Chapter 54. Determination Burns Like Fire
The next morning, Shuta An woke up and immediately opened his Attribute Viewer, eager to see what rewards he had received after winning one G1, one G2, and two Listed races at Ascot Racecourse in the Dream World the previous night.
"Other than prize money totaling less than twenty million yen, there's nothing else?!"
The young man was extremely dissatisfied with this result, but there was nothing he could do about it.
After all, the series quests he had received before had never offered particularly generous rewards before their completion.
"Sigh. I can only wait and see what the rewards are when the quest line is finally completed in a few months."
Shuta An got up and began washing up.
"For the next three days, I'll still be riding at Ascot Racecourse every night. I hope I can win at least two more G1 races."
The young man's expectations of himself were truly not high at all.
During the day, he was dragged out by Tokai Teio for a drive around the area, and after returning to the hotel, he was subsequently pulled into Mejiro Dober's room and subjected to a lengthy "interrogation."
By the time Shuta An successfully completed his counterattack, he could only yawn as he returned to his own room.
Meanwhile, only Mejiro Dober remained lying on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as she sank into dreams.
—
"Tonight at Ascot Racecourse, there are seven races on the card. I've secured riding opportunities in five of them, but among those, there's only one G1—the Ascot Gold Cup, the most prestigious race held during Royal Ascot."
However, despite its reputation as the most prestigious race of the meeting, it was still a 4,000-meter turf marathon.
Truthfully speaking, the overall quality of the participating horses was not considered particularly exceptional.
After all, compared to long-distance specialists, Europeans generally preferred elite middle-distance and mile horses.
For the Ascot Gold Cup, André Fabre had not entered a horse.
The mount Shuta An had received came from Gosden, who had entrusted him with a horse named Daru.
The horse's ability was fairly ordinary, and Shuta An estimated that his chances of victory were minimal.
To be honest, the longer the race distance, the smaller the possibility of an upset.
That was common sense.
As expected, that evening Shuta An could only watch as Frankie Dettori guided Drum Taps to a comfortable victory in the Gold Cup.
Meanwhile, he himself could only claim victories in the G3 Cork Stakes and the G2 Lonsdale Cup.
"The harvest today is much worse than yesterday."
After the final Listed race, the Rous Stakes, Shuta An returned to the jockeys' lounge while reflecting on his performance.
"Want one?"
As he walked down the corridor, someone suddenly called out to him. A man who looked somewhat older extended a cigarette toward him.
"No, sorry. I don't smoke."
Shuta An waved his hand in refusal.
Only after declining did he realize that the person offering him the cigarette was Frankie Dettori, the very jockey who had won the Ascot Gold Cup earlier that day.
Frankie Dettori looked somewhat bored as he blew out a ring of smoke.
"How boring. Kid, you probably don't drink either, do you?"
"Not much," Shuta An answered honestly.
"No smoking. No drinking. Is your entire life nothing but riding horses?"
Frankie Dettori curled his lips.
"You don't know how to enjoy life at all. You're young, and your talent is hardly inferior to mine. You should learn how to enjoy yourself. Otherwise, when you're old, your body won't even allow you the opportunity anymore."
"Thank you for the compliment."
Shuta An gave a slight bow. Then his expression gradually turned cold.
"My talent is indeed good. And I have a great deal of time ahead of me."
His voice became sharp enough to cut through the air.
"But the talent Heaven gave me wasn't meant to be wasted on things like flying leaves."
He could clearly smell the scent of addictive substances lingering around Frankie Dettori.
From a young age, Shuta An had been taught by his family to stay away from such things. He had personally witnessed the miserable appearances of addicts wandering through the streets and alleys of Los Angeles and countless other cities.
He would never allow himself to become one of them.
In the real world, there were people he loved and people who loved him.
In the Dream World, there were dreams he pursued and people who admired him.
He did not need to seek satisfaction in an illusory haze.
