Chapter 92. Disappointing Consultation
Shuta An did not reveal the whole truth; this race had also served as a controlled experiment for him. The following morning, after waking, he opened his attribute viewer and examined the outcome.
"A 500-meter inner-lane burst resulted in a G1 victory that stunned the entire racecourse. Although the Uma Musume's baseline ability was not exceptional, you secured the win."
"Skill acquired: 'Mysterious Drift Experience' — when positioned on the inner lane during the final stage, acceleration increases."
"Just as expected," Shuta An murmured, a faint smile forming.
The deliberate choice to execute an inner-lane sprint in the closing phase had perfectly matched the trigger conditions. More importantly, there were no additional constraints tied to distance or track type, making the skill broadly applicable across scenarios.
In a notably improved mood, he completed his morning routine and prepared for work. Breakfast would be taken at the academy cafeteria. Despite it being Monday—the nominally lighter opening of the week—his workload remained substantial. The Queen Elizabeth Cup loomed ahead, and Mejiro Dober had already entered her final preparation phase. Tactical modeling, opponent analysis, and contingency planning all demanded immediate attention.
"The Kyoto weather should hold steady this week—If possible, Dober should adopt a slightly forward position," he muttered while reviewing data. "There's always the risk of someone replicating Kyoei March's interference pattern from the Oka Sho."
Even now, he regarded that race as the most tactically disruptive challenge Mejiro Dober had faced throughout her Twinkle Series career.
A knock interrupted his thoughts.
"May I come in?"
"What timing," he said under his breath, then raised his voice. "Come in."
The visitor was Kyoei March's Trainer.
She pulled a chair beside him and spoke in a lowered tone. "I came to seek your guidance."
"Guidance is too strong a word," Shuta An replied evenly. "Ask what you need. I'll answer if it's within my scope."
She hesitated briefly before continuing.
"The Triple Tiara campaign is over, but Kyoei March's future path remains undecided. The Mile circuit is still highly competitive even after Taiki Shuttle's departure, and middle distances exceed her effective range. I don't want to force her onto stages that don't suit her."
Her voice dipped, edged with uncertainty.
"I'm still inexperienced—I don't know how to plan her next phase. After thinking it through, I felt that her opponent might understand her better than I do."
Shuta An studied her for a moment, then spoke without preamble. "Have you considered dirt races?"
"Dirt?" Her reaction was immediate, almost reflexive.
"Dirt Mile, specifically," he continued, tone sharpening slightly.
"If turf Mile presents a ceiling you can't break, then logically you explore alternative surfaces. I don't understand why there's such persistent resistance to dirt within the academy. If her condition is as you described, there's no rational basis to exclude it."
By the end, the edge in his voice was unmistakable. This was a stance he held with little patience for compromise.
The Trainer clearly sensed the shift. She suppressed further questions, stood, bowed, and excused herself quickly. From Shuta An's perspective, the retreat spoke more of avoidance than resolution.
"She'll only adjust after hitting a wall," he muttered. "Better now than later."
As anticipated, the announcement came the next day: Kyoei March would enter the Queen Elizabeth Cup.
"I don't understand the logic"
Tokai Teio complained in the Student Council room, addressing Symboli Rudolf.
"She struggled at 2000 meters, and now she's stepping up to 2200 in a G1?"
"Her Trainer consulted Shuta-kun," Rudolf replied calmly, "but this decision doesn't align with his known patterns. He would have advised shortening the distance, not extending it."
"Maybe the truth wasn't pleasant to hear," Teio muttered, pouting. "A genius's perspective isn't easily accepted."
"I've already asked him," Rudolf said, cutting her off. "He said to wait until after the race."
"Then Dober-senpai just needs to defeat her decisively again!" Teio declared, clenching her fist.
Elsewhere, Shuta An set his phone aside. The decision struck him as impulsive—an emotional response rather than a strategic one.
"This is exactly the kind of error that harms the athlete," he said quietly. "But since Miss Rudolf will intervene after the race, my priority remains unchanged."
His focus returned to Mejiro Dober.
"This Queen Elizabeth Cup—must be won cleanly."
He lowered his head and resumed his planning, attention narrowing once more to the race ahead.
Midweek, the competitive spotlight shifted to the Tokai region, where the inaugural Japan Breeders' Series was held at Nagoya Racecourse. The series introduced a structured set of dirt races, including sprint, middle-distance, and classic divisions, aimed at expanding opportunities beyond the turf-dominated Twinkle Series.
Although Shuta An declined an invitation to attend, Oguri and Berno appeared as guest presenters.
"I hope a Kasamatsu Uma Musume wins today," Oguri Cap had said earlier.
