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Chapter 3. First Overseas Major Race Challenge in the Dream World
In the days that followed, Shuta An's life settled back into a steady rhythm. Oguri Cap's recovery progressed exactly as Dr. Grace predicted; if everything continued smoothly, she would be fully healed by summer. After two or three months of rehabilitation, she would even be able to regain her full competitive strength and return to the Twinkle Series.
And that—both she and Shuta An understood all too well—meant one thing: the Autumn Tenno Sho was likely out of reach.
"Don't worry about it. It's just one G1," Shuta An said, trying to lighten her heart. "We can aim for the Arima Kinen at the end of the year."
"I'll focus on getting better first. We'll decide the race plan based on my condition then." Oguri Cap did not rush. After the painful lesson of the Arima Kinen, she never wanted to fall to injury again. For someone like her, being unable to race for half a year was nothing short of torture.
As for Berno Light, the period spent at the research institute was unexpectedly fruitful. She absorbed a great deal from Dr. Grace and the team, and felt confident that once she returned to Japan later in the year, she would be able to support Oguri Cap far more effectively.
"At first, I was worried my English wouldn't be enough," Berno Light confessed with relief. "But I didn't expect there to be Japanese researchers here. Thanks to them, I could start smoothly. Oh, and Miss Yamato and Miss Alice told me their kids study at Japan Central Tracen Academy! I was so surprised. When I first met them, I thought they were unmarried."
"They just look young," Shuta An replied casually. "This is a research institute—they must have their own ways of maintaining themselves."
Then he raised an eyebrow. "If there's a chance later, I'll ask for Oguri and Berno too."
"I can ask about something like that myself," Berno Light retorted, waving her finger.
That evening, before bed, Shuta An showered carefully and lit a stick of incense. There was a very specific purpose behind this—
"Tonight, in the Dream World, I'm entering my first American major race. I need to optimize my sleep and get the best results possible."
In his mind, victory in the Dream World's version of the race would surely translate into something meaningful when he woke up. Earlier that day, he had watched the real-world broadcast of the San Felipe Stakes from his apartment. The American Uma Musume who won the G2 race bore the striking name—Sunday Silence.
"It's a pity I won't be riding him in the other world." Shuta An sighed as he watched Sunday Silence cross the finish line 1¾ lengths ahead.
Had it been Sunday Silence who invited him, he wouldn't have needed to do much—just ride with the basics, take the win, and reap the reward the next morning. But life was never that convenient.
The Dream World's invitation came from Flying Continental, who had finished second in the real San Felipe Stakes.
"How am I supposed to overturn the odds?" Shuta An pondered the question for the rest of the day, until sleep finally claimed him.
Meanwhile, in the Dream World's Japan, the news of his upcoming American challenge had already spread. Several media outlets subtly compared him with another rising prodigy—Yutaka Take.
Yutaka Take himself only sighed.
"I'm honestly jealous. Getting to ride in a major race overseas?" He muttered, reading a newspaper while sitting on a garden bench.
"If you want to study abroad, I support it," his father's voice called from behind.
"Study abroad, huh" Yutaka Take stood up and exhaled. "I want to go. I'm already weaker than him. And if Shuta-kun keeps growing overseas, the gap will only widen."
He scratched his head in frustration. "I don't want to be a 'genius' who wins just because my horses are better."
"That's the spirit." His father grinned. "In terms of technique, you're far below him. With me, you'll get the rides you need to maintain your results, but that won't last forever. You need to improve yourself. Going abroad is a good path. I met many European and American trainers during my expeditions—you'll get chances too once you go."
"I'll depart after the Derby," Yutaka Take declared firmly.
"The Derby, huh?" His father wasn't surprised. Leaving after the Derby—it ran in the family.
When Shuta An entered the Dream World, he opened his eyes to find himself already mounted on Flying Continental.
"This race really doesn't even give me time to warm up," he muttered.
Although the San Felipe Stakes was a significant G2 event, it wasn't televised in Japan. Most professionals relied on radio broadcasts. Only Yoshida Zenya and a few others had come to the track to cheer him on.
"The favorite is Houston, the second favorite is Sunday Silence, and Shuta-kun's Flying Continental is the fifth favorite," Yoshida Zenya explained to his group. "Sounds decent—until you remember there are only six horses in total."
"That Sunday Silence looks amazing. I feel like he's going to be something great," a nearby reporter commented.
"His pedigree isn't considered good," said another expert, shaking his head. "His sire Halo is a proven stallion, but known for quantity. On the dam's side, you have to go up seven generations to find a G1 winner. The pairing isn't remarkable."
"But his performance is astonishing," the expert continued. "Four previous starts, two wins. In the losses, he wasn't far behind. In the wins, he took a combined margin of over fourteen lengths. If you're looking for a racehorse to invest in, he's worth it. I think he'll do well in the American Classics this year."
"Is that so?" Yoshida Zenya scribbled notes, then smiled. "Well, let's cheer for Shuta-kun first."
