On the track, the first corner passed by.
Then, swiftly, the second corner.
Leading still was Deep Impact.
About a length and a half behind, Kitasan Black clenched her teeth, pupils trembling, fixing her gaze desperately on the figure diagonally ahead.
Being overtaken by another front-runner, disturbed while positioning, pressured through the corners... since her debut, she'd experienced all of these.
In previous training sessions, guided by Yasui Makoto, she'd undergone countless specialized drills for precisely these situations.
Especially around the time of the Satsuki Sho, she'd drilled all kinds of basic and advanced front-runner techniques day after day.
She felt confident—if today's training race had been like last time, another contest against Daiwa Scarlet, even against such a senpai, she'd still have secured the front position.
But from the moment the gates opened until now, Deep Impact's tactics were completely beyond her predictions.
Even though it was still early in the race, Deep Impact had surged with explosive speed typically reserved for the final stretch.
Even though it was only the first corner, she'd used an outside acceleration usually seen on the final corner.
Even though she hadn't displayed any recognizable front-runner techniques, all of Kitasan's attempts to surpass her had ended in failure.
No—it wasn't just that this senpai wasn't using front-runner tactics.
She wasn't using any tactics at all.
She was simply faster.
This senpai was merely maintaining a speed faster than her own.
Yet, such a brutally simple approach had left Kitasan unable to catch up even one-third of the way through the race.
Ahead, the breathing and stride that reached her ears were still terrifyingly stable.
Woodchips continued spraying backward, each step kicking them up with eerie uniformity.
The frequency of Deep Impact's waist movements maintained perfect rhythm; even the sweat or dirt stains spreading across her running shirt formed consistent elliptical patterns, evenly sized and spaced.
Her legs swung with equal precision, forming twin ellipses from behind, each cycle so precise it seemed like a mechanical pendulum.
The crisp sound of horseshoes hitting woodchips rang out roughly every half-second, perfectly matching the smooth, rolling rise and fall of her shoulder blades.
But most chilling was the angle of her arm swings.
It was as if measured and calibrated by a protractor—utterly precise and unwavering.
Even at the corner's peak centrifugal force moments ago, her swinging arms moved almost identically to their current straight-line rhythm.
So…is this why Deep Impact-senpai is faster than me…?
For an instant, her lips parted, then closed again. Sweat trickled down from her forehead into her mouth, a salty, bitter taste filling it.
In a trance, the silhouette ahead solidified into a towering wall racing forward, or perhaps a mountain of snow hurtling down a slope.
She was no longer kicking up woodchips, but eternal, unmelting snow.
Her swinging arms weren't limbs but the unceasing pendulums of a clock tower.
Her footfalls echoed like festival drums, deep and solemn.
The lingering slipstream felt like the surging tides, pushing back anyone who dared approach.
How…how could I possibly catch a senpai like this?
Suddenly, the ground beneath her feet tilted slightly, and the fierce wind on her outer side disappeared. Kitasan jolted back to reality.
Simultaneously, a sharp shout pierced through the end of the fading wind.
"Hey! You planning on daydreaming like this at the Derby, too?!"
Startled, Kitasan snapped her gaze forward.
Ahead, past the figure that had seemed insurmountable until now, a golden streak surged like lightning.
And another sharp shout echoed at the tail end of that golden flash.
"If you've forgotten how to run… then open your eyes wide and watch carefully!"
Jolted awake once more, Kitasan finally realized—in her momentary trance, the race had already reached the final two corners.
Directly ahead, the golden streak surging toward Deep Impact was none other than Orfevre, who'd been at the very back until now.
Her left shoulder dipped sharply; her right knee swung outward, calf muscles tensing and relaxing rapidly, her stride landing perfectly into the footprints ahead.
The clash of horseshoes on woodchips suddenly intensified, swift as a storm, woodchips flying up like an avalanche.
Accelerating fiercely, her mane-like golden hair streaming wildly behind her, Orfevre closed in on Deep Impact with blinding speed.
At the very front, the stability Deep Impact had maintained since the start finally wavered.
Without turning her head, her eyes shifted slightly backward. After catching a glimpse of the golden-haired figure, Deep Impact let out a faint sigh.
"…Of course it's you."
Barely audible as she muttered this, she refocused straight ahead.
As if oblivious to Orfevre's pursuit, Deep Impact made no attempt to accelerate, allowing her rival to pass on the outside.
"Hey! Even if you're my senpai, looking down on me this much…!"
Not having heard Deep Impact's whisper, anger flashed briefly through Orfevre's heart as she overtook her.
As one of the strongest Uma Musume, she immediately noticed Deep Impact's total lack of reaction to her challenge.
For an instant, she felt slighted, her voice involuntarily lowering into a snarl.
But halfway through her shout, a sudden thought crossed her mind, and she hesitated slightly, a suspicion forming.
Before she could fully ponder that suspicion, she instinctively glanced behind, lips parting slightly.
Just behind her was Deep Impact, still running at her original rhythm, also looking backward.
Further back was a face drenched in sweat, distorted in an expression close to ferocious desperation.
Strained muscles had sharpened the previously gentle lines of her face. Her black bangs and white forehead marking had scattered wildly in the wind, veins visibly pulsing at her temples.
The cheerful, energetic girl from their memories had vanished, replaced by red eyes widened almost to tearing.
Not only were her pupils red, but even the whites of her eyes were bloodshot from sweat-induced irritation.
Matching this desperate expression was her body posture, clearly exerting everything she had.
It was indeed a sprinting posture—but utterly peculiar.
Her upper body was nearly parallel to the inclined ground, pressed extremely low, as if one tilt downward would send her forehead scraping against the woodchips.
Her swinging arms and rapidly moving legs had minimal space to maneuver due to this posture, yet they miraculously maintained a bafflingly high frequency within this limited range.
Rather than running straight forward, she traced a subtly angled path along the slope's incline and the curve of the bend.
Wearing that fierce expression and employing that bizarre form, the normally cheerful girl slightly parted her lips the moment she noticed the two senpai's gazes, baring her white teeth.
"Senpai… don't think… you can shake me off!!"
For just an instant, Orfevre felt an impulse to avert her gaze from Kitasan's blazing eyes.
Forcefully suppressing this urge to retreat, she unconsciously let out a small laugh.
"That's more like it. What was that running earlier even supposed to be…?"
"…Not bad."
Almost at the same moment Orfevre spoke, Deep Impact also smiled slightly.
"This is what someone who wants to win the Japanese Derby should look like…"
Pulling her gaze away from Kitasan, Deep Impact murmured softly again:
"Now, let me see your final stretch…"
Before she could finish, her pupils shrank to pinpoints.
Faint yet unmistakable—something terrifying was rapidly closing from behind.
Overwhelmed by its presence, it felt as if her strength was momentarily stolen away.
This is unmistakable… This is a [Domain].
Instantly grasping what was happening, Deep Impact's astonishment didn't fade.
The question is…who exactly is it?
Glancing back again, her gaze swiftly swept behind her, eventually locking onto an Uma Musume with long chestnut-brown hair.
…Grass Wonder-senpai?