Therefore, even though Frankie Dettori's riding skill and talent were unquestionably among the finest in the world in Shuta An's eyes, he neither liked the man nor had any intention of accommodating him.
Rejected and indirectly mocked, Frankie Dettori appeared entirely unconcerned.
He simply patted Shuta An on the shoulder and turned to leave.
"I originally planned to help you build a good relationship with Thierry Jarnet. But if that's your attitude, then forget it."
"I don't need to make friends with anyone here."
Shuta An watched his departing figure. His voice was cold and razor-sharp.
"I'm here to take victory."
"Is that so?"
Frankie Dettori stopped. Turning back, he looked at the young man with his usual carefree grin.
"For the next two days, all the local jockeys will probably be targeting you."
He pointed lazily toward Shuta An.
"I'll be watching from the sidelines. Looking forward to your performance."
"Then let them come."
Shuta An made no effort to hide the mockery in his voice.
"I don't mind taking all of you down together with my partners."
"Hahaha!"
Frankie Dettori burst into hearty laughter.
"You're quite interesting. Too bad we can't play together."
"Sorry." Shuta An shrugged. "I don't want drugs, alcohol, or cigarettes damaging my body. Because my talent cannot be wasted in any way."
After watching Frankie Dettori leave, the young man returned to his lounge.
He dropped onto the sofa and switched on the television, preparing to watch some English programming.
At that moment, however, his thoughts drifted back to his conversation with Frankie Dettori.
Frankie's words had revealed an important piece of information.
"All the local jockeys are going to target me?"
After confirming that possibility, Shuta An felt no fear whatsoever.
Instead, a faint anticipation began to burn within him.
"Then let me see what all of you are capable of."
Although nothing had happened yet, if—just hypothetically—the local jockeys truly united against him and still failed to stop him, then it would mean every one of them had forfeited the opportunity to earn his friendship.
In Shuta An's eyes, no matter how glorious their past achievements were, no matter how exceptional their riding skills might be, they would no longer be qualified to stand on equal footing with him.
They would simply become weaklings who had united together and still lost.
Whether it was the Derby-winning prodigy who became famous at nineteen, England's so-called national treasure, or Ireland's champion jockey—
At that point, they would all look exactly the same.
"Come on."
The young man tightened his grip around the aluminum can in his hand.
"Let me defeat all of you."
The metal slowly crumpled beneath his fingers.
The opening twisted and warped into a grotesque shape reminiscent of a figure from a Van Gogh painting.
Yet the determination burning within Shuta An was even hotter than the fire of a furnace.
And tomorrow, that fire would blaze brightly across Ascot Racecourse.
—
The fourth day of Royal Ascot had arrived, with a total of six races scheduled for the day. And Shuta An would be riding in every single one of them.
Stepping out of the jockeys' lounge, the young man appeared completely refreshed. Having spent the entire day peacefully with Mejiro Dober, the fire that had been simmering within him had been tempered somewhat. Now, having entered the Dream World once more, he was overflowing with fighting spirit.
"He looks to be in good form," Yoshida Katsumi muttered from the sidelines.
"Indeed, very good," André Fabre nodded in agreement. "I've had Great Deeds in excellent condition recently."
"No, I was talking about Shuta-kun," Yoshida Katsumi clarified.
"Uh..." André Fabre carefully examined Shuta An and frowned slightly. "He does feel different today compared to the last two days."
"There is a difference," Yoshida Katsumi murmured. "But I think it's a good one. Shuta-kun seems completely fired up now."
"It's definitely a good sign," André Fabre agreed. "In that case, I'm even more confident that Great Deeds can win."
—
The opening race at Ascot that day was the Windsor Castle Stakes, a 1000-meter turf Listed race restricted to two-year-olds.
Great Deeds, ridden by Shuta An, had drawn Gate 13 on the far outside. Since this was a 1000-meter straight-course race, the outside draw might even work to his advantage.
The moment the gates opened, Shuta An immediately guided Great Deeds up alongside Roxanian, deliberately applying pressure and stimulating the colt's competitive instincts.
