Chapter 78. Shuka Sho Part 2
As the starting gates locked into place, Mejiro Dober cast a brief glance to either side. In gate 9 stood Biwa Primula, and in gate 11, Nanayo Wing—both clearly assessing her presence. Yet the moment their eyes met hers, they instinctively looked away.
There was no need for words. Their hesitation spoke for itself.
Mejiro Dober felt no surprise. This had long since become familiar. At the academy, many Uma Musume reacted the same way—whether out of pressure, admiration, or something closer to intimidation. Even Rice Shower, now part of Team Sadalsuud, still struggled to meet her gaze directly.
So it's my results that weigh on them, she concluded quietly.
Letting the thought pass, she centered herself. Breath steady. Focus sharpened.
Then—
Click.
The gates sprang open.
Her start was clean, almost effortless. As always, there was no wasted motion, no instability. Compared to the slight unevenness from either side, Mejiro Dober's break was decisively smoother.
"The final leg of the Triple Tiara is underway! All runners break well—Kyoei March from the far outside shows strong acceleration despite the difficult gate!"
"But NightCruise is even quicker! From gate 2, she immediately secures the lead!" the commentator cut in, voice rising. "Kyoei March may find it difficult to take the front!"
"And she's realized it—no, she anticipated it! Kyoei March settles right behind Night Cruise instead of forcing the issue!"
"The race is unfolding exactly as expected," Shuta An murmured from below, eyes fixed on the screen.
Mejiro Dober had reached the same conclusion.
Settled in ninth, she occupied the rear edge of the front-running cluster—just ahead of Biwa Primula, who led the mid-pack. It was a position she knew intimately. Comfortable. Controlled. Precisely where she wanted to be.
Though this race was shorter than the Oaks by 400 meters, the early structure remained largely unchanged. Once she stabilized in the middle, there was no need to act prematurely.
Kyoto's inner track demanded precision. Its final straight, just over 320 meters, was significantly shorter than the outer course used for longer races like the Kikuka Sho. That difference—over 80 meters—shifted the balance decisively toward explosive acceleration rather than sustained stamina.
In a race like this, misjudging the pace even slightly could be fatal.
As she approached the first turn, Mejiro Dober's attention sharpened.
The tempo is faster than expected—
Her gaze locked onto the leaders.
Is Kyoei March applying pressure?
Calculations began to align in her mind with practiced clarity.
If the pace settles around sixty seconds, that's standard. If it quickens beyond that—then after the Yodo Slope, I can begin advancing. If Kyoei March continues pushing, and the gap stays manageable—I can even accelerate on the downhill.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
At that point, whatever lead she builds will be nothing more than drifting roots. One surge will be enough to scatter it.
—
From the VIP box, both Kurofune and Rice Shower had already picked up on the subtle tension at the front.
"Kyoei March doesn't actually want the lead," Kurofune said, arms folded lightly as she observed. "She's trying to control the pace—pressuring Night Cruise to run at a rhythm that suits her."
She shook her head faintly.
"But she can't push too hard. If the pace gets too fast, it plays straight into Dober's hands."
Rice Shower frowned slightly, trying to follow. "But if she's not taking the lead—couldn't Night Cruise just ignore her and run her own race?"
"In theory, yes," Kurofune replied. "But this is her first graded race—and a G1 at that. The atmosphere alone is overwhelming."
Her tone remained calm, almost analytical.
"The Twinkle Series isn't just about physical ability. Experience matters. Mental resilience matters even more. Under this kind of pressure, it's easy to misjudge pacing—even for someone talented."
She glanced at Rice Shower.
"It's the same for you. No matter how strong your ability is, if your mind wavers, your performance will too."
Rice Shower lowered her head slightly. "I understand."
But understanding, for now, remained only conceptual. The weight of those words had yet to anchor itself in lived experience.
—
Back on the track, the field flowed smoothly into the second turn.
The formation held steady.
Kyoei March, having tested the waters, no longer pressed forward. Instead, she tucked in neatly behind Night Cruise, conserving energy while benefiting from the reduced wind resistance.
Within the pack, Mejiro Dober maintained her position with quiet precision.
Ahead of her ran Orange Peel. Behind, Emino Okurimono. To her right, slightly off the rail, Biwa Primula. To her left—open space.
No obstruction. No pressure. No wasted movement.
She neither needed to cut inward nor worry about being boxed in. If Orange Peel faltered, she had a clear path to maneuver.
From the grandstand, Shuta An observed the configuration and gave a small, satisfied nod.
"A suitable position."
As the field entered the backstretch opposite the grandstand, Mejiro Dober remained composed, holding her position without making any unnecessary moves. There was no urgency in her stride, no fluctuation in rhythm—only a steady, controlled presence within the flow of the race.
