Chapter 7. This Year's Expedition
After a brief rest, Shuta An and his group finally arrived in Dubai.
As expected, the moment he stepped off the plane and into Dubai International Airport, the scene outside was already in full motion. Reporters crowded the exit, cameras raised, voices overlapping—each one eager to seize the first words from the overseas challengers.
But none of them got the chance.
Under the coordination of the Dubai URA Association, police vehicles had already cleared a path. The entire arrival process flowed with controlled precision, leaving no opening for media interference. Interviews, in this moment, became an impossible luxury.
This arrangement wasn't accidental.
It had been Shuta An's suggestion.
After a long international flight, both Trainers and Uma Musume—especially those experiencing their first overseas expedition—were in no condition to handle probing questions. A single careless response could spiral into unnecessary controversy. Preventing that risk entirely was the most efficient solution.
And so, the group moved seamlessly into assigned vehicles, departing the airport without delay, heading straight toward their accommodations.
—
Inside the car, Shuta An sat with Oguri, Suzuka, and Berno.
A brief pause.
"We will be heading to the Burj Khalifa Hotel."
"I see."
Shuta An raised an eyebrow slightly, leaning back into his seat.
"Rich and willful," he muttered under his breath.
This wasn't a small gesture.
With over a hundred overseas Uma Musume confirmed to participate, and the Burj Khalifa Hotel holding only a limited number of rooms, the implication was obvious—the entire facility had likely been reserved.
An expense measured in millions per day. Even if, technically, it was just internal allocation—the scale of it was still excessive.
"Even the Japan Cup wouldn't know how to spend this much on hospitality," he thought dryly.
—
Upon arrival, staff members guided each group efficiently to their assigned rooms.
Shuta An watched as Oguri, Silence Suzuka, and Berno were led away one after another, each disappearing behind their respective doors.
Then—he noticed something.
"My room isn't on this floor?" He turned to the staff member ahead of him. "This floor seems perfectly fine."
The staff member stopped, then bowed slightly.
"Mr. Shuta, your room has been arranged separately. Sheikh personally instructed us to provide you with the highest level of accommodation. Please follow me."
"Oh?"
That caught his attention. Curiosity piqued, he followed without further objection.
—
The elevator ascended.
Higher. And higher.
Until—the top floor.
The moment the doors opened, Shuta An's gaze swept across the space. The opulence was undeniable, but what stood out more was its composition. It wasn't purely Arabian in style—interwoven among the lavish design were elements that felt almost… curated.
Familiar.
Even a few landscape paintings hung along the walls, softening the overwhelming luxury.
"Isn't this a bit excessive?" he said plainly, not bothering to lower his voice. "Having me stay here alone is a waste."
The staff member lowered his head respectfully.
"If this arrangement does not suit your preference, we can prepare another suite immediately. However, this room will remain available for you at all times during your stay."
"No need." Shuta An waved it off. "This is fine. Please convey my thanks to Sheikh."
The staff member bowed once more, then withdrew silently, leaving him alone.
—
For a moment, Shuta An stood there, suitcase in hand, facing the door.
Then, after a quiet breath—he pushed it open.
And stepped into a space that exceeded even his expectations.
After setting his luggage down and familiarizing himself with the layout, Shuta An took out his phone.
His first thought was simple—call Oguri and Berno over.
Sharing this space would make far more sense than leaving it half-empty.
But not Silence Suzuka.
She was preparing for the Dubai Turf. Disruption—even something as minor as a change in environment—was a variable he wasn't willing to introduce. If her focus wavered because of something like this, the responsibility would fall entirely on him.
He would explain it to her later.
Just as he opened LINE—a message popped up.
Kitahara.
"Ann-san! All Trainers are gathering on the second floor! Quick strategy meeting while everyone's still awake!"
"Already organizing, huh."
Shuta An exhaled lightly.
—
This year's expedition was far larger than before.
Kitahara himself had returned, bringing Hayate Fubuki—this time aiming for the Godolphin Mile instead of the Dubai World Cup.
Tojo Hana had arrived with Taiki Shuttle, preparing to defend the Al Quoz Sprint before retirement, and El Condor Pasa, who would challenge the Dubai Sheema Classic after a full year of overseas campaigning.
Nishizaki Ryu had also joined, unable to ignore the allure after last year's reports. With Special Week, he aimed directly at El Condor Pasa—seeking a decisive rematch on the same Sheema Classic stage.
Among the familiar circle, only Minamisaka remained behind in Tokyo.
And then—Fumino Nase.
Super Creek's Trainer.
This year, she brought Kyoto City as Japan's sole contender for the Dubai World Cup itself.
Beyond them, there were also unfamiliar faces—Trainers leading Passion Flare for the UAE Derby, and another preparing Fubuki for the Dubai Golden Shaheen.
"Interesting."
Shuta An's thoughts aligned quickly.
"No overlap. No internal conflict."
Aside from the inevitable clash between Special Week and El Condor Pasa—everyone else had naturally separated their targets.
Efficient. And clean.
—
After a quick rinse in the restroom, Shuta An stepped back out, already composed.
No hesitation.
He left the suite, heading straight for the elevator—on his way to meet the others.
The lobby of the Burj Khalifa Hotel unfolded like a stage set for spectacle—its atrium rising upward in layered brilliance, a place designed as much for awe as for presence. By the time Shuta An descended from the upper floors, the Trainers from Central Tracen Academy had already gathered.
