Chapter 113.
As an even-numbered entry, Rice Shower was one of the last to load into the steel confines of the starting gate. Stepping into the narrow chute of Gate 8, she completely ignored the runner fidgeting to her left. Instead, she turned her head slightly, locking eyes directly with Mihono Bourbon in Gate 7.
Around the halls of Central Tracen Academy, Bourbon was infamous for her chilling, mechanical detachment—an unshakeable cyborg devoid of typical emotion. But in the shadowed quiet of the starting gates, Rice saw something entirely different burning in those synthetic, amber eyes.
She's looking at me like an enemy.
It wasn't a glance of passive acknowledgment; it was the intense, hyper-focused glare of an apex predator recognizing the only genuine threat in the wilderness.
Rice Shower slowly turned her head forward, her gaze locking onto the endless green expanse of the Kyoto turf. Her right hand drifted down, her fingertips gently brushing against the decorative dagger resting at her hip—a permanent fixture of her racing attire.
Against all opponents, no matter who they are, I must have the courage to draw this blade that belongs to me.
Feeling the cold metal of the hilt, Rice silently reaffirmed that the agonizing answer she had given her Trainer just days prior was the absolute right choice.
"Speaking of which, Trainer— Rice-senpai still has one more race scheduled for this year, doesn't she?"
Kurofune had asked during the presentation segment, leaning against the glass of the VIP Box.
"That's right." Shuta An replied, though the usual sharp confidence in his voice wavered, replaced by a dense, unreadable complexity. "Her final race this year will be the Arima Kinen."
"Eh? Wait, doesn't that directly clash with Teio-senpai?" Kurofune blinked in profound surprise. "It's incredibly rare to see stablemates cannibalize each other's chances in a Grand Prix. Usually, teams tacitly separate their aces."
"It is a direct clash."
Shuta An admitted, crossing his arms and staring out at the track.
"I gave Rice ample time to think it over. She knew the implications, and this was her carefully considered choice. As her Trainer, I must respect her absolute resolve." He paused, forcing a light tone. "We'll simply hold two completely separate, highly classified pre-race strategy meetings."
"That has to be emotional torture for a Trainer, right?" Kurofune said, her brow furrowing with genuine sympathy. "No matter who crosses the wire first, you have to watch one of your own girls lose. There is no perfect ending."
"It doesn't bother me in the slightest."
Shuta An waved a finger dismissively, flashing a practiced, mercantile grin.
"On the contrary, fielding two elite Uma Musumes in the Arima Kinen exponentially increases my share of the prize money pool. If you look at the math, I should be ecstatic."
Kurofune's mouth twitched, utterly baffled by the callous, corporate response. She didn't know how to reply to that.
But sitting quietly beside them, Admire Vega's perceptive, shadowed eyes caught the micro-tremors in her Trainer's rigid posture.
His words are completely hollow, Vega realized, casting a sidelong glance at the young man. He's hurting. He's using the prize money as a shield because the thought of his two prodigies having to slaughter each other on the turf is eating him alive.
She chose to swallow her observation, keeping the painful truth to herself.
Or... perhaps I am just projecting my own tragedy onto him.
She reasoned softly in the dark corners of her mind.
"THE SKY ABOVE KYOTO RACECOURSE IS A FLAWLESS, CRYSTALLINE BLUE!"
The live commentator's voice boomed, shattering the tension and yanking the stadium back to the present.
"EIGHTEEN ELITE UMA MUSUMES HAVE GATHERED HERE TO VIE FOR THE FINAL JEWEL—THE GREAT CHRYSANTHEMUM FLOWER! THE TWO UNDISPUTED PROTAGONISTS HAVE DRAWN THE EYES OF THE NATION: ONE PROVED HER TERRIFYING SPEED AT NAKAYAMA, WHILE THE OTHER PROVED HER MIRACULOUS DESTINY AT TOKYO! TODAY IS THE FINAL RECKONING BETWEEN THEM! WHO IS THE UNDISPUTED STRONGEST OF THEIR GENERATION?! OR WILL A NEW HERO REWRITE THE SCRIPT TODAY?!"
"THE KIKUKA SHO IS IMMINENT! ALL EIGHTEEN RUNNERS ARE LOCKED IN—THE GATES FLY OPEN!"
CLICK!