Kinane, sitting aboard Roxanian, immediately understood what Shuta An was trying to do.
Rather than avoiding the challenge, he welcomed it. He also hoped that Roxanian could break through his limits through direct confrontation.
"But I didn't expect him to be this aggressive."
Kinane watched Shuta An with genuine admiration.
"Fighting spirit is a good thing. But if you push it too far, someone can use it against you."
Shuta An paid no attention to any of that.
Once Great Deeds' competitive drive had been fully ignited, the revitalized young man immediately increased the intensity of his pushing. By the time they entered the final 300 meters, he had already drawn his whip, swinging it in a powerful windmill motion that made Kinane, a length behind him, involuntarily twitch.
"So much power?"
Kinane stared at the scene.
"To be able to maintain that kind of windmill whipping while still producing that level of push-riding force— youth really is an incredible thing. But... the strength this guy is showing isn't what you'd expect from an Asian jockey at all."
As they entered the final 200 meters, Roxanian's momentum completely faded.
Kinane abandoned any thoughts of forcing another acceleration and simply maintained his position within the field.
Looking ahead as Great Deeds continued to widen the gap, he secretly sneered.
"I wonder how those idiots who kept talking about targeting him are feeling now. The day's barely started, and he's already taken the first race."
Kinane was a rational man.
If their coordinated effort failed, then Shuta An would have every right to trample all over them during the post-race interviews.
"There's no chance of a perfect outcome anymore."
His gaze shifted toward Heaton Ellis nearby.
"Let's see if you can at least catch him in one of the important races. Otherwise, that brilliant plan you all came up with is going to be shoved right back down your throats."
Naturally, Great Deeds crossed the finish line first, three lengths clear of the runner-up, Bid For Blue.
As he passed the winning post, Shuta An straightened his back and raised a single index finger toward the grandstands.
It was a perfectly ordinary celebration.
Yet both André Fabre and Yoshida Katsumi instinctively felt that something was about to happen.
—
"OH MY GOD! SHUTA AN AND RED BISHOP HAVE EDGED OUT JEUNE RIGHT ON THE LINE! THEY'VE WON THE JULY STAKES!"
The commentator's shriek echoed throughout the racecourse.
This time, after crossing the finish line, Shuta An did not exchange handshakes with the jockeys around him.
Instead, he straightened his back and raised two fingers toward the grandstands.
In an instant, everyone connected it with the gesture from the previous race and immediately understood what he meant.
"Let's take a guess," Queen Elizabeth said with amusement. "How high do you think this young man can count today?"
Since none of her own horses were running that day, she was simply enjoying the spectacle.
The consecutive victories by the jockey from the distant East had become an unexpectedly entertaining diversion.
"Three."
"Four."
Various guesses emerged from around her.
Yet almost no one believed Shuta An could hold up five fingers.
Much less six.
"At my age, I find myself trusting intuition more and more."
Her Majesty narrowed her eyes.
"Perhaps he'll win all of them."
No one refuted her.
Nor did anyone attempt to explain why Shuta An couldn't accomplish such a feat.
At Ascot Racecourse, no one had any desire to contradict Her Majesty.
—
Completely unaware that he had become the center of attention for the most distinguished spectator at Ascot, Shuta An remained singularly focused on proving himself.
The next race, the Wokingham Stakes, would be the greatest challenge of the day.
Although it was merely a Listed race, it featured a maximum field of thirty runners.
Nearly every jockey who had agreed to participate in the effort against him was present.
Nagida, his mount, had drawn Gate 15 right in the center of the field.
That meant that the moment the gates opened, he would be squeezed from both sides.
Frankie Dettori, aboard Arabellajill, occupied Gate 13. Only Billy Nunez separated the two.
Billy Nunez was also one of the participants in the so-called "Shuta An Encirclement."
"I'm looking forward to seeing what you do today," Frankie Dettori called across Billy Nunez.
"Try not to get buried in traffic."
