Chapter 105. Post-Race Report
That evening, once Tokai Teio and her entourage had been safely delivered back to Central Tracen Academy, Shuta An weighed his options for a moment and decided to spend the night at an apartment near campus rather than make the drive home.
"I really don't feel like fighting traffic all the way back."
He glanced toward the main road, already choked solid in the distance, and the decision made itself.
Tokai Teio had just achieved the extraordinary—an Undefeated Triple Crown—and by any reasonable measure, her Trainer, now bearing that same distinction himself, should have been riding high on the moment. And yet, back at the apartment, Shuta An found himself oddly unmoved.
Maybe it's the Breeders' Cup Turf Classic looming over everything—Dober's race is coming up fast.
He rubbed at his cheeks.
Or maybe Teio winning the Kikuka Sho was simply what I expected.
"I fly to Los Angeles tomorrow. I should turn in early tonight."
He said as much, but instead of heading straight for the bath, he sat down and opened his laptop, beginning the post-race report—
This race turned out far more intense than I'd anticipated. Beforehand, I stressed to Tokai Teio how important it was to hold an active position, hoping she'd move forward in whatever way felt most natural to her. Her response on the track was excellent—she never once let a rival past her, all the way to the line. I'm reminded, once again, what a remarkable Uma Musume she is. Leo Durban shadowed her diagonally from behind for most of the race, and the pressure of that never let up until we crossed the finish—I couldn't relax for a second. But Tokai Teio never showed a hint of strain under it. I've always believed three thousand meters is a demanding distance for her, and after today, I still believe that. She wasn't at her absolute best out there today, and she won anyway. That, to me, is nothing short of remarkable.
Tokai Teio has become only the second Undefeated Triple Crown champion since Symboli Rudolf—and in doing so, has made me a classic Triple Crown Trainer as well. This honor belongs to her hard work as much as anyone's, and I owe her my thanks for it. The Kikuka Sho was, without question, the biggest Twinkle Series race in Japan this year, and she gave everything she had, right to the very end. I believe her supporters witnessed something today they won't soon forget.
I'm proud of what we accomplished together today. Ahead of us now lies a new chapter—facing the older generation, including Sadalsuud's own Undefeated Triple Crown senior, Mejiro Dober. This is a new beginning for the two of us, and I intend to keep working as hard as I can to help Tokai Teio claim the title of Japan's strongest Uma Musume. I hope we can keep building a partnership built on trust.
Report finished, Shuta An showered quickly and went to bed.
That night in the Dream World, though it was still Kikuka Sho day, Shuta An headed instead to Tokyo Racecourse. There, he'd been booked as the top-favorite jockey across all twelve races on the card.
The bettors who'd placed their money on Tokyo that day had chosen well.
From the very first race—a maiden event for three-year-olds—straight through to the last, a two-win-class race, Shuta An swept all twelve.
"The horses are strong on their own, sure, but his riding's flawless too. The Shuta An we're seeing now is a different level from the one we saw this spring. Even without BNW's backing, if he ends up on Tokai Teio for the Arima Kinen this winter, BNW can promote all they like—they'll just be a footnote next to him and Teio."
"Shame Tokai Teio's camp already confirmed they're skipping the Japan Cup—And McQueen's injured again, of all things. Who's even left to defend the title?"
"They're skipping the Japan Cup because they want Teio at full strength for the Arima Kinen—how is that something to blame them for? Since when does defending the Japan Cup fall on Teio alone? What about every other generation of horse before and after her?"
Up in the stands at Tokyo Racecourse, officials and spectators traded theories back and forth, animated as ever—but none of it reached Shuta An. His mind was already on the flight to Los Angeles that afternoon, and the Breeders' Cup card waiting for him there.
Beyond Arcangues in the Breeders' Cup Classic and Hokuto Vega in the Distaff, Shuta An had also picked up an invitation for the Turf Classic. American Trainer Mott wanted him aboard last year's winner, Fraise.
Fraise had managed only a single G2 win all year, but Shuta An accepted the ride regardless—Mott wasn't asking for a win outright, only a top-three finish.
"That's a reasonable enough ask," he'd told his agent at the time.
In the Dream World, the moment Shuta An boarded the plane to Los Angeles, he woke.
He rose, washed up, packed with brisk efficiency, and caught a taxi to the airport.
To give himself time to adjust to the time difference before the string of events awaiting him stateside, he'd arranged for a chartered flight—wheels up at 9 AM Tokyo time, nearly ten hours in the air.
One night to adjust before the schedule swallows me whole.
He let the thought settle as the taxi carried him along.
According to Mejiro Ramonu, Dober's condition is excellent. Once I land, I'll check on her myself, and the gate draw results should be in by then too.
As far as the young man was concerned, that gate draw carried real weight for this Turf Classic.
Given how Santa Anita's laid out, an inside gate is unambiguously the better draw. Whatever ground you lose being forced into a forward position from the rail is nothing compared to the extra distance you're stuck covering from an outside post.
—
In Los Angeles, at the West Coast Tracen Academy training grounds, Mejiro Dober came to a sudden stop mid-training.
"What's wrong, Dober?" Mejiro Ramonu hurried over with a damp towel, worry written plainly across her face.
"It's nothing. I just thought about Trainer arriving soon, and I lost my focus." Dober took the towel and wiped her face.
"If Shuta-kun saw you like this, he'd have plenty to say about it." Ramonu shook her head. "There are only a few days left before the main race—you need your mindset steady before then."
