Chapter 11. Work Result
After finishing his communication with the agent, Ann remained in Mihono for a short while, but his thoughts had already begun to shift elsewhere.
It was Monday. There were still two days before his next riding session.
Staying any longer served no real purpose.
Rather than idling here, it made more sense to return to Ritto and clarify the matter that had been left hanging for far too long.
Tokai Teio.
With that in mind, he packed his things without delay.
—
By the time Ann arrived at Ritto Training Center via Shinkansen, it was already approaching noon. Even so, he did not bother with lunch and headed straight toward Matsumoto Shoichi Stable. Tokai Teio had been on pasture for half a year, yet there had been no concrete update regarding his next race. Matsumoto Shoichi had remained vague throughout, and under normal circumstances, Ann would have waited.
But not this time.
After everything that had happened, leaving this unresolved no longer sat well with him.
He needed a clear answer.
The moment he stepped into the training center, however, he did not even have the chance to head toward the stable before being intercepted.
The reporters who had been idling nearby immediately noticed him, their expressions lighting up as they quickly gathered around.
"Shuta-kun? Why are you here today? Weren't you supposed to be resting in Tokyo?"
It wasn't a formal setting—just an impromptu exchange. Because of that, the atmosphere remained relaxed. Ann understood that conversations like this rarely made it into print, so he had no reason to be guarded.
"I came to ask about Teio's current condition and his next race plans," he replied directly.
One of the reporters sighed lightly.
"I spoke with Trainer Matsumoto yesterday. He said nothing's been decided yet."
Another added, his tone tinged with concern, "It's already been half a year. With no race planned, it's hard not to worry something might be wrong."
Ann's brows drew together slightly.
"He shouldn't be injured. If that were the case, there would have been some indication by now."
"I hope so," the reporters echoed almost in unison. "After all, he's the undefeated Triple Crown winner of the new generation. It's not just racing fans anymore—even people who don't follow horse racing are watching him closely."
One of them let out a quiet sigh.
"The bubble era may be fading, but Teio still reminds people of that sense of prosperity from years ago. Even if reality doesn't improve—people want to see him surpass his father."
"I think so too."
Ann didn't elaborate further. The statement was simple, but it was not insincere.
After exchanging a few more words, he excused himself and continued toward the stable.
—
When he arrived at Matsumoto Shoichi Stable, the timing happened to coincide with lunch.
Matsumoto Shoichi looked up as he entered.
"Shuta-kun? Want to join us?"
Ann's gaze briefly swept across the table. Then he shook his head without hesitation.
"I'll pass."
There was no need to explain further. Instead, he took a seat to the side, his purpose already clear.
"Teio's been on pasture for half a year," he said, getting straight to the point. "Is he actually fine?"
Matsumoto Shoichi did not answer immediately. He took a sip of water first, as if organizing his thoughts.
"The feedback from the ranch has been consistently positive," he began. "At the start of the year, Shadai Farm's Yamamoto Training Center opened. The owner arranged for Teio to be transferred there, but it hasn't been publicly disclosed."
Ann's gaze shifted slightly.
"Shadai didn't mention that to me."
"I assumed you already knew," Matsumoto Shoichi replied evenly. "I've been visiting once a week. His condition has been maintained well—better than expected, in fact."
A brief pause followed.
"But as for his next race—I haven't made a final decision yet."
Ann caught the underlying hesitation immediately.
"Haven't decided—or haven't settled on a viable option?"
Matsumoto Shoichi gave a faint, wry smile.
"The initial plan was the Spring Tenno Sho."
He paused before continuing.
"If he could defeat Mejiro McQueen there, it would accomplish two things—first, it would settle last year's outcome, and second, it would establish him as the undisputed strongest active horse in Japan."
The logic was clear.
However—
"After the Kikuka Sho," he continued, "my expectations for that race have changed."
Ann did not interrupt.
"If he struggled at 3000 meters, then extending to 3200—and against stronger opposition—makes the outcome fairly predictable."
His tone remained calm, but firm.
"He's an undefeated Triple Crown winner. If he's going to lose, I would rather it not be to a domestic rival."
Ann understood the implication immediately.
"You're trying to protect her record."
"Not just the record," Matsumoto Shoichi corrected. "The narrative around him."
