadn't slacked off.
Her race was the 11th and final event of the day—scheduled for 3:25 PM.
The morning was for initial appearances and getting used to the track, followed by final preparations in the waiting room.
During this time, aside from carefully checking her adaptability to the course, Kitasan Black kept flipping through the notes she'd organized the day before, confirming small details with Makoto from time to time.
After patiently and proudly answering all her questions, Makoto also checked her physical condition. Once he was satisfied there were no issues, he left the prep room a little early.
Everything that needed arranging had already been taken care of—staying any longer would only lead to repetition.
Not only would that make him seem anxious, but it might also unintentionally influence his Umamusume's mindset—or even his own.
Besides, given what happened last time, it was better to head to the stands early and secure a good seat—especially since Daiwa Scarlet and Vodka weren't around to help today.
. . . . . . . .
After Makoto left, Kitasan Black once again picked up her trusty notebook. Using the track diagram and various notes left by Makoto on the whiteboard, she reviewed her race plan one last time.
Then, wearing indoor sports shoes, she walked over to the stretching bar in the waiting room.
"Heave-ho, heave-ho—heave-ho and heave-ho—"
Her long, strong right leg—wrapped in an over-the-knee white sock—stretched along the bar as she exhaled with rhythmic grunts.
After stretching her right leg, she switched to her left.
With that done, she placed her right hand on her hip and stretched her left arm over her head, followed by reversing the arms.
Still keeping up her rhythmic grunts, she moved into a few sets of side stretches, leaning left and right.
Then came arm swings across her chest, twisting her waist back and forth.
Next, squats. Backbends. Vertical jumps. Neck rolls. Wrist rotations.
Finally, she lightly patted her cheeks, clenched her fists, and took a deep breath.
"Alright! This is the state I want! Now then..."
She walked over to the shoe rack and took down her racing shoes and a small hammer. Flipping one shoe over, she gently ran her fingers over the crescent-shaped metal horseshoe embedded in the sole, gleaming with a metallic sheen. She gave it a few taps with the hammer.
Ding, ding, ding—the horseshoe rang out with a crisp, clear sound.
"Mm, the shoes are in perfect condition too!"
Nodding in satisfaction, she changed into her racing shoes and carefully tied the laces. Then, standing in front of the mirror, she began checking her gear one by one: sports top, shorts, long socks, and her outer jacket.
"Okay! There won't be any problems this time!"
Just then, the room's speakers crackled to life.
"Will the participants of Race 11, the G2 Spring Stakes, please proceed backstage behind the paddock for final preparations. Repeat: participants of Race 11, the G2 Spring Stakes, please proceed backstage behind the paddock for final preparations."
"So soon? I thought there'd still be some time left…"
Muttering in surprise at the announcement, Kitasan Black quickly smiled and took another deep breath.
"Alright! Let's do this, Kitasan! Your first graded stakes race since debut!"
Cheering herself on out loud, she dashed excitedly toward the door.
—Only to hurry back a moment later in a small panic.
"...Whew, that was close—I almost forgot…"
Mumbling to herself, she ran over to the storage shelf inside the room and grabbed two pieces of red cloth.
Each cloth had a white number "1" printed boldly in the center—these were her official race number cloths, showing both her assigned race number and gate number.
In the Shining Series, different tiers of races had their own dress codes.
For races below G3—those not classified as graded stakes—competitors were required to wear white shirts with red trim, red shorts, spiked running shoes with horseshoes, regulation sports socks, and white number cloths with black letters.
For G3 and G2 races, the sportswear remained the same, but the number cloths changed to red with white letters.
And as for G1 races, those required a complete outfit change into the official "signature outfit."
All of this was strictly regulated—failure to follow dress code would lead to on-the-spot reminders or even formal warnings.
"Seriously… I wore the wrong shoes in my debut race, broke my zipper in the last one… and now I almost forgot the number cloth? Come on, get it together…"
She scolded herself under her breath in front of the mirror, quickly pinned the number cloths in place, and once again dashed out the door with renewed determination.
. . . . . . . .
Meanwhile, at the exit of the underground passage...
The Nakayama Racecourse had special underground tunnels—one side leading to the paddock, the other to the racetrack and spectator seating.
Walking toward the spectator exit, Makoto Makoto had just stepped onto the grass outside when a strange feeling crept over him.
Something was… off.
Without showing any reaction, he subtly glanced to the side—toward the shrubbery near the tunnel exit—and slowed his steps, keeping them as quiet as possible as he casually approached the area.
A few seconds later—
"Excuse me. Are you a staff here? Why are you hiding?"
Staring directly at a bush, he asked in a firm voice. When there was no response, he frowned slightly.
"I already saw you. Please come out now, or I'll have to report this to the staff—or call the police directly."
There is still no movement.
Frowning deeper, Makoto pulled out his phone and tapped in three digits, placing the call on speaker.
"Emergency services. Is this for a fire or a medical emergency?"
"This is the Nakayama Racecourse, at the underground passage exit. There's someone acting suspic—"
Suddenly, a girl burst out of the bushes with a shout.
"Wait wait wait wait!! Don't call the cops! I'm not some suspicious Uma!!"
Shrieking as she leapt forward like a pouncing tiger, the short-haired girl launched herself straight at Makoto's phone.
On pure instinct, Makoto stepped back and sidestepped the tackle—causing the girl to slam into the ground face-first, limbs spread out like the kanji character for "tree" (木).
He blinked, looked down at her, then—after a moment—hung up the call.
The girl groaned and slowly got up, rubbing her sore limbs and looking over at him with a face full of embarrassment and panic.
And when he finally got a good look at her—
He froze.
"Special Week?"