Chapter 111.
The official starting gate assignments for the Kikuka Sho dropped early Thursday morning.
Shuta arrived at the Team Sadalsuud clubroom before the sun had even fully risen. He booted up the projector, calibrated the lens, and pulled up the URA Association's official portal, leaving it ready for Rice Shower to review with him that afternoon.
With the staging set, he grabbed his stopwatch and headed out into the crisp autumn air of the training grounds.
Unlike his usual rigidly scheduled routines, Shuta had deliberately delayed Rice's final oikiri—her crucial fast-gallop chase-up—by a full 24 hours.
The logistical reality was simply that he couldn't find a suitable sparring partner. Mejiro Dober was on a heavily mandated vacation, currently locked in a room with Agnes Digital furiously debating doujinshi panel layouts for the upcoming Winter Comiket. Admire Vega's fragile physical baseline couldn't withstand the brutal intensity of a Classic-level chase, and Kurofune was currently banished to the sand dunes for deep-stamina conditioning. He couldn't exactly walk up to a rival team and politely ask to borrow one of their elite runners for a tactical drill.
His only viable option was Tokai Teio. Unfortunately, the ever-energetic Teio had been successfully kidnapped by Mayano Top Gun at the crack of dawn yesterday for a pop-up exhibition in the city.
"A one-day delay is still perfectly within the URA's regulatory window, so the physical drop-off is negligible."
Shuta An reasoned, standing at the edge of the dirt track as he watched Rice Shower stretch her legs in a light warm-up.
"But the absolute intensity of this final chase-up has to be flawless. It's the Kikuka Sho. Clocking an intimidating set of data today isn't just about physical conditioning; it's about weaponizing public opinion."
Judging from Rice's nervous, lingering glances over the past two days, the young man was acutely aware of how deeply the media's toxic narrative was bruising her fragile psyche. To protect her, Shuta An knew he had to feed the press a narrative so overwhelmingly dominant that they couldn't twist it against her.
"Still... I didn't expect the media to get handed such a massive distraction before I even walked into the press conference on Tuesday."
The young man mused, his mind drifting back to the chaos of the news cycle.
Two days prior, after wrapping up the grueling press junket, Shuta An had slumped into his desk chair at the clubroom. He opened the Umakeiba forums, planning to skim the headlines before clocking out. Instead, the top trending banner practically screamed off the monitor.
[KIKUKA SHO BOMBSHELL] TWO-TIME GRADE RACE WINNER GLORY CHARGE DECLARES KAMIKAZE RUNAWAY TACTIC! "I WILL NEVER SURRENDER THE FRONT TO MIHONO BOURBON!"
"A third party is openly picking a suicidal pacing war with Bourbon?"
Shuta An had raised an eyebrow, genuinely taken aback.
He immediately pulled up Glory Charge's dossier. He had kept an eye on her during his preliminary scouting. Her two major Stakes victories—the Chunichi Sports Sho and the Kyoto Shimbun Hai—were won on vastly different tempos. One featured a blistering 60-second opening 1000 meters, while the other dragged at a lethargic 63.5 seconds. She certainly didn't fit the psychological profile of a die-hard, wire-to-wire Nige runner.
So why publicly declare a kamikaze runaway tactic against a monster like Bourbon?
Shuta An's eyes narrowed, his analytical brain tearing the data apart.
There is a cold, desperate calculus hidden in this bravado.
He scrolled down to Glory Charge's race history, his eyes locking onto her positioning splits from her recent, disastrous loss at the Kyoto Shimbun Hai: 2-2-2-8.
Ah. She broke mentally.
Shuta An cross-referenced it with the 1-1-1-1 splits from her peak victories.
The moment she fails to secure the absolute front, her motivation completely shatters. She literally forgets how to run.
Understanding that, her Trainer's desperate pre-race declaration made perfect, tragic sense. It wasn't malice; it was survival. For Glory Charge, seizing the lead wasn't a tactic—it was her only lifeline. Shuta An actually felt a pang of profound professional sympathy for her camp.
