Chapter 77. A Greater Hesitation
The celebration banquet began in high spirits.
Yet from the very start, Shuta An voluntarily removed himself from the center of it.
He chose a solitary seat, while the four Uma Musume gathered closely together in animated discussion. Between them sat experience that spanned continents. Both Miss Miesque and Miss Secretariat were seniors worthy of respect—figures who had stood at the pinnacle of international racing. Even a casual exchange about pacing judgment or sectional control in a Grade-level race was enough to leave Tokai Teio and Mejiro Dober listening with shining eyes.
Every sentence was instruction. Every anecdote, insight.
Shuta, meanwhile, did not feel the slightest irritation at being "neglected."
He was perfectly content.
Miss Chef's steak was grilled to exact precision—the crust caramelized, the interior retaining a supple tenderness that released juice with every cut. In his professional evaluation, it was not inferior to the steak served at Laurel Way 14 Astro's Steakhouse. In fact, considering that the steakhouse's greatest advantage was merely its view, Shuta would score Miss Chef higher if he were judging strictly on culinary merit.
He ate until he was about seven parts full—enough to satisfy, not enough to dull the senses.
The four Uma Musume were still engaged in spirited conversation.
So he rose quietly, almost mischievously light on his feet, and slipped outside.
The outdoor pool reflected soft evening light. Beyond it, the ocean breathed steadily, the sea breeze traveling inland with a salt-kissed coolness. Shuta lowered himself onto a lounge chair, stretched out, and began idly scrolling through his phone.
Then he heard footsteps behind him.
"Miss Miesque?" he called without turning, having deduced the identity through simple elimination. "Didn't you continue chatting with Dober and Teio?"
Miss Miesque settled into the adjacent lounge chair with feline ease and let out a contented hum.
"Right now they're asking Miss Secretariat about middle-to-long-distance Twinkle Series strategy. I have nothing useful to contribute for races over 1600 meters."
She stretched slightly.
"Ahh~~ this chair is still the most comfortable."
"The Grandmaster's chair does live up to its reputation," Shuta replied, glancing sideways. "Though I wouldn't say the indoor sofa is inferior."
"I'm not here to discuss furniture," she said smoothly, pivoting without hesitation. "There's something I want to ask you."
Shuta placed his phone down, interest sharpening.
"Let me warn you in advance—there are questions I might not answer."
"It's nothing so serious." She smiled, but the smile carried unmistakable intent. "It's about Silence Suzuka."
He blinked once.
"Didn't I already share her injury status? I'm fairly certain you follow our Sadalsuud team account. I posted the update that same night."
"I'm not asking about the injury," she said, winking deliberately.
Her expression left no ambiguity.
Shuta knew exactly what she wanted.
In America, the most enthusiastic gossip circles might be single mothers, and just behind them, Valley Girls. Miss Miesque did not dress extravagantly, but after witnessing her guide Mejiro Dober and Tokai Teio through boutique after boutique with boundless enthusiasm, Shuta was certain she possessed the soul of an elite shopper. With her earnings as the "European Mile Queen" and her current income, indulging curiosity—whether for dresses or secrets—posed no difficulty.
And right now, her eyes regarded him the way someone might look at a new designer gown displayed behind polished glass.
Not because she desired him. Because he possessed information.
After a prolonged silence—just before she could press further—he spoke.
"After the Tenno Sho (Autumn), Suzuka did say what you're hoping to hear."
Miss Miesque's posture straightened subtly.
"And how did you respond?"
"I haven't."
The brevity of the answer earned him a dramatic eye roll.
"I intended to deal with it after returning to Japan," he added calmly. "At the time, I was focused on planning Dober's Breeders Cup Juvenile Fillies Turf schedule."
"So you avoided it," she said bluntly. "I wouldn't have expected that from you."
"Perhaps it was avoidance," Shuta admitted. "Immediately after the Tenno Sho, I truly didn't have the capacity to process something like that."
"And now?" She tapped the armrest of the Grandmaster's chair. "After winning the Breeders Cup race, are you in the mood?"
"This has nothing to do with victory." His gaze shifted toward the distant coastline, where the sky met the sea in muted twilight. "Even if I had won the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe, I still wouldn't know how to answer."
"Is it because of Oguri Cap?" she asked without hesitation.
There was no accusation in her tone—only perceptiveness.
"There is a connection," he admitted.
She exhaled, half amused.
"Compared to your father, you're far more hesitant."
"I won't deny that." He tilted his head slightly. "Though it sounds like you're very familiar with my father's history."
"I only heard from Miss Secretariat—"
She stopped herself abruptly.
Shuta's lips twitched. Even without her finishing, he could infer the implication.
Wisely, he redirected the topic.
"After returning to Japan, I plan to talk to Oguri and the others."
"Oh?" Her interest revived instantly. "Then I look forward to good news. I would hate to read headlines about a genius Trainer being attacked by an Uma Musume."