That distinction mattered.
"What about alternative races?" Ann asked. "Hanshin Daishoten? Osaka Hai?"
"I considered both," Matsumoto Shoichi replied, "but I hesitated too long. Registration deadlines have already passed."
That left very little room for ambiguity.
Ann's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Then the only option left—is an overseas campaign."
Matsumoto Shoichi nodded.
"If he only runs the Takarazuka Kinen in the first half of the year, criticism is inevitable. An overseas race in April or May would balance that."
Ann did not respond immediately. Instead, he ran through the available options in his mind, filtering them one by one.
Before he could speak, however, Matsumoto Shoichi set his chopsticks down.
"There's something I need to confirm first."
Ann looked up.
"What is it?"
"If I choose an overseas race—will you go with him?"
The question was direct, but the weight behind it was clear.
"You understand that this could affect your commitments in Japan—especially the Triple Crown."
Ann did not need time to think.
"Tokai Teio takes priority." The answer came without hesitation. "If he goes, I go. That's not something that needs to be considered."
Even if it meant giving up opportunities elsewhere—even something as significant as the Japanese Derby—it did not change the conclusion.
At this moment and this stage of his career, there was no partner more important than Tokai Teio.
Not now.
And not for the foreseeable future.
Matsumoto Shoichi studied him for a moment, then gave a small nod.
"In that case—"
He spoke slowly, as if finalizing the decision in that very moment.
"The race I'm considering is the Prix Ganay. A 2100-meter G1 at Longchamp, held in early May."
For a brief instant—Ann froze.
"Prix Ganay?"
The reaction was subtle, but unmistakable.
Matsumoto Shoichi immediately noticed.
"Is there a problem?"
Ann lowered his gaze slightly.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then, he exhaled.
"No."
When he looked up again, his expression had already returned to normal.
"It's a good choice." His voice was steady. "I agree."
There was no further explanation.
But the reason for that brief hesitation remained—quietly, firmly—buried beneath the surface. For Ann, the Prix Ganay was not just another overseas race. It was a name that carried personal history.
After confirming Tokai Teio's next race, Ann did not leave the matter there. Instead, he immediately pulled up this year's JRA race schedule and went through it in detail, aligning the key dates one by one against the Prix Ganay.
The conclusion came quickly.
There was no conflict.
Neither the Japanese Oaks nor the Japanese Derby overlapped with the race in early May, and more importantly, the schedule left sufficient buffer time for recovery. There would be no need to ride under the lingering effects of jet lag, which meant that from a logistical standpoint, the overseas expedition posed no real disruption to his Classic commitments.
"In that case, there's no issue."
The thought settled cleanly.
Once that concern was removed, what remained was simply an evaluation of probability.
"Even if I stay, I'm unlikely to win the Oka Sho against Nishino Flower—"
His tone was quiet, almost detached, as he followed the line of reasoning through.
"And beating Mihono Bourbon in the Satsuki Sho or the Derby—"
He did not finish the sentence.
There was no need to.
The conclusion was already self-evident.
With that, he ended his day in the Dream World.
—
When he woke, the space beside him was already empty.
Ann paused for a brief moment before shifting his gaze, only then noticing that the Gray Uma Musume who had been leaning against him the previous night had already left. Reaching for the clock, he confirmed the time—the hour hand pointed to seven.
"Up that early."
He let out a faint breath, somewhere between resignation and habit.
"I thought she'd stay a little longer."
The thought passed without lingering. Without any attempt to chase after that absence, he got out of bed with unusual decisiveness and began preparing for the day.
—
It was Tuesday.
Shuta An had already completed all of the preparatory work assigned to him, but he had no intention of delivering tactical explanations directly to the participating Uma Musume. That responsibility lay with their respective trainers.
What he needed to do was ensure that those trainers fully understood the framework.
Taking the materials he had organized, he began contacting his colleagues one by one, arranging to walk them through his analysis of their races.
"I'll start with Kitahara."
His decision was methodical.
"The Godolphin Mile is the first race on Dubai World Cup Race Day. It makes sense to proceed in sequence."
—
At the hotel café, Shuta An took a seat by the window and ordered an iced Americano. The bitterness would keep him alert; that was all the justification he needed. Placing his laptop on the table, he waited in silence.
