Amid the clamor of commentary and the roar of the stands, the Umamusume on the track cut into the turn at blistering speed.
Shoes struck the track in a dense, thunderous rhythm, like urgent war drums pounding against everyone's heartbeat.
The afternoon sun poured down over their lithe forms, and sweat glimmered along their hair and at the tips of their tails.
As they sped onward, the field's formation kept shifting, their figures crossing and overlapping in blurred layers.
In the middle of that fierce contest, one black-and-gold figure had pulled slightly ahead, standing out at the front by about one length.
Her strides were light, yet full of rhythm, and every push off the ground contained tremendous power.
Her short black hair and black-and-gold race outfit streamed wildly in the wind, like flowing flame, like a surging tide, giving off an indescribable aura of dominance.
The Umamusume close behind her showed no weakness either. Every one of them wore a resolute look, teeth clenched, pressing forward with everything they had.
Their breathing was fast and heavy, and the heat pouring from their mouths quickly turned to white mist in the cold wind of late December.
One of them, an Umamusume with long chestnut hair, was desperately trying to close the gap ahead of her. The taut lines of muscle beneath her skin appeared and vanished with each movement, and every swing of her arms was quick and sharp.
Another, with long black hair, had an unyielding fighting spirit in her eyes as she weaved deftly through the middle of the pack, trying to use her excellent cornering skill to pass her rivals on the inside.
Before long, the field gradually stretched into a line. They came through the turn and, under the excited gaze of hundreds of thousands, charged toward the straight in front of the stands.
Spectators who had still been seated all rose to their feet, joining those who had already been standing and shouting. Their eyes stayed fixed on the figures on the track, and the flags in their hands waved even more fiercely.
The commentator's voice climbed higher and higher as well, and he shouted himself hoarse:
"THE HOMESTRETCH IN FRONT OF THE STANDS! THE FIELD HAS REACHED THE HOMESTRETCH!"
"LET'S CONFIRM POSITIONS!"
"KITASAN BLACK IS STILL IN FRONT, AND A LENGTH AND A HALF BEHIND HER IS LIA FAIL, WHO CAME UP ON THE TURN!"
"GOLD ACTOR IS NOW IN THIRD, AND SHE'S STAYING VERY CLOSE AS WELL—ALMOST LEVEL WITH LIA FAIL!"
"AFTER THEM IS SOUNDS OF EARTH! SHE SEEMS TO BE GLANCING LEFT AND RIGHT, LOOKING FOR A WAY THROUGH!"
"BUT DIRECTLY AHEAD IS LIA FAIL, DIAGONALLY AHEAD IS GOLD ACTOR, LOVELY DAY IS TO THE INSIDE, AND MARIALITE IS TO THE OUTSIDE!"
"SHE'S COMPLETELY BOXED IN!"
"BUT SHE STILL DOESN'T LOOK RATTLED. SOUNDS OF EARTH IS SHOWING EXCELLENT PATIENCE. THEY'VE ONLY JUST ENTERED THE MIDDLE STAGE, THEY'VE ONLY JUST PASSED THE 800-METER MARKER, AND SHE STILL HAS PLENTY OF CHANCES!"
"THE TOP FAVORITE, GOLD SHIP, IS STILL AT THE REAR OF THE FIELD, BUT—"
At the mention of Gold Ship, the commentator's voice shot upward so sharply he was nearly screaming:
"GOLD SHIP IS SHOWING TREMENDOUS PATIENCE TODAY AS WELL!"
"SHE LOOKS COMPOSED! SHE LOOKS CALM!"
"SHE... IS SLOWLY CLOSING THE GAP!"
The grandstands exploded with deafening cries.
Then, in the next instant, wave after wave of sound crashed down like a raging tsunami, as though it would swallow the entire racecourse whole.
Countless people raised banners bearing Gold Ship's name and waved posters emblazoned with her image with all their strength.
Their faces were flushed red with excitement, and their eyes blazed with feverish light.
The fans wearing Gold Ship itabags and merch, silver-gray ear accessories, and red-and-white collaboration coats were jumping and shouting themselves hoarse, as though they meant to pour every ounce of their strength into cheering on their idol.
"LADY GOLD SHIP!"
"GOLD SHIP WILL WIN!"
"GOLD SHIP, GO!"
All kinds of slogans overlapped and echoed across the racecourse. Some wildly excited fans even forgot themselves entirely, flinging hats, scarves, and gloves high into the air to express their excitement and anticipation.
The children were swept up in the fever too. Sitting on their fathers' or mothers' shoulders—or boldly standing on the railings—they waved their little hands and shouted Gold Ship's name in bright, ringing voices.
And the racecourse cameras, along with the still cameras and video cameras of every media outlet, had all turned their lenses toward one person only:
Gold Ship.
On the giant screen facing the stands, stretching across most of the width of the racecourse, one third showed the field as a whole, one third displayed close-ups from various angles—
and the final third was a close-up of the tall Umamusume with silver-gray hair and a vivid red race outfit.
And there on the screen, just as the commentator had shouted, Gold Ship—running at the very back of the field—wore a calm expression, her eyes steady as she watched the front. From head to toe, she radiated composure.
At the very front of the stands, Gentildonna's ears were pressed tight against the top of her head. A half-smiling expression rested on her face as her gaze swept over the field like a searchlight.
"That one really is absurdly popular, isn't she?"
"I mean, after making such a spectacle of herself in the Takarazuka Kinen and the Japan Cup, I didn't expect she'd still have so many fans so blindly devoted to her."
There was not the slightest attempt to conceal the mockery in her words.
At that moment, out of the corner of her eye, she caught Orfevre rolling her eyes at her, her lips moving slightly as if muttering something.
Gentildonna paused for a second, then lifted her ears slightly and said in a tone completely devoid of apology, "Oh dear, sorry. It was so noisy just now that I didn't catch that... would you mind repeating it, Orfevre?"
Orfevre rolled her eyes again and had no intention of responding.
She turned back toward the racecourse, crossed her arms over her chest, and drew her brows into a deep furrow. First she stared hard at the very rear of the field.
There, Gold Ship was still following behind the group at an unhurried pace, running on her own.
A moment later, Orfevre's gaze shifted quickly to the very front.
Kitasan Black was still leading. Her small face was taut, clearly giving everything she had, but she still had not opened up much of a gap on the runners behind—only a little over one length.
Orfevre gave a slight nod, pinched her chin, and fell into thought.
Gentildonna had been closely watching the changes in Orfevre's expression all along, so she too glanced toward the rear of the field before turning her eyes toward the front.
She studied Kitasan Black, who was still leading, for quite a while before nodding and giving her assessment.
"So this is the kouhai the two of you have been paying such special attention to all this time? In terms of raw power alone... yes, she really is not to be underestimated. She's probably no worse than I am, and likely no worse than a certain someone either."
Then a flicker of puzzlement crossed her eyes, and she went on:
"But with the way she's running at the front right now... can opening only that little of a gap really guarantee victory?"
"And if I remember correctly, didn't she use a Runaway tactic in one of her previous races?"
"So why is it that in the Kikuka Sho, and now in this Arima Kinen, she isn't running that way?"
Hearing those questions, Orfevre remained in her arms-crossed pose, still thinking in silence.
Seeing that, Gentildonna gave a dry smile and shrugged, while Deep Impact, standing to the other side, looked over and began to explain.
"Kita-chan actually isn't suited to using a Runaway tactic."
"Her instant explosiveness really is exceptional—there's no question that it's no weaker than yours or Gold Ship's."
"The problem is that she can't sustain that kind of burst for long."
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T/N: yiepppe