Shuta An guided Flying Continental onto the track, quietly waiting for the Santa Anita Park staff to call them forward into the gate.
He swept his gaze across the field, letting out a silent sigh. 'Just as I saw earlier…aside from Sunday Silence, the horses and jockeys around me aren't radiating much presence.'
To his right, Pat Valentino—Sunday Silence's rider—didn't spare him so much as a glance. In Valentino's eyes, Sunday Silence might not have been the strongest horse he had ever handled, but winning the San Felipe Stakes wouldn't be difficult. He was listed as the second favorite, yet Valentino thought the experts simply had terrible vision. The victory already felt secured in his hands.
Shuta An could feel the man's relaxed air even from beside him. 'So Valentino isn't taking this race seriously at all'
His thoughts connected to what he'd seen in the daytime broadcast. 'He's exactly like Sunday Silence—calm, loose, almost indifferent.'
Closing his eyes for a moment, Shuta An pressed his legs gently against Flying Continental's flanks, stabilizing himself. 'If he's that confident…maybe there's a weakness I can take advantage of.'
A faint smile curved his lips.
The live director caught it immediately. The camera zoomed in, and Shuta An's serene, closed-eyed smile filled the giant screen. Valentino noticed it too.
"Interesting." For the first time today, he took a good look at the foreign rider beside him. An Asian jockey—that must be the one from Japan. Studying abroad, gets a major race mount within days of arriving and yet this is the level of horse he's given. I don't think he's even won once here at Santa Anita.
With that thought, Valentino dismissed him just as quickly. A seemingly frail jockey paired with the second-to-last favorite? Hardly a threat worth remembering.
Shuta An would be starting from the outside—the far lane of gate 6. Valentino and Sunday Silence were right next door in gate 5.
'This race is seventeen hundred meters. That gives me two hundred meters to secure my position. No need to rush.'
He steadied his breathing, syncing his rhythm with Flying Continental's, while mentally calculating the optimal approach. Once the gates were nearly full, Shuta An was the last to enter. He watched the staff retreat from beneath the stalls, then reached out and gently stroked Flying Continental's neck.
It's our first meeting…and probably our last. But let's give this everything we've got and aim for a major race victory.
The gates flew open.
Shuta An reacted instantly—left hand whipping, right hand pressing firmly onto Flying Continental's neck, forcing the burst forward.
Valentino, however, did not get the same clean start. Sunday Silence stumbled hard, nearly unseating him. But the veteran jockey recovered in an instant, settling his partner and letting him surge forward again—only to let Sunday Silence's rebound momentum slam into Flying Continental's hindquarters.
Shuta An lurched forward, nearly losing his balance. Flying Continental's acceleration faltered. He didn't need to look back to know exactly who caused it.
But he had no time to curse, no time to complain. 'Winning comes first. I can protest after the race if I need to.'
He pushed Flying Continental back into speed. 'Victory is the strongest form of revenge!'
Valentino usually used front-running tactics with Sunday Silence. Despite the fumbled break, by the time the field had covered more than thirteen hundred meters, Sunday Silence had already pushed himself up into third. Valentino's eyes locked onto the leader ahead, quietly preparing for the decisive final straight.
'Everything's going as planned. This is my win to take.'
Meanwhile, Shuta An and Flying Continental—though recovering smoothly—were still at the very back. But only a little more than a length separated them from Sunday Silence.
'Good thing the field is small. If this were the Japan Cup or Arima Kinen with a full pack, we'd be completely boxed in'
Shuta An searched for any viable opening. His eyes sharpened.
'There.'
He found a narrow but promising path. Risky—yet with immense payoff if executed well. The final straight at Santa Anita was only about 270 meters long. There wouldn't be much room to maneuver once they got there.
So, entering the final bend, Shuta An pushed harder, urging Flying Continental to slip inward—to the tightest edge of the rail. When they straightened, Sunday Silence and Valentino were already surging to the front. Shuta An and Flying Continental remained a length behind, just slightly to their left rear.
Valentino didn't care. He flicked his left-hand whip, urging Sunday Silence. The temperamental mare obeyed—exploding forward—but in doing so drifted several steps to the right, opening a thin slice of space on his left.
He noticed it. He dismissed it. No American jockey he knew could take advantage of something that small. Certainly not a newcomer from Japan.
Shuta An answered that arrogance not with words—but with action.
"I can."
The moment Sunday Silence shifted right, he drove Flying Continental into the gap, pulling the reins upward in the style he learned from Tahara Seiki—creating resistance in the horse and harnessing the added power to blast forward.
No more whipping needed.
In a breath, Flying Continental slipped past. Shuta An overtook Sunday Silence on his unguarded left side, flying past Valentino without even a glance.
"OH MY GOD! THE FIFTH FAVORITE—FLYING CONTINENTAL—HAS TAKEN THE LEAD!" The Santa Anita commentator screamed in disbelief. "SUNDAY SILENCE CAN'T CATCH UP! THE 'MAGICIAN' FROM JAPAN HAS JUST SCHOOLED OUR JOCKEYS IN POSITIONING!!"