A few minutes later, Kitahara hurried in.
After spotting him, he moved quickly to the table and sat down opposite without wasting time.
"The same as him," Kitahara said to the waiter, gesturing toward the drink.
Once the order was placed, Shuta An turned his laptop around so the screen faced him.
"I'll go over the Godolphin Mile first."
He spoke calmly, setting the structure before moving into specifics.
"As for targeted training, I've already coordinated with Tojo. Hayate Fubuki has begun adjustments based on that plan."
Kitahara scratched his head awkwardly.
"Then…do I really need to hear this? If training's already started, isn't that enough?"
Shuta An looked at him evenly.
"Do you expect me to explain race tactics directly to Hayate Fubuki?"
The question landed without force, but its meaning was clear.
"You're her trainer. The final instruction has to come from you."
"Right."
Kitahara gave a short, self-conscious laugh and averted his gaze.
"Ann-san's right."
Shuta An's brows drew together slightly. The response was correct—but the tone behind it was off.
"Did something happen?" he asked directly.
There was a brief pause before Kitahara answered.
"It's nothing serious. March has just been…checking in on me a lot."
Shuta An dismissed it with a small shake of his head.
"That's not something to hesitate over. Work is work."
He tapped the table lightly, bringing the conversation back on track.
"Let's focus."
—
"There are thirteen participants in this year's Godolphin Mile."
His voice shifted back into analysis, steady and precise.
"European, American, and local entrants. Hayate Fubuki is the only Japanese runner, which means she's highly likely to be isolated tactically."
He paused just long enough to let that implication settle.
"If she concedes position early, the others will immediately capitalize. Their training emphasizes energy conservation, and physical positioning within the pack is standard for them."
The structure narrowed.
"That leaves two viable approaches."
He raised a finger.
"The first is to drop back after the start, stay at the rear, then swing wide before the final straight and launch a late charge."
Kitahara frowned almost immediately. "Not ideal. Meydan doesn't favor that style unless the runner is overwhelmingly stronger."
"Correct." Shuta An acknowledged it without resistance. "And based on their profiles, none of the frontrunners are likely to set an excessively fast pace."
Kitahara exhaled lightly. "So we can't rely on a pace collapse either."
"Exactly." Shuta An raised a second finger. "The second approach—"
His gaze sharpened slightly.
"—is to take the lead."
Kitahara blinked.
"Lead?" There was a clear trace of doubt. "Hayate Fubuki isn't a natural frontrunner. Are you sure that's viable?"
"Meydan favors forward positioning," Shuta An replied, tapping the table once. "You said so yourself."
He leaned forward slightly.
"If you want to avoid sustained physical pressure from the others, then controlling the race from the front is the cleanest option."
Kitahara did not immediately agree.
"And if someone else contests the lead?"
"Then we adjust."
Shuta An's answer was immediate.
"First, we wait for the draw. If we're inside, we take the lead cleanly. If we're outside, we accelerate early and secure position before the first turn."
His tone remained even, but the logic was airtight.
"If another runner insists on the lead, we yield and track just behind. Managing a single opponent is far simpler than being boxed in by the entire field."
Kitahara closed his eyes briefly, then nodded.
"That makes sense." When he opened them again, the hesitation had mostly faded. "Alright. Go on."
—
The discussion continued from there.
From the Godolphin Mile to subsequent races, Shuta An moved methodically through each briefing, maintaining the same pace, the same level of precision. By the time he finished outlining El Condor Pasa's strategy for the Dubai Sheema Classic with Tojo Hana, the light outside had already begun to dim.
Only then did he pause. Looking up from his laptop, he registered the shift in the sky.
"Already evening."
Aside from a brief break for lunch, he had worked straight through the day without interruption.
Closing the laptop, he stood.
"That's enough for today."
The structure for the next two days was already set.
"Tomorrow, I'll go with Silence Suzuka to scout Meydan. The day after, the draw ceremony."
There was no need to overextend further.
He needed rest.
As he made his way back, one final thought surfaced—not intrusive, but steady.
Baffert was also in Dubai.
Encounters were inevitable.
"I can't afford to show any openings."
The conclusion was simple.