Shuta An had been less optimistic. Talent pipelines, infrastructure disparities, and training variance still created a measurable performance gap between Central and local circuits.
That assessment proved largely accurate. Of the four races, Central secured three victories, with only one win going to a local contender.
Still, the broader objective succeeded.
When Shuta An returned home, a message awaited him: attendance and revenue at Nagoya had surged dramatically, surpassing several months' worth of typical earnings in a single day. Other racecourses were already competing for hosting rights.
"The ecosystem responded," he noted, exhaling softly. "That's enough."
For him, that confirmation carried more weight than any individual race result.
—
Queen Elizabeth Cup. Seventeen Uma Musume were entered, and Mejiro Dober had drawn gate seventeen—the far outside.
The moment he saw it, Shuta An let out a low complaint.
"The URA Association's system is almost too precise," he muttered, half-amused, half-irritated.
"Good thing this is only the Queen Elizabeth Cup. If this were the Japan Cup, this draw alone would be a serious problem."
From a tactical standpoint, however, the conclusion came quickly. With such an extreme outside position, there was little room for finesse. The only viable approach was to drop toward the rear, conserve momentum, then swing wide at the final bend and unleash a full-force acceleration from the outside lane.
"Crude, but effective," he thought. "This kind of gate doesn't reward anything sophisticated."
Yet when his gaze shifted to the adjacent draw—gate sixteen assigned to Kyoei March—his expression brightened noticeably. For a front-running Uma Musume, such a position was far more punishing. Securing the lead from that far out would require excessive early exertion, disrupting pacing from the outset.
"Fortunately, Dober won't contest the early position," he noted calmly. "There's no need to get entangled."
His attention shifted back to the broader field. Competing against older Uma Musume always carried a different weight, and he understood exactly what was at stake—not just the result, but the narrative that would follow it.
"Let her win cleanly," he thought. "That's the only answer needed."
Criticism, after all, was persistent.
Claims that Mejiro Dober's Triple Tiara success had been inflated by a weaker generation continued to circulate in certain circles.
Shuta An himself had little patience for such noise—he had seen the same rhetoric applied to Oguri Cap and Silence Suzuka—but whether Dober was entirely unaffected remained uncertain.
Still, the principle was simple.
"As long as she keeps winning, none of it matters."
—
By Saturday afternoon, Mejiro Dober departed for Kyoto Racecourse, where she would stay overnight ahead of race day procedures. Shuta An, meanwhile, left Central Tracen Academy later, traveling alone and checking into a nearby hotel. After responding to a handful of messages, he retired early.
"I'll need the rest," he murmured before sleep took him.
—
That night, in the Dream World, he appeared once again at Kyoto Racecourse. There were no major events scheduled, yet he chose to remain there rather than divert elsewhere.
"Tomorrow night, the Queen Elizabeth Cup again," he noted inwardly.
This time, however, victory was not his expectation. His mount, Talent Dancer, lacked the profile to contend seriously at this level. Still, rather than remain idle, he opted to ride.
By morning, three wins had modestly improved his balance. After waking in reality, he headed directly to the racecourse, bypassing the Box in favor of the dining area.
A simple ramen breakfast—no garlic, double vegetables—was enough.
After finishing, he casually picked up a voting slip, wrote "Mejiro Dober" eleven times, and deposited it before making his way to the VIP Box.
Today, he watched alone.
A can of sparkling water hissed open as he settled in, scrolling through accumulated messages. Most were trivial, but two required attention—an invitation from Symboli Rudolf, and a training inquiry from Tokai Teio.
He responded to Rudolf first, confirming a meeting.
Then, switching chats, he began typing—only for Teio's message to appear immediately.
"Trainer! Why are you reading but not replying!"
A faint smile crossed his face.
"I was handling something important just now," he replied, before answering her question directly.
"Keep today's workload moderate. Eight hundred meters at fifty-eight seconds, six hundred at thirty-nine."
"Got it! I'll train properly!"
The reply came quickly—then silence.
"Already at training, I see," he murmured, setting the phone down. There was a quiet satisfaction in that reliability. Teio required little supervision where it mattered most.
Just as he reached for another drink, a knock sounded at the door.
"Hello, who is it?"
"Shuta Trainer, it's me—Mejiro Palmer. Grandmother requests your presence in the Mejiro family's Box."
He paused briefly, considering.
"So they're here as well—"
"I understand," he answered, rising. "Please lead the way."
Ardan offered a polite curtsy before turning.
As he followed, a faint thought surfaced—measured, cautious.
"I wonder what the Mejiro matriarch intends—She reminds me a little of Madam Kitano from the Dream World."
And with that, he stepped forward to meet whatever awaited him.