...
Astrid's late surge undoubtedly posed a huge threat to Broye as well.
Broye finally stopped holding back.
She took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes again, her world underwent a subversive reconstruction—the entire track's colors softened into a vintage tone, as if covered by a nostalgic filter.
The rhythm of footsteps, the resistance of the wind, the breathing of opponents... every tiny fluctuation appeared before her in slow motion.
She could even clearly "see" the muscle conditions and energy flows of her rivals.
The world seemed frozen, stripped of its original flow. Only she moved like an uncapturable phantom, elegant and composed, slipping through the gaps in time.
But in the next moment, the warm filter shattered instantly!
A restrained yet powerful molten-gold halo began radiating from Broye's entire body; her explosive speed once again surpassed her own limits.
"The showdown has only just begun!"
...
Pressure... still pressure... every step felt as heavy as a thousand pounds.
Ahead was the gradually exhausting but still desperately running "cheetah" silhouette, roaring with every push off the ground.
Behind her lay the icy-fire purgatory formed by Astrid and Sergio.
And closest of all was the impact from Broye's unsheathed sword.
Special Week felt as though she had been pressed into the depths of ten thousand meters of ocean; her face gradually turned ashen and pale, unable to breathe.
Sweat burned the corners of her eyes, blurring her vision.
In the abyss, she lost strength—like a plush toy soaked through by water, saturated with the weight of despair, her body uncontrollably sinking downward.
"Is this as far as I go..." Special Week's thoughts drifted in the ice-cold seawater, trembling with unwillingness. "I've already worked so hard..."
"I want to win... I really, really want to win."
Even as she plummeted through the lightless abyss, she instinctively clung to that sliver of hope and light in her heart, preserving her absolute thirst for victory.
"Spe-chan? Spe-chan!"
"Spe-chan?!"
"Spe-chan-senpai!!!"
...
In her daze, Special Week heard blurred yet familiar calls.
These voices were like warm currents of electricity, instantly piercing through the icy seawater enveloping her, dispelling some of the suffocation.
"Everyone..." Special Week clenched her teeth, guarding that warm, uncorrupted sanctuary in her heart built from countless fragments of everyday training.
"Trainer-san, when darkness creeps in, I'm so grateful. The very last thoughts in my mind are filled with your voices and faces, and everyone's."
"I'm just... a hot-blooded idiot, after all." Tears mixed with sweat slid down; the salty taste spread across her tongue, yet a confident smile curved Special Week's lips.
"So that's how I could say something like wanting to be 'Japan's number-one Uma Musume'! Such a naive dream... only an idiot like me could say it out loud, right?"
"But Trainer-san, you always call me clumsy and dense... yet the moment you clapped for me, you already acknowledged me."
In an instant, the abyss trapping Special Week was swept clean. Beneath her feet was no longer the hard track or ground, but a soft, resilient "Field of the Heart."
This field had no boundaries—only the purest joy, the most direct kindness, and the most primal courage... just like the vast wilderness she ran through alone as a child back in her hometown.
Running, simply for the sake of running!
...
"Broye and Astrid are catching up to Special Week! But the leader is still Penelope... wait! Penelope's speed seems to be dropping!?"
"Stalling out? Sure enough, 2400 meters was too much of a stretch for her, but she's built up enough of a lead—can she hold on to the end!?"
In the audience's eyes, Special Week was being overtaken bit by bit by Broye and Astrid, looking like the situation was already hopeless.
The announcer thought the same. "Wait! Special Week seems to have broken the balance! She's withstanding the pressure from both runners—she's breaking through!"
...
"Special Week-senpai, go! Go!" Kitasan Black's voice rang out clear and firm, cutting through the surrounding noise.
Satono Diamond appeared more reserved yet excited. She clutched the Special Week plushie tightly against her chest, her small face flushed red. "Special Week-senpai, charge!"
Below the railing stood a silent observer.
A petite figure leaned against the cold metal fence, feet dangling, body tiptoeing upward for the best view of this exquisite race.
The posture didn't bother this flaxen-haired little Uma Musume at all, because her expression remained unchanged.
But when her gaze fell on Special Week's sprinting back, that expressionless little face finally showed a flicker of emotion; ripples stirred deep in her eyes.
Her lips parted slightly, murmuring words only she could hear: "The golden equation... so amazing."
The voice held excitement and admiration, but above all, the pure astonishment and affirmation of discovering some novel "formula" or "program."
...
Special Week's sudden eruption forced Broye and Astrid to glance sideways.
A trace of disbelief flashed through Broye's signature calm eyes, while Astrid frowned, lips tightly pursed, her body instinctively tensing.
The clash of Zones—the intangible aura suppression born from talent and training—reached its limit at this moment, forming an objective equilibrium.
In the end, only their own will remained.
The path to the champion's throne was never as simple as "gold will always shine." Only when you truly step onto this road paved with glory and thorns do you realize even the stones on the ground are made of gold!
All three were genius closers, yet even among geniuses there are gaps.
Pre-race, they had all thought Special Week was a sure thing—yet she had already exceeded their expectations!
Even Penelope up front sensed the crisis behind her, but the "cheetah" she relied on had almost no stamina left; the phantom flickered like a candle in the wind, speed dropping again and again.
The announcer had already leaped up from the commentary booth, shouting excitedly: "It's Special Week—!? Is it Penelope!? Or Astrid!?"
Amid the deafening roar, time seemed stretched and compressed at once.
In this tidal wave of cheers, Special Week ultimately claimed the Japan Cup championship by half a length!
"Special Week! In the end, it's Special Week who takes the victory!!"
"Japan's number-one general—Special Week!!!"
Click. The shutter sound, drowned in the waves of noise, captured this historic moment!
...