Chapter 110. Reine du Monde
Even deep in the Zone, Dober kept careful watch over what was happening around her. She could sense one rival still pushing hard behind her, refusing to let go. As for the rest of the field — however close their distance might read on paper, every one of them had already let go of any hope of winning.
"Chief Bearhart's still not giving this up?" Shuta An's eyes narrowed. "If she keeps pressing like this, keeps the pressure on Dober, there's no telling how the rest of this plays out."
He wasn't genuinely worried about Dober getting caught.
If Chief Bearhart's finishing power were truly that dangerous, she wouldn't have spent her whole career capped at the Canadian International Stakes, staying put in Canada instead of testing herself stateside.
"That refusal to quit — there's something admirable in it."
Secretariat let out a slow breath, still standing at the window.
"But chasing that hard when your own ability simply isn't there yet—that's not always a good sign."
Miesque, quick as ever, latched onto the obvious parallel. "Sounds a bit like your Belmont, doesn't it?"
"I knew you'd bring that up eventually."
Secretariat didn't turn around, her voice dropping flatter than usual — as if the race that made her a legend belonged to someone else entirely.
"So what was actually going through your head, running that race back then? Once you've built a big enough lead, don't you usually start easing off?" Miesque pressed, genuinely curious.
Secretariat offered no answer. She only let the silence sit.
—
"This almost feels like Secretariat's Belmont," Ramonu murmured from trackside.
"Similar, maybe — but not that similar." Shuta An shook his head. "At this stage in the race, Secretariat's lead back then was far bigger than what Dober's carrying now."
"Why did Secretariat-senpai open up that big a gap, though? Once the margin's that wide, shouldn't you start pulling back the effort?"
Ramonu found herself asking the exact question Miesque had asked, back in the Box, unaware the two questions were mirroring each other.
"No idea." His answer came without hesitation. "I was there that day, but Secretariat's never once explained her reasoning, not that I've heard. And I never thought to ask."
Ramonu felt a small flicker of disappointment at that, but her attention snapped straight back to the track — Dober was closing on the line now, the gap shrinking with every stride.
With a hundred and fifty meters left, Dober had pulled entirely clear of Chief Bearhart, the margin between them stretching to a full two horse lengths. Historically, no Turf Classic winner had ever put more than a length and a half on the runner-up.
"Looks like this one's going to be another decisive win for her." Shuta An delivered his verdict plainly.
"Chief Bearhart hasn't thrown in the towel yet!"
Hostad, her Trainer, stood nearby and shot Shuta An a hard look the moment he caught the remark.
Shuta An didn't bother responding. Victory was all but locked in — there was nothing to gain from trading words with a man about to lose.
Ramonu opened her mouth, ready to jump in, but seeing him stay quiet, she held back too.
"You're not going to say anything back?" she asked, low enough that only he'd hear.
"Why bother?" He shrugged it off. "I've got better things to think about right now — like how I'm going to congratulate Dober."
—
Out on the track, Dober held nothing back, running the fastest pace of the entire field while every rival fell further and further behind.
"One and three-quarter lengths! Mejiro Dober just keeps pulling away from this field! We expected a show of dominance today, but even we didn't picture something quite like this."
Chief Bearhart had a length on Borgia; Borgia and FlagDown were running neck and neck; and three full lengths behind that pair trailed BucksBoy, utterly spent.
The field had split cleanly into four separate groups now, with Dober holding an entire tier all to herself.
"Dober..."
Ramonu had known, from the moment they'd swept into that final bend, that her beloved junior had this race won. And yet, standing trackside now, watching that familiar figure sharpen into focus while every rival fell further behind, something welled up in her chest she hadn't quite braced for. Dober's name came out of her in a voice that shook, just slightly, around the edges.
Shuta An's gaze drifted from the big screen to the woman herself. Her figure had come close enough now that he could make out her expression clearly.
Most Uma Musume, giving everything they had, wore faces twisted with effort — not something pretty to look at.
But not Dober. Not today.
What he saw was an expression of total, unshaken calm, as though she weren't sprinting at all, just out for an unhurried walk.
In the final fifty meters, her lead over Chief Bearhart had stretched to a full four lengths.
The commentator seemed to sense that ordinary words weren't going to cover what he was watching. He scrambled for something — anything — worthy of the moment.
Then, catching that same unbothered calm on Dober's face, inspiration struck, and he shouted—
[the words lost in the roar of the crowd]
As the sound rolled through the stands, Dober's figure tore across the finish line, and the timer beside the big screen froze — 2:22.80.
"A new track record for Santa Anita Park Racecourse!"
The commentator recovered fast enough to call it out. Calling it a Breeders' Cup Turf race record would've worked too, technically, though since the Series rotates venues year to year, there's no such thing as a standing series record to begin with.
The instant Dober crossed the line, Ramonu had to fight down the urge to throw her arms around Shuta An in celebration.
Instead, the young man made a point of approaching Hostad first, exchanging a few pleasant words with him.
Hostad was clearly uncomfortable, but with the press cameras trained on him, he didn't dare let anything ungracious slip. He forced out a strained smile and traded a few empty pleasantries with Shuta An before the moment passed.
Having had his fun there, Shuta An moved on to greet the rest of the Trainers in turn.
Shame Baffert didn't enter anyone in the Turf Classic this year — would've loved the chance to needle him a little too.
A small pang of regret crossed his mind at the missed opportunity.
"Dober's made history today too, hasn't she?" Ramonu asked from just behind him.
"Naturally."
He turned, pulled out his phone, sent a Line voice call invitation to Symboli Rudolf, then passed the phone over to Ramonu.
"I'd bet Central Tracen Academy is going absolutely wild right about now."
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