The sharp, metallic crack of the gates had barely registered in the air before Rice Shower unhesitatingly threw her weight forward. The tactical blueprint Shuta An had hammered into her mind was crystal clear:
Mark Mihono Bourbon first.
But the cyborg in Gate 7 was a machine built for explosive starts. The instant the doors opened, Mihono Bourbon violently triggered her acceleration sequence, ripping through the turf with such terrifying ferocity that she instantly pulled three lengths ahead of Rice in less than ten meters.
Wow, is she actually trying to seize the absolute lead? But what about Glory Charge?
Rice Shower thought, her tactical radar flaring as she cast a rapid glance toward Gate 12.
Just as Shuta An had predicted, Glory Charge had detonated her engines the second the gates opened, initiating a desperate, kamikaze sprint for the front. She was a runner who fundamentally understood her own psychological fragility.
I am the kind of Uma Musume who psychologically crumbles if I don't see open air in front of me!
Glory Charge screamed internally, violently pumping her arms.
I have to take the lead! Even if a monster like Bourbon tries to crush me, I will never surrender it!
Because the vast majority of the field was aggressively pacing themselves for a 3000-meter marathon, Glory Charge's suicidal, final-straight-level sprint easily allowed her to carve out a massive gap. Without hesitation, she violently veered diagonally, cutting ruthlessly into the inner lane and establishing her absolute dominance at the front of the pack.
Mihono Bourbon, operating on her standard mechanical programming, had habitually accelerated to secure the front. But the moment Glory Charge's frantic figure flashed across her optical sensors, clipping her trajectory, Bourbon seemed to wake from a trance.
The cold, absolute directive of her Master, Kuronuma, echoed through her cybernetic consciousness:
Do not engage in a pacing war for the lead. Run your own optimal rhythm. Erase Glory Charge from your tactical calculations—she is a ghost. How she runs is completely irrelevant to our victory.
Processing the command in a fraction of a second, Bourbon immediately throttled down her engine, bleeding just enough speed to let the runaway pass.
Up ahead, Glory Charge had braced herself for a brutal, side-by-side dogfight. But after securing the inner rail, she realized with profound shock that she was entirely alone.
What's going on?
Glory Charge threw a frantic glance over her shoulder, finding the terrifying cyborg hovering a full horse-length behind her, perfectly content to draft in her wake.
She... she isn't going to challenge me? Fine! I will gladly take this throne!
Glory Charge pouted, snapping her focus forward and committing entirely to her role as the race's undisputed pacesetter.
Standing in the Stakeholders' Box, Kuronuma watched the massive jumbo-tron in absolute, suffocating silence. A moment ago, his toes had been curled so tightly inside his shoes they ached, terrified that Bourbon's aggressive programming would drag her into a ruinous stamina war.
Seeing her flawlessly execute his restraint order, Kuronuma finally exhaled a breath he felt he had been holding for an eternity.
She didn't let the anomaly short-circuit her logic. Excellent, he murmured, his hands gripping the railing. Stay cold. Stay calculating, Bourbon. Your enemy today was never Glory Charge. It is the Blue Rose blooming in your blind spot.
Down on the turf, Mihono Bourbon settled comfortably into second place, experiencing the rare, highly efficient luxury of having another runner break the headwind for her.
Maintain current operational status.
Bourbon reminded herself as her hooves struck the initial incline of the infamous Yodo Slope for the first time.
Execute Master's parameters without deviation.
Hovering perfectly stable in fifth place, Rice Shower's amethyst eyes were locked onto Bourbon's broad back. Her mind, sharpened by Shuta An's relentless training, began to run comparative analytics against the Bourbon she had fought in the Satsuki Sho and the Derby.
Her rhythm... it isn't as flawlessly steady as it was in Tokyo. There's a micro-tremor in her stride.
Rice Shower deduced, her predatory instincts awakening.
Is it because she's desperate to prove her Master right after losing the Derby? Her emotional dampeners are failing.
The Black Assassin narrowed her eyes as the grueling ascent of the Yodo Slope began to burn into her calves.
So, how do I exploit this?
With 600 meters of turf already devoured, Rice Shower's mind raced with lethal possibilities.
Do I apply the suffocating pressure right now, tightening the noose early to force a critical error? Or... do I stay hidden in the shadows and let her sweat a little longer?