However, Mihono Bourbon's internal programming allows her to run comfortably in second place.
Shuta An calculated.
Even if Glory Charge violently forces her way to the front, the true pace of the race won't fluctuate enough to trap Rice. As long as we don't draw an extreme outside gate, Rice will just continue to mark Bourbon like a shadow.
While Shuta An analyzed the tactical math, the racing public was absolutely merciless. The comment section under the article was a swamp of toxic outrage.
"Is this a joke? Is Glory Charge's camp seriously trying to sabotage Bourbon? Did Rice Shower's team pay them off?!"
"Hey, garbage-tier runners with zero win conditions shouldn't be allowed to ruin the flow of a Classic!"
"This is the ultimate, destined showdown between Mihono Bourbon and Rice Shower! If you don't understand the gravity of the stage, get off the turf!"
"Steal the lead? From Bourbon? Please. Glory Charge is just going to burn out and end up eating Rice Shower's dust."
"She knows she's going to lose, so she's just begging for attention. Well, congratulations, you're trending (lol)."
The digital vitriol aimed at Glory Charge was vicious. Her Trainer, Nomura, had anticipated the backlash but was still quietly furious in his own office.
"We aren't trying to ruin anything! We just want to give our girl the best possible chance to compete against a monster!"
Across campus, Mihono Bourbon's Trainer, Kuronuma, read the exact same headline. He immediately called his stoic cyborg of a runner into his office.
"Bourbon. If Glory Charge burns her stamina trying to steal the lead out of the gate at the Kikuka Sho, let her have it."
Kuronuma instructed flatly.
"This is a grueling 3000-meter marathon. Engaging in a hyper-aggressive pacing war in the first furlong is tactical suicide. You will conserve your energy. Because right now, we must treat Rice Shower as an absolute, equal threat."
"Acknowledged, Master."
Mihono Bourbon replied, her expression completely blank, her tone rigidly mechanical.
But Kuronuma, having spent years decoding the subtle micro-expressions of his ace, knew the truth. Beneath that robotic exterior, Bourbon had etched the command directly into her core. She was ready for war.
—
Back in the present, Shuta An snapped out of his flashback as the clubroom door clicked open. Rice Shower walked in, her violet eyes wide with anxious anticipation.
When Shuta An finally revealed the gate draw on the projector, a brilliant, predatory smile broke across his face. Rice Shower's eyes immediately lit up.
Gate 7: Mihono Bourbon.
Gate 8: Rice Shower.
"Gate 8. Right next to Bourbon in Gate 7. It aligns flawlessly with the man-marking strategy we drafted."
Shuta An said, clenching his fist in quiet, absolute triumph.
"Rice, this gate position is a masterpiece."
He turned to the small, black-clad stayer, his voice dropping into a register of cold, tactical authority.
"When the gates open, do not immediately swarm Bourbon. Let her establish her rhythm. You will stabilize in exactly fifth place, keeping her firmly within your line of sight. But you let her breathe. Once we hit the brutal incline of the Yodo Slope—that is when you strike. You will accelerate, close the distance, and shatter her."
"My stamina reserves are deep enough to shadow Bourbon-san for the entire 3000 meters." Rice Shower blinked, her voice soft but completely devoid of its usual hesitation. "Shouldn't we consider taking a more aggressive, forward position to pressure her early?"
"If you press her too early, Bourbon's internal radar will spike. She will feel the pressure, tighten her defense, and run a highly cautious, flawless race."
Shuta An explained, his eyes locking onto hers.
"You have to let the target believe they are safe. Only by letting her relax her guard can you deliver the fatal, inescapable strike when it truly matters."
Rice Shower fell completely silent. The anxiety, the fear of the media, the crushing pressure of the crowd—all of it vanished from her eyes.
"..."
Rice nodded slowly. The timid, bullied girl was gone. In her place stood the Black Assassin, her gaze cold, absolute, and perfectly tuned to the mindset of an apex predator.