On the track, Kitasan Black felt a sense of "limit" coursing through her entire body.
Right now, she felt like an engine ignited, bursting forth with unprecedented power, surging forward relentlessly.
The roaring airflow burst continuously into her ears. She distinctly sensed the swirling grassy scent within her mouth and nostrils.
Equally distinct was the centrifugal force as she entered the first turn, pulling the sweat off her cheeks, arms, and thighs—giving her an odd sensation of loss.
Her breathing rhythm shifted simultaneously with her leading leg; she slightly adjusted her center of gravity, angling her left foot down with an illusion of sideways force.
This was the secret Silence Suzuka had taught her about cornering in a great escape.
Don't think of yourself as running—don't even think about yourself at all.
Speed—only speed.
Focus every thought completely on speed, use speed beyond everything, pour out all your strength, open your eyes wide, and stare at the scenery leading ahead.
As her left foot sliced onto the track, Silence Suzuka-senpai's teachings echoed clearly in her mind, accompanied by the faint, strained cry of overworked muscle fibers.
Yet, muscles forged day after day through countless trials faithfully continued driving strength into the ground.
With perfect clarity, she sensed each powerful step stamping firmly down, followed by an instant emptiness.
That emptiness was from the grass and underlying soil being explosively kicked away.
Hoo… ha…
Matching the cornering technique, she deliberately lengthened her breathing rhythm.
This wasn't something taught by Suzuka-senpai. Instead, it was her own practiced rhythm—unique breathing developed by Uma Musume specialized in long-distance races.
During the Dream Trophy, she had been so immersed in the spectacular performances of her senpais that she didn't pay attention to this detail.
But Yasui Makoto noticed.
Not only noticed, but had focused her subsequent training camps entirely around mastering this breathing rhythm.
It was Mejiro Bright-senpai who had used this technique at the Dream Trophy. Though Kitasan didn't utilize centrifugal force to ease her stamina as Bright-senpai had, she now felt she understood what her senpai had experienced back then.
Oxygen compressed into her chest through deep breaths, and her alveoli seemed to ignite.
This burning sensation quickly flowed throughout her body, until her blood vessels felt less like flowing blood and more like molten flames coursing through her veins.
Suddenly, the afternoon sunlight ahead sharply shifted, and her pupils narrowed slightly.
The second corner.
At Nakayama's 2200-meter course, the first two corners sat atop the incline. Immediately after entering this second corner, the track sharply descended.
If this had been her past self, she would certainly slow down here, cautiously ensuring a steady turn.
But this time, she had chosen a great escape.
Sharply swinging her arms wider, she instantly switched her leading leg once again.
She could feel her ponytail stretched taut by the increasing speed, pulled straight back like a comet's blazing tail.
Now…!
Inside her, something shattered. At the moment she stomped down powerfully into the corner, the explosive strength from her core spread instantly through her entire body. The seemingly endless stamina she'd felt since the race started began to melt away rapidly.
Her vision warped dramatically.
Suddenly, she understood the words Silence Suzuka had once spoken:
"Why do I love the great escape? Well…
"It suits me, I want to run this way, I feel like I can win this way—if I have to be vague, it's probably just that simple.
"But actually, there's another way I prefer to describe it…
"The great escape, Kita-chan… is really quite romantic."
Her eyes widened unconsciously. To Kitasan Black, it felt as though the world had plunged into a wild vortex.
The guardrails beside the track blurred into flying streams of light, flickering rapidly in the corner of her eye, reduced to hazy illusions.
In that same peripheral vision, the previously clear stands now seemed yanked backward by enormous hands, the spectators' faces, waving posters, and cheering sticks all distorted into swirling smears of brilliant colors at her incredible speed.
The gentle autumn sunlight no longer warmly bathed her—instead, it sliced sharply past her, leaving dazzling afterimages burned into her retinas.
Even the wind stopped feeling like resistance, transforming instead into something that buoyed her upward and pushed her forward, as though she were climbing higher on an invisible staircase of air.
The burning sensation in her lungs and veins turned into a thrilling shudder of joy—like the first moment you leap into a hot spring on a bitterly cold winter's day.
That's right, Suzuka-senpai…
I see that romance clearly now.
From the broadcast came a crisp sound, like a cup or something toppling over.
"Everyone! Can you see this?!"
The announcer's voice, jerked upward by some overpowering force, pierced instantly through the boiling noise of the crowd:
"Kitasan Black's lead… keeps widening!"
"It's nearing 10 lengths! Almost 10 lengths—!"
His voice was thick with uncontrollable excitement, each syllable striking like a hammer. As Kitasan Black streaked like black lightning toward the back straight, opposite the grandstand, the announcer shouted himself nearly hoarse:
"10 lengths!"
"A huge gap!"
"Kitasan Black has opened an astonishing lead of 10 lengths!"
"She's in a league of her own, unmatched!"
"Run! Fly! Fly toward the spotlight—toward the frenzy of a cheering festival crowd!"
His voice had grown hoarse with overwhelming excitement, yet lost none of its heart-pounding power.
The stands erupted with wave after wave of roaring excitement. Almost all spectators rose to their feet, frantically waving flags, posters, and cheering sticks, creating a wild, surging sea of encouragement.
Their faces brimmed with passionate excitement, rhythmically shouting Kitasan Black's name as if to lift the whole racecourse with each synchronized chant, wave after surging wave.
Yet, at the front of the stands, Yasui Makoto's expression only grew more solemn.
Tightly gripping his binoculars and fixed intently on the distant black silhouette, he said nothing. Beside him, Manhattan Cafe, sharing his somber mood, softly muttered:
"It's time to slow down…"
Her voice was faint, instantly swallowed by the roaring cheers. Yet Agnes Tachyon caught it and responded without delay.
"Indeed, it's about time she adjusted her pace."
In stark contrast to her earlier frenzied behavior, Tachyon's eyes were cold and calculating.
"Even if her opponents were caught off-guard, a ten-length gap… that's the absolute limit."
"This first half is probably the most energy-draining she's run since her debut. If she doesn't adjust her pace now, she risks losing speed on the final straight."
Just as she said this, something caught Tachyon's peripheral vision. Her eyelids twitched slightly, the corners of her mouth curving upward as she stroked her chin thoughtfully, a faintly sinister smile returning to her lips.
"Oh? Has someone finally decided to respond? Looks like this race… might turn out far more interesting than we first imagined, kukuku…"
Once more, the announcer's voice briefly paused, then suddenly shot upward in pitch:
"Now entering the back straight, let's quickly check the positions of all runners… Wait!"
"A competitor has begun chasing after Kitasan Black! It's—"
"Musee Alien!"
His voice filled with disbelief, as if he couldn't trust his own eyes, but instantly his commentary exploded out again in rapid succession:
"Currently, first place remains Kitasan Black with her huge lead, second place is Liberty Island, third place Musee Alien!"
"The second favorite, Satono Rasen, leads the following stalker pack, closely trailed by Jun Tsubasa!"
"At this very moment—"
"Musee Alien has launched her move!"
---
bonus chaps
100 stones -> 1 chapter
200 stones -> 2 chapters
300 stones -> 3 chapters
and so on
discord.gg/wisetl
patreon.com/wisetl