Chapter 120.
Hugging the rail, they effortlessly secured the absolute front of the pack.
According to Trainer Lukas's pre-race tactical projection, Shuta An was supposed to conservatively tuck Serena's Song behind Flanders and act as a passive stalker. However, much to the veteran trainer's profound shock, the young Japanese jockey was executing a strategy that was violently more aggressive than anticipated. Shuta pushed his mount fiercely from the deep outside, rapidly closing the gap until Serena's Song was running almost parallel to Flanders, trailing by a mere head.
As they banked into the first turn, Pat Day didn't even need to pivot his head to register Shuta An's neon silks in his peripheral vision.
This kid has completely lost his mind.
Day thought, his brow furrowing in irritation.
Rushing up this aggressively on the far outside just to provoke Flanders' fighting spirit? Did he suffer a concussion and forget these two fillies share the exact same stable? If he compromises Flanders' stamina and blows the race, Lukas is going to absolutely slaughter him in the post-race press conference just to vent!
But a microsecond later, Day's veteran instincts kicked in, and he reassessed his own panic.
Wait—isn't getting flustered just a sign that I lack absolute confidence in my own partner?
Day let out a cold snort.
Abandoning his initial hesitation, he immediately engaged his core, adopting a pushing posture that was every bit as ruthless and aggressive as Shuta An's. Day fundamentally believed that Flanders' baseline parameters mathematically eclipsed Serena's Song's. If the cocky kid wanted to actively ignite Flanders' competitive fire this early, he was simply digging his own grave.
Back in the jockey's lounge, Yutaka Take was watching the monitor, his brow pinched in profound confusion.
"Is it truly necessary to burn so much stamina fighting for position on the outside this early?"
Take murmured.
"Wouldn't the optimal strategy be to drop back, conserve energy, and settle into a comfortable senko position?"
Although Take had accumulated some experience riding on the American circuit, his tactical foundation was deeply influenced by Shuta An, and he had spent the vast majority of his overseas campaigns mastering the turf of Europe. He still hadn't fully grasped the brutal, front-loaded mechanics of American dirt racing.
None of the other jockeys in the lounge understood Japanese, so his quiet murmuring went unanswered. Take could only stare at the screen, letting the unfolding race dictate the answer.
Rounding into the backstretch, Serena's Song and Flanders remained locked in a suffocating, zero-sum duel, neither conceding an inch of dirt.
However, Pat Day, whose entire focus was consumed by pushing Flanders to maintain her dominance, failed to notice a microscopic shift in the tactical geometry beside him. Shuta An had subtly, masterfully eased off the gas.
It's optimal to let Serena's Song catch her breath in this pocket.
Shuta calculated.
While he had absolute faith that his partner possessed the stamina reserves to sustain an aggressive push for the entire distance, he still wanted to grant her a momentary, localized rest. He needed her to stockpile oxygen so she could completely detonate when they banked into the final straight.
Besides, Pat Day hasn't even realized how catastrophically fast the pace has become.
The young jockey muttered to himself, a cold, predatory smile hiding behind his goggles.
Reviewing the data of Flanders' previous dominant victories, the opening 800-meter splits were consistently clocked in the 46-second range. Today, however, because Shuta An had deliberately forced a vicious, aggressive duel at the front, the opening 800 meters had burned by in a blistering 44 seconds. The 1000-meter split crossed into the 57-second range—a tempo that would be classified as hyper-fast even on the notoriously firm dirt tracks of Japan.
Yet, Pat Day seemed entirely oblivious to the lethal pace. Primarily because Flanders was running with overwhelming enthusiasm; her massive stride simply devoured the dirt, making the suicidal rhythm feel deceptively comfortable.
It wasn't until the two fillies banked violently into the final turn that Shuta An finally re-engaged his core, increasing the intensity of his push. But he did not immediately trigger Serena's Song's absolute sprint.
The homestretch at Churchill Downs is approximately 380 meters long. The exact moment Flanders and Serena's Song straightened out into this final, decisive crucible, Shuta An unhesitatingly unholstered his whip and delivered a vicious, right-handed strike.
