Chapter 108. The Great Escape Unfolds
Click!
The bell rang and every gate sprang open in unison. Not one of the twelve Uma Musume hesitated or fumbled the break — all twelve burst clean and decisive from the line.
Dober, breaking from Gate 5, surged forward the instant the gates opened, making her intentions for a forward position unmistakable.
Chief Bearhart, to her right, caught the move and immediately angled inward, tucking in behind Dober rather than contesting her for the early position.
Dober could feel her rivals' opening speed lagging just slightly behind her own, so once Chief Bearhart yielded the ground, she eased off herself, letting her pace settle into seventh — a comfortably rearward spot within the leading pack. Chief Bearhart slotted in behind her at eighth.
I fell for it! Chief Bearhart felt a flash of regret. I should have pushed past her instead — now she's got my path boxed in!
"So fast!"
Off to the side, Borgia — breaking from Gate 9, sitting just behind Chief Bearhart — squinted as the wind Dober kicked up brushed across her face, catching a glimpse of the champion pulling ahead past Chief Bearhart's shoulder. In Borgia's mind, Dober had always run as a closer. Watching her rocket to the front this early was enough to startle even a veteran like her.
Meanwhile, Flag Down — running just to Dober's right — instinctively narrowed her eyes to slits, keeping the dust kicked up in Dober's wake from catching her full in the face. Letting that happen could throw off her entire rhythm for the race. Even a rookie fresh out of the academy would know better than to let that slide.
Between her explosive acceleration and her flawless sense of rhythm, Dober had claimed exactly the position she wanted, without breaking a sweat over it.
Heading into the bend, she held steady in seventh, Chief Bearhart trailing half a length back — the same rival who'd conceded ground so readily right out of the gate.
Past the four-hundred-meter mark, the scoreboard flashed the leader's split time:
Bucks Boy, 24.04 seconds.
Back in the Box — Secretariat had opted to watch from there rather than trackside with Shuta An — she rose sharply off the sofa the instant the number appeared.
"That's an absurdly fast opening four hundred! What's BucksBoy playing at — is she going for an outright breakaway? And yet she still hasn't put more than two lengths on Rajpoute in second. Is she planning to keep pushing just to shake her loose?"
Secretariat's brow furrowed.
"Keep this up and the whole leading pack's going to fall apart."
Her attention shifted to Dober.
"Shuta had her sit mid-pack, worried the final straight here at Santa Anita would be too short for a proper closing run. But with the pace running this hot already—wouldn't a spot further back have been the smarter call?"
Miesque, seated nearby in the same Box, answered with characteristic indifference.
"Mid-pack, come-from-behind — makes no real difference. If Dober's stronger than everyone else in this field, she should be able to run this out from any position, fast pace or not. If she can't, then maybe her strength wasn't quite what everyone thought."
"Are you rooting for her or not?" Secretariat turned toward her, half-exasperated. "Shuta would have plenty to say if he heard that."
"Doesn't matter to me either way." Miesque shrugged. "I sit on the organizing committee — makes no difference to me who wins. But even Shuta would admit I've got a point. A truly superior Uma Musume doesn't get to make excuses in a race. She just wins. The same way you and I once did."
Secretariat went quiet at that. She couldn't entirely argue the logic — if your strength genuinely outclassed the field, then rhythm and positioning shouldn't matter as an excuse.
"Let's just see how Dober handles the rest of this."
She let the topic drop, if only loosely.
As the field cleared the auxiliary track and swept into the stretch before the grandstand for the first time, crossing the timing point, the board updated with the eight-hundred-meter split: 47.21.
"Bucks Boy's picked the pace up again between four hundred and eight hundred. This really is a full-blown runaway attempt, isn't it?" Secretariat's eyebrow lifted.
"Though she's still only a length and a half clear of Rajpoute — those two are starting to duel it out between themselves."
Miesque offered her own read.
"Good news for anyone banking their stamina for later in the race."
"Still, the leading group's not exactly falling apart either." Secretariat's gaze settled on Dance Design, currently running fourth. "The gap's widened between fourth and the top three, which tells me the whole leading pack's pace has only ticked up a little."
