Chapter 112.
Sunday broke over the Kyoto Racecourse with a cloudless, brilliant azure sky. Despite the crisp autumn calendar, the air inside the stadium felt stiflingly thick, suffocated by the sheer mass of humanity packed into the grandstands.
With Tokai Teio occupied by a mandatory promotional shoot for the Japan Cup, Shuta An had brought only Kurofune and Admire Vega to observe the bloodbath.
"There are so many people here today." Kurofune remarked, standing before the reinforced floor-to-ceiling glass of the Stakeholders' Box. "It's practically as dense as Churchill Downs on Kentucky Derby day."
"The URA Association went all out pushing the 'Satsuki Queen versus Derby Queen' narrative."
Shuta An explained, his eyes sweeping the stands.
"Factor in the media's relentless, toxic hype cycle this year, and it's drawn in casuals who wouldn't normally watch a 3000-meter marathon. The Kansai region doesn't host many marquee races to begin with. Given the explosive stakes of this rivalry, a sold-out Kyoto is exactly what I expected."
"It honestly looks even more crowded than Teio-senpai's Kikuka Sho."
Kurofune grumbled.
Shuta An stepped up to the glass beside her, glancing down at the sprawling grandstands. The dense, writhing crowd of heads formed a dark cumulonimbus cloud, radiating a heavy, oppressive gravity that seemed to physically press down on the turf.
"Rice-senpai won't let the pressure crush her, will she?"
Admire Vega asked quietly, her eyes tracking the chaotic energy of the crowd.
"She has already survived the grandest stages. The crowd size today won't be a problem for her."
The young man replied, his tone devoid of a single ounce of doubt.
Down in the subterranean quiet of the waiting lounge, Rice Shower looked up at the wall-mounted television. The camera panned across the Kyoto grandstands, broadcasting the terrifying sea of expectant faces.
So many people, Rice thought, her expression remaining entirely placid.
Months ago, that sight would have paralyzed her. But after surviving the suffocating, hundred-thousand-strong mob at Flemington Racecourse during her lucid Melbourne Cup dream, a domestic crowd barely touching the hundred-thousand mark no longer registered as a threat.
Bourbon-san and her Trainer are the ones who are going to feel the true, crushing weight of this crowd today.
The Black Assassin deduced coldly.
Across the hall in a separate lounge, Mihono Bourbon sat perfectly rigid on a leather sofa, her cybernetic gaze locked onto a similar broadcast screen. As the camera highlighted the roaring masses, she blinked once.
This monumental spectacle was well within her calculated parameters. In fact, beneath her synthetic, emotionless exterior, a quiet spark of genuine satisfaction ignited. A massive audience was exactly what she needed.
I will prove Master's absolute validity.
She murmured internally, lowering her gaze to her legs. She said nothing more.
—
Meanwhile, up in the officials' viewing balcony, Kuronuma stood rigidly in the exact spot closest to the finish line wire. He was a highly analytical man, rarely given to superstition, but he knew this was the exact coordinate Shuta An usually occupied during major races. He stood there hoping some of the prodigy's residual luck would bleed into him.
The Kikuka Sho—
Kuronuma sighed, his stomach twisting into painful knots.
I lost the Derby—the one race I was mathematically certain we would win. And now that it's come to this... I have absolutely no confidence left.
He knew he couldn't let Bourbon see his despair. He constantly wore a mask of unshakeable certainty in front of his cyborg runner.
Only Kuronuma knew how terrifyingly insecure he actually felt. It was an undisputed industry fact: Shuta An had publicly and repeatedly diagnosed Rice Shower as a pure, apex long-distance specialist. The young man's evaluations of Uma Musume biomechanics—even those outside his own stable—were practically prophetic.
Kyoei March's Trainer had literally thanked Shuta An on national television after winning the February Stakes, crediting the Sadalsuud Trainer for guiding her dirt-focused career path.
Kuronuma was forced to accept the grim reality.
Rice Shower's performance in a grueling 3000-meter marathon would be exponentially more lethal than her performance at 2400 meters.
The brutal calculation haunted him. Rice Shower had successfully run down Mihono Bourbon over 2400 meters in Tokyo. Now, on the 3000-meter Kyoto turf—what was the actual statistical probability of Bourbon reversing that outcome?
Kuronuma couldn't calculate an exact percentage, but he knew it was terrifyingly low.
His greatest fear wasn't just losing the Kikuka Sho; it was the catastrophic narrative fallout that would follow. While Rice Shower had successfully avenged herself in the Derby, a massive faction of racing purists still stubbornly believed Bourbon was the superior runner.
They argued that the Tokyo 2400-meter track was inherently hostile to front-running tactics, and despite being relentlessly targeted, Bourbon had only lost by a razor-thin margin. The consensus among the Bourbon loyalists was that if she executed her perfect race today, she would undeniably reverse the Derby outcome.
If Shuta An hadn't explicitly stated Rice Shower was a long-distance monster, I would probably agree with them, Kuronuma sighed inwardly. But now—all I can do is pray that the Three Goddesses smile upon Bourbon today.
Later that afternoon, as Shuta An escorted Kurofune and Admire Vega into the officials' section, he immediately noticed Kuronuma occupying his preferred vantage point.
He didn't walk over to initiate a confrontation. He simply guided his two girls to an open section of railing about ten meters away, still offering a pristine view of the wire.
"Mihono Bourbon's Trainer is squatting in your spot. Is that a deliberate provocation?"
Kurofune asked, her eyes narrowing aggressively. Having recently taken up Aikido with Curren Chan, the American dirt runner was itching for a physical confrontation—mostly because she spent her sparring sessions getting ruthlessly thrown into the mats by Curren, and she desperately needed an outlet.
"Team Sadalsuud's name isn't carved into the concrete, Kurofune. It's first-come, first-served."
Shuta An shot her a warning glance, placing a firm hand on her shoulder to rein her in. He wasn't entirely sure why the American girl was looking for a street fight, but starting a turf war before a Classic was strictly off the table.
On Shuta An's other side, Admire Vega stood perfectly still, lost in the shadowed labyrinth of her own mind.
This is Kyoto Racecourse. This will be the starting point of Big Sister's Twinkle Series career in the future~
The phantom voice of her deceased twin sister echoed playfully in the void of her consciousness.
Admire Vega's physical expression didn't shift. She simply stared down at the vibrant green turf of the Kyoto circuit.
I will start from here, and I will present an absolute, unrivaled glory to you.
She conversed silently with the ghost.
It's not for me! It's for Big Sister herself.
The voice gently rebuked her.
No. It is for you.
Admire Vega denied fiercely. She gave her head a sharp, violent shake, physically dislodging the phantom voice from her mind.
"It is for you."
She whispered aloud, the words barely carrying over the ambient noise of the crowd.
Shuta An noticed the subtle movement of her lips. Because of the roar of the stadium, he hadn't caught the words.
"Ayabe, is something wrong?"
The young man asked, turning to her.
"Nothing." Admire Vega looked up, her dark eyes locking onto her Trainer as she shook her head again. "It's nothing."
The very next moment, the booming, electrified voice of the live commentator shattered the tension, echoing across the massive Kyoto Racecourse.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the Kikuka Sho parade is officially underway! Let us welcome with deafening cheers the eighteen elite Uma Musumes who have come to challenge the final jewel of the Classic Triple Crown! Today, they will prove to the world exactly who is the undisputed strongest runner of this generation!"