The sharp, concussive crack of the whip tearing through the air registered instantly with Pat Day. Refusing to be outmaneuvered, Day responded in kind, delivering a punishing left-handed strike to Flanders.
I need to let Flanders grind down the distance with Serena's Song; the physical proximity will act as a catalyst, further igniting Flanders' fighting spirit!
Beyond the immediate tactical advantage, Day had a secondary, intensely personal reason for opting for a left-handed whip execution.
During the Belmont Stakes with Sunday Silence, this absolute bastard deliberately used his physical positioning to block my whip arm—I will absolutely not allow him to successfully replicate that maneuver today!
That specific Belmont Stakes was a tactical humiliation Pat Day still carried like an open wound. Presented with the opportunity to clash directly with Shuta An across multiple G1s during the Breeders' Cup, Day was desperate to extract maximum revenge.
Sitting in the lounge, Yutaka Take's eyes widened in profound realization as he analyzed the telemetry on the screen.
Despite Pat Day and Shuta An furiously whipping their mounts at the absolute front of the pack, the trailing horses weren't just failing to close the gap—they were being violently, systematically blown out, falling further and further behind the leading duo.
So that's the underlying logic of American dirt—
Take thought.
Although he didn't fully comprehend the complex physiological principles at play, his genius riding instincts recognized a winning formula.
When it's my turn to ride—I'm going to attempt to emulate that exact rhythm.
Out on the track, the duel had escalated into pure, unadulterated violence.
Shuta An was now channeling every ounce of his kinetic energy into his push. The mechanics were flawless; whenever Serena's Song extended her neck forward, Shuta would simultaneously lift the reins toward the sky in perfect synchronization, making his entire pushing motion appear grand, expansive, and incredibly aggressive.
Beside him, Pat Day employed a vastly different, yet equally effective methodology. The veteran jockey was practically lying flat against Flanders' spine, maximizing aerodynamics while his left hand pistoned up and down, occasionally delivering a brutal strike.
Although their mechanical styles were fundamentally opposed, the biometric output was nearly identical—though to the trained eye, Shuta An's rhythm appeared microscopically more efficient.
With fifty meters remaining, Serena's Song and Flanders were perfectly, terrifyingly side-by-side. It was an absolute, zero-sum head-to-head battle.
But as the wire rushed up to meet them, a cold spike of horror pierced Pat Day's chest. Glancing to his right, he realized that Shuta An's hands had somehow, impossibly, inched ahead of his own.
Panic overriding his calculations, Day abandoned all restraint. He immediately unleashed a frantic, continuous flurry of whip strikes, desperately attempting to extract a final fraction of a second from Flanders through sheer pain response.
"SERENA'S SONG SEEMS TO HAVE GAINED A MICROSCOPIC ADVANTAGE! BUT PAT DAY'S WHIP IS ABSOLUTELY FLYING! FLANDERS IS DIGGING INCREDIBLY DEEP TO FIGHT BACK! THE STABLEMATE CIVIL WAR GOES RIGHT DOWN TO THE WIRE! SERENA'S SONG?! FLANDERS?!"
In the lounge, Yutaka Take's heart hammered violently against his ribs, his sympathetic nervous system firing as if he were the one in the saddle.
At the exact, critical microsecond they crossed the finish line, Shuta An aggressively shifted his center of gravity to the absolute front of the saddle. He locked his arms straight, violently pressing down on Serena's Song's hind neck, utilizing his body weight to physically force her nose forward, creating a visible, undeniable gap.
The track announcer didn't even bother waiting for the official photo finish, his voice roaring over the stadium loudspeakers:
"SERENA'S SONG! THE TRANQUIL MELODY BLESSED BY THE HEAVENS RESONATES ACROSS CHURCHILL DOWNS! SHUTA AN ONCE AGAIN DEFEATS PAT DAY ON THE GRANDEST STAGE! BUT DO NOT LOOK AWAY! THIS IS MERELY ROUND 1 FOR TODAY!"
"Yes. It's okay. Because this is just the beginning."
Shuta An murmured to himself, a blazing, triumphant smile stretching across his face as he stood in the irons and viciously punched the air toward the roaring grandstands.