—
Shuta An was telling Ramonu much the same thing, trackside.
"So — thinking about it that way, Dober's actually not in a bad spot at all?"
Ramonu let out a breath of relief. "How did an overseas race end up running this close to a Japanese pace, out of nowhere?"
"Purely because BucksBoy and Rajpoute started going at each other." Shuta An explained. "Normally American turf races run a touch slower than what we're used to back home."
"From here, it's about seeing how Dober handles her mid-race acceleration." He went on. "Given how this pace is shaping up, she can probably afford to delay her move a little."
"Though I doubt she'll wait all the way until the final straight." Ramonu cut in. "She might even move earlier than planned."
"You think Bucks Boy and Rajpoute burn out early?" Shuta An caught her reasoning immediately.
"Right — and if they do, Dober might push up early just to seize control of the pace herself." Ramonu nodded, confident in the read.
Shuta An narrowed his eyes at the big screen.
"I don't think she'll go early—If she wants to win this safely, making her move in the final bend is still the smarter play."
"Care to make it interesting?" Ramonu proposed.
"Oh? Let's hear it." He turned to face her.
"If Dober starts her move before the final bend, you owe me a favor — whenever I need to cash it in."
"Deal. And if she waits until she's already in the final bend to accelerate, then next time Miss Ramonu's looking into new ventures for the family, you hear my proposal out first."
"No problem."
Ramonu figured she'd come out ahead either way this bet landed, and agreed without hesitation.
Dober held her cruising speed steady, well aware by now that the pace Rajpoute and Bucks Boy had set out front was running considerably faster than anyone had expected going in.
If they keep this up, won't they burn out early? Dober turned the thought over as she ran. Unless—they've decided I'm going to run from the back again today, and they're trying to build enough of a gap that I can't close it in the final straight.
Had she genuinely committed to a back-of-pack tactic today, she might have needed to think seriously about moving early. But she was sitting mid-pack, and a slight lift of her head was enough to keep Bucks Boy and Rajpoute's backs in clear view. No need to rush anything yet.
Better to sit tight and hold steady until the final turn, then make my move.
That thought was still settling in her mind as she entered the first bend — unaware that, at that very moment, the wager between her lover and her elder sister was about to be decided.
—
Shuta An's eyes flicked back and forth between Bucks Boy's figure and the timer. Once she'd covered roughly a thousand meters, he did the math on the opening split himself —
"Fifty-nine-point-one seconds."
His eyebrow lifted. That kind of pace would be considered fast even for a twenty-four-hundred-meter turf race back in Japan.
"That can't be an easy pace for the European entries to swallow." Ramonu shook her head at the number. "They should start fading soon."
"Hard to say. Maybe some of them handle a fast pace better than we'd expect."
Shuta An wasn't quite ready to follow her logic.
"But for Dober, this pace should actually be easier to adapt to than a slow one. Let's see where Bucks Boy starts to crack."
As the field approached the backstretch, past the twelve-hundred-meter marker, the board flashed the split — 1:10.41.
"Bucks Boy was still accelerating between eight hundred and twelve hundred meters — and that's through a bend! Is she running this like a sixteen-hundred-meter sprint instead of a twenty-four-hundred?"
Ramonu's frustration leaked into her voice.
"That twelve-hundred split alone would win some actual twelve-hundred-meter races outright."
"Who knows." Shuta An's eyes narrowed, fixed on Bucks Boy. "Maybe winning was never really the point for her today."
He pulled out his phone and checked her Trainer's name — Noel Hickey.
"Hickey only entered Bucks Boy — no other horses from his stable. So it's not a coordinated team play."
His frown deepened. "She'd only won one graded race before this — a G3, the Hawthorne Gold Cup. Barely a name anyone knew. Pull off an escape here, though, and her profile jumps overnight. Better odds of a Dream Cup invitation down the line, too."
He couldn't deny it — for a horse sitting near the bottom of the pack's reputation, it wasn't a bad play at all.
