Kitajima Saburō and Yasui Makoto, two men utterly devoted to Kitasan Black, were completely overcome by tension and excitement, having lost all trace of their usual composure.
Kitajima Saburō stomped his feet as if he'd turned decades younger, shouting incomplete words with a hoarse voice.
Yasui Makoto's face had gone bright red, large beads of sweat dripping constantly down his forehead. His eyes widened even further, as though he was trying to carve a path of victory for Kitasan Black with his gaze alone.
Out on the track—Real Steel felt like a building on the verge of collapse, every muscle in her body screaming under overwhelming exhaustion, as though they would crumble at any moment.
Her breaths came harsh and ragged, her heart hammering wildly in her chest.
Sweat poured freely like a broken dam, flowing down her face and stinging her eyes sharply.
Yet, her gaze never wavered, eyes wide and fiercely determined.
As she stared at the figure just ahead, her eyes burned with intensity and resolve.
A shiver of indescribable excitement surged up her spine, quickly spreading throughout her entire body.
It was the thrill of facing a powerful opponent—a feeling as electrifying as standing against a towering mountain in a violent storm, fired up by the chance to challenge its might head-on.
To battle Kitasan Black here, on this final straight—in a decisive duel for the title of the generation's strongest—was exactly what she wanted.
Only here could she fully embrace this unparalleled tension and thrill, savor every aching muscle, every difficult breath.
These sensations were all indispensable parts of this grand feast.
Duramente was injured. Satono Crown had withdrawn. Satono Rasen had clearly hesitated before the race. Other rivals had their own doubts and hesitations…
But it wasn't really about who she faced.
She just wanted to know if, after everything, Kitasan Black was the only one left who could give her a truly satisfying duel.
Before the race, she'd already thought that was the case.
Whether it was her encounter with Duramente in the gym or casual chats with Satono Crown afterward, she'd noticed one common theme—
They all saw Kitasan Black as their most important rival.
Truthfully, Real Steel felt the same way. She'd been anticipating this duel before the race even began.
When she'd seen Kitasan Black get trapped earlier, she'd worried she might not experience it at all.
It wasn't arrogance, just a clear awareness that, unless severely obstructed, few could withstand her final spurt—perhaps not even Kitasan Black herself.
But now, she realized she'd been wrong.
Not only had Kitasan Black magnificently broken free, seized the lead position, and controlled the rhythm perfectly, but she still held that position, even now.
And despite clearly being exhausted, her steps heavy, arms sluggish, breathing labored—she still refused to yield an inch, blocking Real Steel's path forward.
But if no opening existed—so what?
She desired a thrilling, exhilarating race, but that wasn't all.
The enjoyment of the race, the glory of victory, the title of the generation's strongest—
She wanted it all!
Right now, there was only one obstacle blocking her from it all. And if this obstacle refused to give her an opening, then—
She would make one herself!!
That's right…
She murmured inwardly, her voice trembling with excitement and exhaustion.
This is the kind of race I wanted…
I'm glad you didn't run away like the others…
But don't think…
I'll let you escape either!
KITASAN BLACK—!!
Her final thought burst forth as an uncontrollable roar.
Her chest heaved violently, every ounce of strength surging down into her legs, as if she wanted to shatter the earth beneath her.
Her muscles tightened like steel wires, veins bulging visibly beneath her skin, every inch of her body radiating fierce fighting spirit.
With a low, furious growl, she drove her legs harder, instantly accelerating, tearing through the air with unstoppable momentum, charging desperately toward Kitasan Black.
She tried to surpass her in one decisive burst—to claim the glory, to claim it all.
Yet, just as she launched forward, an even more terrifying presence surged in front of her.
Real Steel's eyes widened in shock.
Kitasan Black's body sank slightly lower, her rear foot dug deep into the track, and in the next instant she erupted with monstrous strength, like an ancient beast awakened from slumber.
Legs that had looked weighed down by lead were suddenly swift once more.
Her arms swung wider and faster, her breathing turning sharp and forceful. Every inhale seemed to suck in all the air around her; every exhale came out as a thunderous roar.
Impossible—
She still had this much strength left? This much explosive power—was she…?
A monster?!
Real Steel was stunned.
Like someone drowning who'd suddenly found air, Kitasan Black inexplicably felt renewed strength flood through her body.
No, it wasn't new strength.
It was the mercilessly harsh, excessive training sessions during camp.
It was the sweat she'd spilled on the track before dawn's first rays had even chased away the chill of night.
It was the countless times she'd sprinted at full strength, collapsed exhausted to the ground, yet forced herself to her feet for one more round.
It was Yasui Makoto's patient gaze, the encouragement from her senpai.
It was every aching muscle, every desperate gasp, every race where she'd poured herself out.
It was the day before—and even the morning of—the Kikuka Sho, where she never relaxed, still practicing relentlessly, memorizing every rise and fall of the track, every curve, every straight.
It was all these moments twisted together into a thin, taut string.
One end of that string tied to her current self—body nearly exhausted, strength almost gone.
The other end linked to the finish line, so close, yet impossibly far.
Pulled forward by that invisible string, Kitasan Black felt her blood ignite.
Boiling passion flooded her senses, blurring her view even more.
Only that thin white line, shimmering ahead, danced vaguely yet imprinted itself clearly onto her heart.
Now she'd fallen completely into a trance—every action came purely from instinct, from the deepest part of her being where only the desire for victory remained.
Her legs broke free from exhaustion's shackles, alternating at incredible speed.
Her steps, previously dragging due to fatigue, became a whirlwind of power.
Sweat poured freely, dripping from her forehead, cheeks, and neck, soaking her racing uniform, sparkling in the sunlight.
But she didn't notice—her single-minded focus locked onto the distant white line.
Real Steel watched the figure in front of her explode forward like an arrow loosed from a bow, eyes filled with shock and unwillingness.
She'd never imagined that Kitasan Black, so thoroughly exhausted, could still unleash such terrifying power.
She was still desperately chasing, but the distance between them widened instantly.
In that split-second, she could only watch as the figure ahead—like a streak of black lightning—crossed the finish line before her.
At the same moment, the commentator's deafening cry tore through the racecourse's noise:
"THE FINISH LINE—!!"
"THE WINNER CROSSES THE FINISH LINE!!"
"CLAIMING THIS YEAR'S FINAL JEWEL OF THE CLASSIC TRIPLE CROWN IS… KITASAN BLACK—!!"
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T/N: REAL STEEL IS NOT CHEVAL GRAND!!! I CHECKED SO MANY TIMES!!! HERE'S THE RAW FEEL FREE TO CHECK IT OUT 不挠真钢
不挠真钢
不挠真钢
不挠真钢
不挠真钢
AHHHHHHHHHHHHH