At Kyoto Racecourse, the Mejiro Family's attendance was notably restrained. The cost of securing multiple VIP boxes for such an event was not insignificant, even for them. In the end, only the Old Madam, Mejiro Ramonu, and Mejiro Palmer had come in person. Mejiro Ryan and Mejiro McQueen, both preparing for the upcoming Kikuka Sho, remained behind to focus on their own campaigns.
"Is Dober really fine like this?"
Mejiro Palmer asked, her tone carrying a trace of uncertainty. As someone accustomed to nige tactics, she instinctively evaluated the pace from a frontrunner's perspective. At this tempo, she felt she could sustain her speed to the finish—but she lacked experience over Kyoto's 2000-meter inner course, and her judgment remained an estimate at best.
"It's fine," Mejiro Ramonu replied calmly, cutting in without hesitation.
"The Triple Tiara doesn't impose the same raw competitive pressure as the Classic Triple Crown, but it demands something else—presentation. Especially the Shuka Sho."
Her gaze remained fixed on the track.
"This race isn't just about winning. It requires elegance, composure, a sense of beauty in motion. If the pace becomes too extreme, it disrupts that balance and affects overall evaluation. However—"
she paused slightly,
"Dober and a few others are exceptions. They already know how to express their ability without sacrificing control."
It was a conclusion drawn from observation—but one Shuta An himself would likely have questioned. He had never deliberately trained Mejiro Dober to meet such aesthetic expectations. What she displayed on the track was not the result of design, but something intrinsic—an extension of her own nature.
In that regard, it was less a product of training and more a reflection of the Mejiro lineage itself.
—
Inside the VIP box, Rice Shower stood by the window, her gaze drifting toward the packed grandstands.
"There are so many people—" she murmured. "The Shuka Sho really feels like a Classic race."
Kurofune let out a small laugh. "Not quite. It's the final race of the Triple Tiara, but it's not classified as a Classic race."
Rice Shower blinked, surprised. "It isn't? I thought a few years ago, when the Queen Elizabeth Cup was replaced, the Shuka Sho became part of the Classic races."
"That's a common misunderstanding," Kurofune explained patiently. "The Classic races refer to the traditional three crowns, plus the first two races of the Triple Tiara. The Shuka Sho is different—it represents the peak of autumn, something closer to refinement than tradition."
"I see," Rice Shower nodded slowly, absorbing the correction. "Our textbooks must have been outdated."
—
On the track, Mejiro Dober had already cleared the backstretch and was approaching the third turn—the domain of the Yodo Slope.
Though this was the inner track version, with a height difference of 3.1 meters—over a meter lower than the outer course—it remained one of the most demanding sections most Uma Musume would ever face, especially for those without experience at Nakayama.
For nearly a century, this slope had stood as a silent arbiter of ability.
Today, it would once again decide who was worthy.
The field, led by Night Cruise, surged toward it as one.
From the stands, Shuta An's hand tightened unconsciously around the railing. This was his first time guiding a runner through a G1 at Kyoto, but the Yodo Slope was no stranger to his preparation. It was a section every serious Trainer studied in depth—and for him, this race was more than competition.
It was an experiment.
"You may slow down here," he had told Mejiro Dober beforehand. "Maintaining your pace is acceptable if you feel capable—but under no circumstances should you accelerate."
He hadn't explained why. He didn't need to.
He knew she would trust him.
—
As Mejiro Dober set foot onto the slope, reality asserted itself immediately.
This is heavier than I expected.
The pressure pressed into her knees with unmistakable force. Before experiencing it firsthand, she had believed maintaining her cruising speed would be manageable. Now, that assumption dissolved instantly.
Like the others, she adjusted—slightly easing her pace.
Around her, the field began to fracture.
Some runners faltered visibly, their rhythm disrupted as the incline drained their strength. Others held steady, capitalizing on those weaknesses to improve their positions without expending additional energy.
From the VIP box, Rice Shower watched intently, her thoughts unconsciously aligning with her own strengths.
If it were me—
Her fingers tightened slightly.
While everyone slows down, I would accelerate here—close the gap in one move.
It was instinct—born from her natural affinity for climbing. A talent she had only recently come to recognize during routine training, when she found herself effortlessly overtaking others on inclines that left them struggling.
—
Below, Shuta An's focus split between Mejiro Dober and the leaders.
"Night Cruise is holding her position…" he muttered.
Even on the slope, she hadn't been overtaken.
"…Or is Kyoei March deliberately holding back?"
The question lingered.
If Kyoei March had chosen not to challenge here—had instead synchronized her pace with NightCruise—then the battle for control was far from over.
It had merely been postponed.
And that, in itself, was a far more dangerous development.