"I'll show you the difference between not smoking and smoking."
Since both men already possessed G1 victories at Royal Ascot that year, Shuta An had no reason to back down and immediately fired back.
"Heh."
Frankie Dettori merely grinned.
In his eyes, the young man simply didn't understand how boring life could become when one was a genius.
The so-called encirclement began the instant the gates opened.
Although Shuta An had prepared for it and intended to launch Nagida aggressively from the start, Billy Nunez and J. Wharton simultaneously angled inward the moment the stalls opened.
The sudden pressure startled Nagida into checking sharply, nearly unseating him.
Fortunately, Shuta An's balance was extraordinary.
Combined with his various skills, he managed to stabilize himself almost immediately.
Then, borrowing the momentum of that recovery, he began pushing with even greater fury.
The Wokingham Stakes was only 1200 meters and run entirely on a straight course.
Ahead of Nagida stood an unbroken wall of horses.
"It's fine. I can wait."
Suppressing his anger, Shuta An calmed both himself and his mount.
He tucked in behind Billy Nunez and patiently bided his time.
Meanwhile, Frankie Dettori deliberately positioned himself to Shuta An's right. For him, this had become the perfect seat from which to watch the drama unfold.
"Let's see how you plan to keep targeting him."
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as his eyes remained fixed on Nagida. Naturally, the encirclement did not end at the start.
J. Bailey and Pat Murphy advanced from behind aboard their respective mounts, deliberately applying pressure to Nagida in an attempt to make her anxious and waste energy.
Shuta An instantly saw through their intentions. Yet he made no move to counter them.
"You're not going to settle her?"
Frankie Dettori found himself genuinely puzzled.
"Ifs he keeps getting worked up like this, he'll burn through her stamina. You can't possibly be unaware of that."
But Shuta An continued as though nothing was happening.
He completely ignored the pressure from behind.
Entering the uphill final 500 meters, Nagida had already become highly agitated from the constant harassment.
She even began fighting against Shuta An's restraint.
"Good. Now."
The young man's eyes flashed.
He relaxed his hold on the reins and delivered a sharp whip to Nagida's hindquarters.
Pain and agitation combined.
Nagida lunged forward explosively, smashing directly into the tightly packed wall ahead and forcing her way into it.
Risking the possibility of Charlton's and Shidun's whips striking his own body, Shuta An lowered himself into an aggressive sprinting posture and drove both hands powerfully against Nagida's neck.
"Get out of my way!"
Three violent pushes. Nagida crashed directly between Morocco and Beware of Agents, tearing a gap through the barrier.
"Good! Good! Good!"
Frankie Dettori's grin widened dramatically.
"Crazy enough! That's exactly how it should be done! Even crazier than I imagined! You're unbelievable!"
Although Shuta An's remarks the previous day had irritated him, Frankie Dettori now found himself appreciating the young man more and more.
"He's just too rigid," he thought. "Otherwise we'd probably get along quite well."
Unlike the delighted Dettori, however, Shuta An was not enjoying himself. Breaking through the wall by exploiting Nagida's agitation had worked.
But an agitated horse was extraordinarily difficult to settle.
With more than 300 meters remaining, he needed Nagida's stamina to carry her all the way to the line.
"This isn't the time for clever tactics anymore."
The conclusion came instantly.
There would be no more calculations regarding energy conservation.
No more positioning.
No more race strategy.
He discarded everything except the most fundamental act of riding.
Pushing.
Every time Shuta An pulled the reins, his back arched violently, his hands rising nearly to the level of his nose.
Every time he drove his weight downward against Nagida's neck, his body dipped like a man performing push-ups.
It was as though he were pouring every ounce of his strength into the horse beneath him.
The entire motion resembled reverse sit-ups, with Nagida serving as his sole point of support.
The movement was so exaggerated that even Thierry Jarnet, buried deep within the field, could still clearly see Shuta An's head bobbing above the mass of horses.
"He's insane."
The words escaped him before he realized it.
