The mock race was a sudden addition to our schedule, but a race is a race. As the one responsible for the girls on the track, I couldn't help the surge of excitement bubbling up inside me.
I had two entries: Urara and Rice. For Rice, this served as a decent tune-up before the Arima Kinen. She wasn't exactly a miler, so I viewed this less as "optimization" and more as a "change of pace"—a way to keep her spirits high.
Urara, meanwhile, was at a disadvantage on the turf. However, opportunities to run in a full-gate race are rare. It had been nearly two months since her last outing, and I wanted her to remember the rhythm and heat of real competition.
The distance was set at 1,600 meters to mimic the Hanshin Juvenile Fillies. While the gradient of this practice track differed from Hanshin's, it was still excellent experience.
Urara was here for the pure experience. Rice, on the other hand... well, even from a distance, I could see her practically radiating motivation. I'd told her to run at seventy to eighty percent, but looking at her now, I had a feeling she might go all out.
Then again, the instruction was already given. Whether she followed it would be a true test of her trust in me.
In a way, this race was a litmus test for my training philosophy. I was about to find out how much weight she gave to her obsession with winning and her pride as a G1 champion versus my direction.
I liked to think I'd built a solid rapport with both her and Urara. I was about to find out if that was just my own vanity, or if Rice truly understood what I was trying to achieve.
As these thoughts swirled in my head, a voice suddenly boomed across the practice course.
"Under a winter sky as dusk draws near, we begin! It's a mock race on the Tracen Academy turf—the inaugural Rice Cup! The distance: 1,600 meters. The track: Firm!"
"Wait, where did you come from?" I stammered, looking toward the source. "Wait—you're from Team Spica, aren't you?"
"Hah?! You don't recognize the great Golshi-chan? You're failing as a Tracen trainer already!" The silver-haired beauty I'd seen around the academy was already setting up a professional-grade microphone. "I saw something interesting happening, so I'm here to call the play-by-play!"
Before I knew it, Gold Ship had fully established her announcer's nest. I still had no idea where she'd pulled the equipment from.
"Uh... if you think it looks so 'interesting,' why don't you just join the race?"
"I don't have the motivation for that, Golshi!" she barked.
"Which one is it, Gold Ship?!"
The moment the retort left my mouth, her eyes glinted.
"Ho... not a bad comeback, kid. Last time I saw you, you had the eyes of a dead Krulposso. Looks like you've actually grown into a trainer's face since then. Fine! I'll give you the honor of being the color commentator alongside the Great Gold Ship!"
"What even is a Krulposso...?"
"Something that doesn't exist in this world! Alright, you lot, you ready?! We're kicking this off!"
Gold Ship took over the proceedings as if she owned the place. I could only watch with a strained expression, but Urara, Rice, and the others were dead serious as they began loading into the gates.
Perhaps sensing their intensity, Gold Ship cleared her throat. When she spoke again, her voice had shifted into a polished, professional cadence that was surprisingly pleasant to listen to.
"Gate 1, Vena Varum. Gate 2, Multicell Call. Gate 3, Ribbon Mazurka..."
She called out every name like a pro. I realized with a start that she didn't even have a program in her hand—she just knew them.
Unlike a formal race, she simply went down the line of girls already in the gates. But even that was enough to flip a switch in the runners. I could feel the atmosphere sharpen.
"Gate 7, Happy Meek. Gate 8, Rice Shower."
The gate assignments had been decided by a fair draw. By some twist of fate, Rice had ended up right next to Happy Meek.
"...And Gate 18, Imperial Talis. All runners are in... and they're off!"
With a mechanical clack, the gates flew open. The girls surged forward in a synchronized line—except for Urara. She'd botched the start.
"An awkward start for number 11, Haru Urara! The rest of the field is away cleanly. Leading the pack is number 10, Sold Out. A length behind is Bridge Comp, followed by Tomoenage, Spring Happy, Viper Pierce, and Yuiitsu Muni. Two lengths back, Happy Meek, Rice Shower, and Imperial Talis are forming a secondary group. Falling further back are Vena Varum, Ribbon Mazurka, and Feel Freude... while Haru Urara is trailing significantly in the rear!"
The jockeying for position began immediately, each girl fighting for her preferred lane. Urara was dead last, but she hadn't been completely gapped; she was holding her own at the back of the chasers.
"We're heading into the first turn. Sold Out holds the lead, but the front-runners are shifting, eyes on the prize. In the forward group, Happy Meek takes the lead and—phew. Man, that's cold-blooded. Behind her, positions are shuffling as they hit the bend. When will the back-markers make their move?"
Gold Ship's commentary was genuinely impressive, despite that weird muttered aside. The energy on the track felt as electric as a real G1.
Wait—when did the crowd get here? A small gallery had formed along the fence, drawn in by Gold Ship's voice, and they were already starting to cheer.
"This Tracen course is 1,800 meters a lap, with a width of about 10 meters—it's a tight squeeze! Positioning is everything! Sold Out is the first to clear the turn and hits the backstretch. Commentary-kun, what's your take?"
"Don't just shove the mic at me... Uh, right. Since it's 1,600 meters, the straights are relatively short. The race will be decided by who can find their opening on the final turn and who has the most explosive acceleration at the end."
I found myself answering her, my eyes locked on the unfolding tactics.
"The runners are pouring out of the turn! Who's going to move first... Oh! There goes number 12, Unchanging! Is she spooked?! She's accelerating from the very back! Can she sustain a long-distance sprint like that?!"
"A long sprint from that position is a gamble," I added. "We aren't even halfway through. But if she has the stamina, it'll be a hell of a showing. Wait—it looks like she's baited the others. The back group is picking up the pace. 1,600 meters feels long until it isn't. They're starting the real fight before the final turn!"
"The leaders are feeling the heat! Sold Out is still in front, but she's flagging! Her legs are getting heavy!"
"I hope everyone stays safe out there... and there goes number 5, Tomoenage!"