(Let's see whether this will follow the original result or use the game's story result?)
Chapter 66. A Sunday Without God — Part 1
When check-in time arrived, the twelve Uma Musumes filed out of the waiting room in sequence and approached the counter.
Silence Suzuka and Sunny Brian reached it at almost the same moment.
Neither spoke.
They signed in, stepped aside, and chose separate corners to cool down and wait for the paddock call. Their composure was heavy, almost tangible. The surrounding chatter gradually faded.
All except for Stay Gold.
With her dark, deer-like hair swaying behind her, she ignored the tension entirely. She circled Sunny Brian once. Then again. A faint shake of the head.
Next, she drifted toward Silence Suzuka, circled her twice, and sighed—deliberately audible this time.
It was not provocation.
It was instinct.
Sunny Brian felt outwardly solid, yet strangely hollow beneath the surface.
Silence Suzuka, by contrast, gave off a fragile stillness—like porcelain under too much internal pressure.
Stay Gold frowned to herself.
"Something's off. But intuition isn't data."
She decided to verify later with her Trainer and moved toward the tunnel entrance to await the call for the Tenno Sho (Autumn) paddock presentation.
—
Gate 1 meant Silence Suzuka entered first.
She stepped onto the paddock stage wearing the racing attire she had worn since her first G1 appearance. Each step was steady, measured.
Her gaze swept the stands.
She did not see Shuta An.
She did, however, spot familiar faces from Team Spica and Team Rigil.
"Ann will be at the race stand."
She reassured herself internally, offered a composed smile, waved, and descended.
At Gate 2, Mejiro Bright had already positioned herself to give space.
"You worked hard, Miss Suzuka."
Suzuka paused and turned slightly. "Good luck, Miss Mejiro Bright."
Because she was already in the spotlight, Mejiro Bright could not turn back to respond. Instead, she thought quietly, Let us together deliver a race worthy of the Classics.
—
After the display, Silence Suzuka stepped onto the turf of Tokyo Racecourse.
The dryness was immediately apparent.
But she did not rely on surface impressions.
She walked deliberately to the inner rail and ran a controlled 100-meter check along the boundary.
Firm footing. Minimal give.
Conclusion confirmed.
"No need for lateral positioning after the break. Accelerate directly along the rail. The first bend comes quickly. Save ground."
Her breathing settled.
The pre-race projections held.
As Gate 1, she loaded first.
The Tokyo Turf 2000-meter start sits relatively close to the stands, yet because the course runs counterclockwise, Shuta An—waiting near the finish—would only see her back.
She could not turn to confirm his presence.
But she did not doubt it.
In Gate 3, T.M Oorashi glanced toward her but remained silent. The disparity in ability was obvious, and familiarity between them was minimal.
When even-numbered gates began loading, Mejiro Bright, in Gate 2, called again.
"Please guide me today, Miss Silence Suzuka."
"And please guide me as well, Miss Mejiro Bright."
Suzuka inclined her head slightly. Regardless of tactical priority, Mejiro Bright was the reigning Spring Tenno Sho champion. In this era, both seasonal editions of the Tenno Sho represented the summit of domestic middle-distance and long-distance prestige.
Respect was appropriate.
Then the outermost gate opened.
Sunny Brian stepped in.
A surge—sharp, intoxicating—rushed through her senses. For a split second, dizziness.
She steadied herself immediately.
It had been over a year since she had truly stood on a racecourse. The sensation of the gate, the compressed air, the charged silence—it was almost overwhelming.
"I cannot afford hesitation at the break."
She adjusted her footing.
The commentator's voice rang out across the course.
"The two-crown champion Sunny Brian enters the gate! Nearly sixty years of history, nearly sixty years of glory—the autumn middle-distance summit is upon us! Who will claim the Autumn Shield? All runners are loaded! The Tenno Sho (Autumn) is about to begin!"
Near the finish line, Shuta An handed his parasol to Agnes Digital.
"You should use it."
"I'll hold it for us both," she insisted gently, keeping the shade shared.
He did not argue.
His eyes fixed on the starting line.
"For Front-runners—Victory and defeat are ninety percent determined at the gate."