"Starting that kind of push-riding from 300 meters out... can he really sustain it?"
Putting himself in the same position, Thierry Jarnet realized he could.
At least on a good day.
And because he could, he understood better than anyone just how terrifying the young man's talent truly was.
"If he actually lasts all the way—"
For the first time, Thierry Jarnet regretted agreeing to participate in the effort against him.
Not that he'd even had an opportunity to contribute thus far.
On the sidelines, André Fabre's eyes were wide.
Turning toward Yoshida Katsumi, he asked,
"Can a Japanese jockey school really produce someone like this?"
Yoshida Katsumi shrugged helplessly.
"Ugh, he didn't come from the JRA Jockey School."
After a pause, he added,
"One can only say that this is talent bestowed by God."
André Fabre immediately nodded.
"That description is perfect."
He committed the phrase to memory.
In fact, regardless of whether Shuta An won the King's Stand Stakes later that day, André Fabre had already made up his mind.
He would personally introduce the young man to Sheikh Bin Rashid.
"I believe the Sheikh would be delighted to entrust some of his horses to him," he said.
Yoshida Katsumi smiled on the surface.
But inwardly, he felt a trace of bitterness.
"Shuta-kun, you wouldn't really choose to stay in Europe because of something like that, would you?"
—
Shuta An knew nothing of Yoshida Katsumi's concerns.
His entire focus remained fixed on pushing. Yet push-riding itself was exhausting.
Especially when performed with such extreme amplitude that it became the focal point of the entire racecourse.
When a little over 100 meters remained, he could feel his stamina approaching its limit.
Then, in the next instant, something changed.
It was as though time itself had stopped.
His body moved naturally.
Every action flowed without thought. The exhaustion vanished. The fatigue disappeared.
Everything unnecessary seemed to have been blown away. There was no time to analyze what had happened.
He only knew one thing.
At this moment, he could maintain this level of pushing for another thousand meters.
So he continued. Relentlessly. Powerfully. Leaving every rival behind.
Whether it was the pre-race favorite Sir Harry Hardman or any of the others, all of them were left farther and farther behind.
"NAGIDA! SHUTA AN!"
The commentator's voice exploded across the racecourse.
"OVERCOMING THE DISASTROUS START! BREAKING THROUGH THE IRON WALL AHEAD! CHARGING THROUGH A FOREST OF WHIPS! AND FINALLY SEIZING VICTORY WITH THEIR OWN HANDS!"
"THIS IS THE GENIUS FROM JAPAN!"
"LOOK! HE'S HOLDING UP THREE FINGERS!"
"THREE VICTORIES TODAY!"
"TOO STRONG!"
"SIMPLY TOO STRONG!"
In the royal box, Queen Elizabeth let out a long sigh.
The people around her immediately turned in concern.
Yet Her Majesty simply smiled.
"What a pity. A performance like this deserved a G1 stage. If this had happened in a G1, it would have become a ride remembered for generations."
The Ascot Racecourse manager could only smile awkwardly. After all, expecting the Wokingham Stakes to become a G1 was pure fantasy.
Even an upgrade to Group status would be extraordinarily difficult.
When Shuta An turned toward the grandstands while leading the exhausted yet obedient Nagida away from the track, Frankie Dettori quickly caught up from behind.
"Holy hell!"
The Italian blurted out the curse without restraint.
"You really are a genius! I can't wait to see what you do next! I hope we get a proper showdown in a G1 with our main horses!"
"There will be a chance."
Shuta An replied calmly.
"At the Epsom Derby, I'll ride my most trusted partner, Japan's undefeated Triple Crown winner Tokai Teio. I look forward to seeing your horse there, Frankie Dettori."
"Haha!" Frankie Dettori laughed loudly. "That'll naturally be Drum Taps, yesterday's Gold Cup winner! I'll be looking forward to your performance too!"
His confidence in Drum Taps was absolute. After all, it was a racehorse that had successfully captured back-to-back Ascot Gold Cups.