Though Rajpoute tagging along and running with her cuts into the impact of the move considerably. Hickey's probably cursing McAnally's name in his head right about now.
McAnally, Trainer of Hall of Fame legend John Henry, was no fool by any measure. Shuta An suspected he'd deliberately had Rajpoute match the pace, angling to skim off some of the attention BucksBoy stood to gain.
Not unlike Daitaku Helios and Mejiro Palmer, in the Dream World version of things.
That comparison came with a necessary asterisk — "Dream World" specifically — since in reality, those two horses got along just fine.
Once the field hit the backstretch, Bucks Boy realized Rajpoute had no intention of letting her run off alone. Gritting her teeth, she dug in for another surge.
I need more room between us!
Her legs pumped harder, fury driving every stride.
I have to make this a clean breakaway — nobody keeps pace with me, not even for a hundred meters!
Just as Shuta An had guessed, winning was never the goal. Bucks Boy knew exactly how she stacked up against today's field — not well — and on her Trainer's advice, she'd committed to a strategy of repeated runaway attempts starting right here at the Turf, betting that the attention alone, even with a low fan retention rate, beat total obscurity.
Dober picked up on the commotion building among the leaders almost immediately.
Something's happening up front with Bucks Boy and Rajpoute?
She lifted her head, scanning past the jockeys ahead of her, and caught the shift at once.
She's accelerating again? A flicker of disbelief crossed her thoughts. Is this girl actually trying to run herself into the ground?
Elsewhere in the leading group, several Uma Musume who'd worried earlier about Bucks Boy pulling too far out of reach now found themselves swimming in regret instead.
If she'd just said from the start she wasn't racing to win, I never would have pushed this far forward!
one of them fumed silently.
Now I'm stuck out here having burned through stamina for nothing. What do I even do from here?
Back in the trailing group, meanwhile, most of the field was quietly thrilled.
Let Bucks Boy push the pace even faster — that only helps us.
None of them worried about closing the gap later. Anyone with eyes could see that matching Bucks Boy's pace now meant getting dragged down with her. Everyone respected Dober's strength, sure — but every horse in this field besides Bucks Boy herself had entered today intending to actually win.
"Sixteen-hundred-meter split — one minute, thirty-four-point-nine-one!" the commentator's voice rang out with the latest number.
Shuta An heard it and felt a smile tug at his mouth.
"BucksBoy's about to fade. And everyone up front besides Dober is about to have a rough back half of this race."
"Right..." Ramonu caught his meaning instantly.
Chapter 109. Not Giving Up Yet
The reason Bucks Boy's decline was already a foregone conclusion came down to one telling detail: even after her second surge, the split for the twelve-hundred-to-sixteen-hundred-meter stretch actually came in slower than the one before it.
Accelerate and end up slower — it wasn't hard to picture what would happen once BucksBoy's stamina finally gave out from under that pace entirely.
"At this rate, Dober should be able to close the gap without even needing to accelerate herself."
Shuta An's eyes stayed on the screen.
"The real fight's going to be up front, everyone jostling for position. It's just a matter of how cleanly Dober can find her way through."
"Sounds like you're about to win our bet." Ramonu pressed her lips together.
"I'll admit, the way this race unfolded caught me off guard for a while there. But in the end, it landed exactly where I figured it would." He spread his hands. "Bucks Boy was never strong enough to actually shape the overall race."
"Dober's adjusting her position now." Ramonu's gaze lifted to the big screen. "Looks like she's setting up to cut diagonally out of the pack once she hits the turn."
The words had barely left her mouth when Shuta An looked up as well, catching the same shift in Dober's positioning.
"You're right — she's found her window."
"Watching her run like this—honestly, the old me could never have pictured Dober performing at this level."
Ramonu turned to look at him again.
"That's entirely down to how well you've trained her."
"The real credit belongs to Dober herself — her work ethic." He waved off the compliment. "No amount of coaching fixes a lack of diligence in the Uma Musume herself."
"I suppose if the talent's there in the first place, maybe diligence doesn't matter quite as much?" Ramonu murmured, half to herself.
Shuta An let the comment pass without response.