Against a front-running Classic double champion like Sunny Brian, a flawed start would be fatal.
Inside Gate 1, Silence Suzuka concentrated until the world narrowed to breath and balance.
Then—
A metallic click.
The sound cut through her consciousness like a blade.
"What's happening?!" the commentator cried, disbelief surging through the speakers.
"An explosive start from Silence Suzuka! She's opened up two lengths in an instant!"
The commentator's voice rose sharply over the roar of the crowd.
Even Shuta An's composure faltered.
"That acceleration—I've never seen a gate break like that. I didn't even schedule dedicated gate drills for her. She must have engineered that herself."
On the screen, while the others were still clearing their stalls, Silence Suzuka had already established separation.
Agnes Digital leaned forward. "She was fully out before the others even straightened! That's legal, right?"
"In the Twinkle Series, the race begins when the gates open simultaneously. As long as she didn't force them open prematurely, there's no violation," Shuta An replied evenly. "With a two-length advantage immediately secured, the contest for the lead may already be settled."
—
Sunny Brian's start was not poor.
But it was cautious.
A year away from racing had dulled the instinctive snap of timing by a fraction. Against Suzuka's unprecedented break, that fraction became visible.
Teeth clenched, Sunny Brian accelerated hard, sweeping past inner runners and angling inward to position herself at Suzuka's right-rear flank.
Not directly tucking behind.
She had not conceded the lead.
As they approached the first bend, Sunny Brian edged further inward.
Silence Suzuka sensed it immediately.
"Does she intend to force through on my inside?"
She glanced at the rail. The margin was negligible.
Impossible.
Sunny Brian, entering the curve, recognized her miscalculation.
"I underestimated her. I thought she would slightly drift off the rail after the turn."
Instead, Suzuka remained glued to the inside path with surgical discipline.
Sunny Brian allowed centrifugal force to carry her slightly outward again, resetting to a stalking position.
Then she formed her plan.
"I'll press her tempo. Force her into a reckless sectional. If she exceeds sustainable threshold, I can dictate the race."
At Takarazuka Kinen, Suzuka had opened in 58.9 seconds for the first 1000 meters.
Under pressure, surely she would go faster.
—
On the backstretch, Silence Suzuka accelerated.
Not reactively.
Deliberately.
"I know what you want, Sunny Brian. You want me to overextend. But who says I cannot endure it?"
She lengthened her stride.
"You and I are different types of front-runners. The all-out pace you hesitate to attempt—I will execute."
Behind the finish line rail, Agnes Digital's hands tightened around the parasol.
"She's pulling away—shouldn't she conserve now?"
Shuta An's voice remained steady.
"Her peak finishing burst caps around thirty-four seconds with full reserves. Under high-speed distribution, it declines to roughly thirty-six. If she sustains a 58-second first half, that remains within theoretical viability."
On screen, the gap widened further.
Silence Suzuka internally calibrated.
"At this rate, first 1000 meters: highly 58s. Maintain. No additional acceleration."
But the rhythm beneath her feet told a slightly different story.
—
Sunny Brian observed the expanding distance without panic.
"Tokyo is not Hanshin. The final straight here is long. Can you sustain this?"
She did not believe it.
Nor did those trailing behind her.
Stay Gold muttered, "She's insane. That pace will shatter her."
Mejiro Bright analyzed more clinically. "Sunny Brian's sectional is optimal for us. Suzuka's tempo will deplete her reserves. By the final turn, deceleration should neutralize the margin."
—
The commentator's disbelief intensified.
"Eight hundred meters in—Silence Suzuka has opened fifteen lengths! There is no duel for the lead! This is unilateral!"
Shuta An's eyes flicked to the split timer.
Rapid calculation.
"If this holds—the first 1000 will land in the latter 57-second bracket."
A cold unease tightened in his chest.
Suzuka's internal clock was among the most precise he had ever seen.
If she was still maintaining this rhythm, she believed it sustainable.
But 57 seconds at Tokyo over 2000 meters—
His hands gripped the railing.
"Slow down. Just slightly."
The number appeared in the corner of the screen.
The commentator shouted it into history.
"Fifty-seven point four seconds!"
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