"Maybe seeing him will be all it takes to steady it." Dober handed the towel back. "The rivals waiting for me aren't weak ones. I need him beside me if I'm going to feel truly at ease."
—
At 2 AM Pacific Standard Time, Shuta An touched down at Los Angeles International Airport. Assistant Grace had a car waiting to carry him to LaurelWay 1460.
He found himself grateful for the timing of his arrival.
Three hours later and this forty-minute drive would've stretched into three hours.
He watched the scenery blur past the window, murmuring to himself.
This is the only hour cars actually move through this city instead of crawling stop by stop.
By the time he reached LaurelWay 1460, it was exactly 3 AM.
The lights were still on in the first-floor living room. His brow furrowed—Is Dober still up, waiting for me?
There are only a few days left before the race. What is she doing awake at this hour?
He pushed the door open one-handed, luggage in the other, already composing the lecture he intended to deliver.
What greeted him instead was Secretariat, curled on the sofa with a book, a recording of Tokai Teio's race playing on the TV—the Green Channel's broadcast, judging by the commentary.
"Oh—it's you." Shuta An let out a breath. "I nearly scared myself. If it had been Dober sitting there, I'd have marched her straight off to bed."
"How heartless of you." Secretariat closed her book without looking up. "Shouldn't you be a little concerned about my sleep schedule too?"
"I know your stamina puts the rest of us to shame." He sat down across from her. "I'd guess you've seen more four-in-the-mornings in this city than anyone else on the team, back in your racing days."
"The past is the past. The present is the present." She stifled a yawn. "Mejiro Dober's been training hard—and she's fortunate, too. This year's Breeders' Cup Turf Classic field isn't especially strong. Winning it should be no harder than in years past, and possibly easier."
"For what it's worth, I never wanted her running this race in the first place. The turf Diana Stakes would've suited her better than the Turf Classic. But she wanted the challenge, so I let her have it."
Shuta An shrugged. "I still need to unpack and get my body caught up with the time zone."
"Get some proper rest, then." Secretariat rose, resting a hand briefly on his shoulder. "When the first race day of the Breeders' Cup comes around, bring Dober to my box. I can walk her through the finer details of Santa Anita's turf course, piece by piece."
"That depends on whether Dober wants to be moving around the day before her race."
He didn't commit either way—that choice, he left to her.
"I doubt she'll say no." Secretariat's mouth curved. "An Uma Musume who can turn down my personal coaching hasn't been born yet."
Perhaps it was the toll of constant international flights, but Shuta An was asleep the moment he hit the mattress, and he slept clean through until eight—jet lag apparently settled without argument.
After washing up, he headed down to the dining room. Breakfast that morning was buttered toast alongside mashed potatoes.
The instant Mejiro Dober spotted him, she set down her cutlery, rose, and wrapped him in an embrace without a shred of concern for who else might be watching.
"Congratulations, our brand-new Undefeated Triple Crown Trainer."
She tilted her face up to him with a smile—never mind that she'd already said the same thing over Line two days prior.
"And to you—may you become a multiple Breeders' Cup champion yet."
Shuta An reached out and gave his lover's nose a playful pinch.
"Eat first. Once you've rested a bit, I need to check your condition, and then we'll wait together for the gate draw."
He ran through the day's schedule for her, and once she'd committed it to memory, Dober reluctantly slipped free of his arms and returned to her seat, resuming her assault on the sticky mashed potatoes.
Across the table, Mejiro Ramonu sat with her eyes closed in apparent meditation, as though the entire display between Dober and Shuta An had simply passed her by. Only once Dober had settled back into her seat did she finally speak.
"Miss Secretariat and I are heading out to a nearby mall today. The two of you should stay in and rest."
Her gaze shifted to Shuta An.
"You've had a long journey yourself, Shuta-kun. Better to rest here—the days ahead won't leave much room for it."
"Agreed."
Shuta An nodded along easily—though even without her suggestion, he'd had no particular interest in shopping to begin with.
The stretch around Beverly Hills was pleasant enough, but venture just a little farther and the car window revealed a rawer slice of America underneath the polish. He'd seen that side of the city plenty of times as a child.
These days, though, he'd rather spend his attention on the woman beside him than on strangers simply getting through their day.
Secretariat had claimed the previous night that this year's Turf Classic was weaker than usual. While Dober rested, Shuta An pulled up the final entry list—and found himself agreeing with her entirely.
Borgia and Chief Bearhart are the only two worth taking seriously. The rest—Awad, Val's Prince, Flag Down—aren't in Dober's league at all. Even Borgia's clearly past her peak at this point; the only reason she's still lingering on the Twinkle Series stage instead of retiring must be how poorly the Dream Trophy Series treats her.
As for Chief Bearhart, her current form was undeniably sharp. But she was a Canadian Uma Musume, and her signature G1 win—the Canadian International Stakes—simply didn't carry the same weight, even multiplied fivefold, as the Queen Elizabeth Stakes already sitting in Dober's résumé.
So that's what Secretariat meant.
Looking at it laid out plainly, the field really was thinner than in years past. Last year's Turf Classic had run through Opera House, Swain, and Pilsudski. The year before, Northern Spur—none of them opponents Dober could have brushed aside easily. This year was a different story entirely.
Dober's timing couldn't have landed better.
The thought pulled a distinctly smug smile across his face.
Seated across from him, Dober caught sight of that smile and murmured quietly to herself,
Could it be that I'm looking that good in training right now, and that's what's got Ann so pleased?
She couldn't help but let herself believe it.