His own view hadn't shifted — every Uma Musume on the Sadalsuud roster had both talent and drive in equal measure. They'd have found success somewhere regardless of whose team they'd joined.
What he brought to the table was pushing that success further than any other Trainer could have managed. And by that measure, he was, for now, satisfied with what he'd built.
Entering the final bend, Dober shifted a few steps diagonally outward, cutting from the inside of the pack toward the outer lane, forcing her way directly ahead of Chief Bearhart.
Chief Bearhart, who'd planned to make her own early move, had no choice but to brake hard and swing wide around her instead.
Why does her every move keep landing right on top of mine!
Chief Bearhart bit back the frustration silently. Ever since she'd conceded that first opening at the start, every time their tactical instincts lined up, she was the one forced to yield ground. That was the cost of not fighting Dober for position from the very first stride — and it was a cost she'd keep paying for the rest of the race.
As the whole field swept into the final turn, Dober dropped her center low, sharpened her focus, and shut every rival out of her awareness entirely.
"Is that the Zone?"
Shuta An would confidently claim that no one on earth understood Mejiro Dober's body the way he did. A single glimpse of her form on the big screen told him exactly what she was doing.
"The Zone?"
Ramonu's eyebrow arched. She'd heard Symboli Rudolf reference the concept before, but she hadn't expected Dober to have already mastered it herself.
Though I suppose it isn't really surprising, is it. The Triple Tiara champion turned the thought over. Her results speak for themselves — mastering something like that was probably inevitable.
But this is Dober we're talking about. No warm-up, no lead-in — she just drops straight into that state the instant she wants to. I can't do that. Not even close.
The rivals around her felt it even more sharply. Chief Bearhart sensed the shift the moment it happened — something in Dober had gone cold and razor-edged in an instant.
What is that?
Chief Bearhart couldn't name it, but she felt the difference immediately — Dober's pace had sharpened the second it hit her.
I need to push now too!
She was already sitting further back than she wanted. If she let Dober break clear while she held back, she had no illusions about which way the goddess of victory would look tonight.
"Dober's already got the Zone down that cleanly?" Secretariat's surprise was plain. "I've never once seen her actually train for it."
Just as Shuta An had predicted, Bucks Boy began fading through the back half of the final bend, and at the two-thousand-meter mark, Dober swept past both Rajpoute and Bucks Boy to claim the front of the pack outright.
"Isn't it risky, taking the lead this early?" Ramonu's brow furrowed. "There's still four hundred meters left. Can she hold that?"
"As long as she puts as much distance as she can into the next three hundred meters, that's all she needs."
Shuta An glanced at the timer — 1:59.11 — before answering.
"For the final four hundred, if Dober can hold roughly twelve seconds per two hundred, this race is hers."
"Really?"
Ramonu hadn't expected him to name the exact key to victory with that much ground still left to cover.
"Don't believe me?"
He kept his eyes fixed on Dober's figure on the screen.
"Given how she typically runs, she should start easing off right about now. In this last stretch of the bend, she'll drop her pace slightly and cut into the inner lane to conserve energy — then unleash it all again once she hits the final straight. There's time to spare."
Ramonu fell silent for a few seconds — and then, sure enough, watched Dober do exactly that: ease off, drift inward, precisely as he'd called it.
"I don't think I understand Dober as well as you do anymore."
She had to concede the point outright.
"That's only natural."
Shuta An accepted the remark without hesitation. Even a young lady of the Mejiro family couldn't be expected to read Dober's body the way he could.
"Mejiro Dober takes the lead into the final straight! Can she hold it all the way to the line?!" the commentator's voice rang out.
Secretariat rose from her seat and crossed to the floor-to-ceiling window, where her vantage point gave her a clear view of the shifting field down the final stretch.
"She's adjusting her stride again — getting ready for another surge."
Secretariat, with all her experience, read Dober's plan the instant she saw it unfold.
"But this race isn't decided yet."
Her gaze settled on Chief Bearhart, two lengths back and closing.
"There's still someone behind you who hasn't given up, Mejiro Dober."