Kitahara immediately spotted him, raising a hand in a familiar gesture. As Shuta An approached, his eyes swept across the arrangement—
and paused.
The head seat was empty.
"Shuta-kun, please take the head seat. You're the most suitable person here," Tojo Hana spoke first, her tone calm but decisive. The others followed with silent agreement.
"Then I'll accept."
No false modesty.
He took the seat.
A hotel attendant approached promptly, but after brief discussion, the group settled on simple drinks. Kitahara had almost ordered a cocktail—only to be stopped in time.
"Dubai is dry," Nishizaki Ryu reminded him flatly. "Unless you want us figuring out how to get you out of a police station, stick to non-alcoholic."
In the end, Kitahara followed Shuta An's lead.
Perrier.
—
Once the drinks were served, Shuta An lifted the can slightly, his gaze moving across the group.
"So," he said evenly, "what's the actual purpose of this strategy meeting?"
Kawamura Hirokazu spoke first.
"Before anything else, we need approval—from you, Shuta-kun, and from Miss Tojo."
A reasonable opening.
After all, among everyone present, the two of them held the strongest pieces—Silence Suzuka, Taiki Shuttle, El Condor Pasa… and Oguri.
"You're not about to suggest using Oguri as a shared training partner, are you?" Shuta An cut in directly.
The room stilled for half a beat.
"Oguri is here for the Dream Cup Turf Classic," he continued calmly. "The prize pool alone makes that clear. She's not here to act as a sparring resource."
A clean boundary.
"I don't mind cooperating," Tojo Hana added with a shrug, "but explain the structure first. I won't commit blindly."
Shibasaki Akira nodded quickly. "Then—Kitahara, please."
—
Kitahara straightened slightly.
"This year's Dubai expedition is much larger than last year's. After winning two races previously, the URA Association expects better results this time."
A pause.
"So President Symboli Rudolf proposed this meeting—to consolidate and allocate resources."
"She didn't mention that to me."
Shuta An frowned slightly. At that exact moment—his phone vibrated.
A message.
From Symboli Rudolf.
"Please. You will receive a satisfactory reward upon return."
"I see."
Without a word, he put the phone away.
No objection.
—
"Since most of our runners are in different races," Kitahara continued, "we don't have internal conflicts. That allows cooperation."
He glanced toward Shuta An.
"So the plan is simple—we support Ann-san. Information gathering falls to us. Analysis is handled by Ann-san. Training will be unified under Miss Tojo, and detailed programs will also be arranged by Ann-san."
Tojo Hana raised an eyebrow slightly.
"And the rest of you?"
"Odd jobs," Nishizaki Ryu answered immediately. "We handle everything else."
Efficient.
Unrefined—but practical.
"Fine."
Shuta An leaned back slightly.
Since the terms were clear—and compensation already implied—there was no reason to resist.
But he raised one finger.
"Let me clarify something first."
His tone sharpened, just slightly.
"Even with full coordination, defeating overseas competitors won't be easy. The local field here may not be exceptional, but American dirt runners—"
He didn't need to finish.
Everyone understood.
Kawamura lowered his head slightly. "Passion Flare—result in top five in the UAE Derby would already be a success."
"As for Bamboo Ere," Shibasaki added with a wry smile, "she said earning prize money is enough. Treat it as a half-month vacation."
"Good."
That simplified things. No unrealistic expectations. No misplaced pressure.
With that, leadership naturally shifted.
Shuta An began assigning roles.
"Each of you will gather opponent data for your respective races. Timing, tendencies, condition—everything."
He turned slightly toward Tojo Hana.
"Training schedules begin Wednesday. Unified timing."
She gave a short nod. Accepted.
Kitahara added another point.
"The hotel has its own training facilities. Turf and dirt conditions are calibrated to match Meydan Racecourse. We don't need to train on-site."
"That's useful." But Shuta An didn't fully agree. "Still, one week before race day—we move to Meydan for a practice run."
He spoke without hesitation.
"That track isn't standard. If we don't test it directly, race-day adaptation becomes a risk."
"Agreed."
Kitahara accepted immediately.
"Then it's settled." Shuta concluded cleanly. "For now, priority is recovery. Time zone adjustment, fatigue management."
A short pause.
"Two days. Training resumes Wednesday."
"No problem!"
The responses came in unison.
—
The meeting dissolved soon after.
No wasted motion.
No lingering discussion.
Back in his suite, Shuta An gave a brief instruction to the private butler—no disturbances. After a quick shower, he let himself fall onto the bed.
"Feels like I missed something—"
The thought surfaced—then faded just as quickly.
"Later."
He didn't chase it. Even after sleeping on the plane, the difference of a proper bed was absolute. Within moments—he was asleep.
And in the Dream World—Nakayama Racecourse.
The atmosphere shifted instantly. Today's main event: the Nakayama Kinen. The horse beneath him—
DanceDanceDance.
A mount from the Japan Big Race Club.
At first, Shuta An had found the invitation strange. Why approach him directly?
The answer came soon enough.
Yoshida Katsumi.
The connection. A private collaboration between Big Race International and Shadai.
"That explains it."
Then came the instruction—clear, and unexpectedly lenient.
"No need to focus on results. Just get a feel for the race. It hasn't run for a year."
"Understood."
Shuta An exhaled lightly.
No pressure. No expectations.
Just—pure calibration. And that, in its own way—made things simpler.