"It won't escalate that far," he said dryly. "I assure you, you'll never see me featured in such a report."
The sea breeze passed between them.
Behind the glass doors, laughter echoed from the living room—bright, youthful, alive.
Out here, beneath the open sky, the conversation had shifted from races and strategies to something far more complicated.
And unlike the finish line, there was no clear marker indicating where this path would end.
When Shuta An and Miss Miesque returned to the dining area, Miss Secretariat had just concluded her recounting of the Belmont Stakes.
Her tone was calm, but the weight of experience lingered in the air.
"However," she added with deliberate emphasis, looking at Mejiro Dober, "dirt 2400 meters and turf 2400 meters are fundamentally different. You cannot simply replicate my running style."
"I understand." Dober nodded with earnest obedience. "And—I may only run 2400 meters once in my career. The Japanese Oaks."
Secretariat blinked, slightly surprised. "Didn't Shuta mention the Yorkshire Oaks was also under consideration?"
Dober answered honestly, without embellishment. "That is what he said. But if my performance in the Japanese Oaks is mediocre, Trainer will not allow me to challenge the Yorkshire Oaks."
The statement was neither self-deprecating nor dramatic—merely factual.
"That's true." Secretariat paused.
She had rarely tasted straightforward defeat in her own career. The notion of adjusting ambition downward due to performance was not instinctive to her. For a moment, she had simply not considered it.
"What are you discussing?" Shuta's voice entered as he reclaimed his seat, calmly preparing to enjoy another serving—this time orange-pan-seared duck breast.
"We're talking about 2400-meter races," Tokai Teio answered brightly. "Senior Dober is worried about her Japanese Oaks performance."
Shuta glanced at Dober, who had lowered her head slightly.
"What is there to worry about?" His tone was casual, but not dismissive. "If you cannot win the Oaks, then the 2000-meter Shuka Sho will still be within reach. After that, focus on races between 1600 and 2200 meters. If the Yorkshire Oaks is not suitable, then we do not go."
He continued evenly, outlining alternatives as though mapping a battlefield.
"If you wish to race in Europe during the summer, we can consider the International Stakes at York Racecourse, approximately 2000 meters. Or the Matron Stakes at Leopardstown Racecourse in Ireland, approximately 1600 meters."
"Both distances fall within your adaptable range."
He did not add aloud that Leopardstown's turf carried high moisture content—more demanding, less forgiving. Nor did he elaborate that the Irish Twinkle Series offered limited prize incentive relative to risk. Those calculations existed quietly in his mind.
"Mhm." Dober responded softly.
Her anxiety had not vanished, but it had been structured. Given form. Given contingency.
—
After the banquet concluded, Shuta personally saw Miss Secretariat and Miss Miesque off.
"Though I don't know what Miss Miesque discussed with you," Secretariat said, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly, "I suspect my name surfaced."
"She truly did not," Shuta replied with striking sincerity. "We spoke about my own matters."
"Very well." Secretariat turned lightly. "There's no need to escort us further. You should rest."
"I still need to bring Miss Miesque to the car," Shuta said with a helpless shrug, supporting the nearly inebriated European Mile Queen whose dignity had momentarily dissolved into something far less elegant.
Secretariat fell silent for a brief moment before saying quietly, "Then come along."
After carefully placing Miss Miesque into the back seat and fastening her securely, Shuta closed the door with deliberate gentleness.
"Miss Secretariat, farewell. We will remain here three more days before returning. Thank you sincerely for everything."
He bowed deeply.
"No trouble." Secretariat started the engine. "Good night, Shuta."
"I wish you a pleasant evening."
He stepped back.
When he turned and walked toward the entrance hall, Secretariat did not immediately drive away. With the engine idling softly, she watched his retreating figure.
"If only he could be like you sometimes," she murmured under her breath.
In the back seat, Miss Miesque stirred faintly—but remained silent.
—
Shuta knew nothing of that final remark.
Back in his room, he checked the time. As had become routine since arriving in America, he initiated a long voice call before sleeping. Nearly every night, he spoke at length with Oguri and Berno.
Fortunately, the room was soundproofed.
Otherwise, Tokai Teio and Mejiro Dober's daily glances might have turned suspicious. The trust he had cultivated with Dober over years might have been reduced to zero in an instant.
The conversation flowed naturally—until Oguri's voice shifted tone.
"Regarding Suzuka—Ann. When you return, give her the response you should."
He froze for a fraction of a second.
Then, slowly: "What about Berno's opinion?"
"I stand with Oguri," Berno's voice followed immediately. "Oguri is too kind. Suzuka is lying there in a hospital bed—she cannot even bring herself to say harsh words."
Silence lingered.
Berno realized something.
Her voice softened. "Besides—I'm not really in a position to speak. At the very beginning, I was—"
"No," Shuta interrupted gently but firmly. "This is my decision."
"That's right," Oguri echoed. "I merely gave you a push."
When the call ended, Shuta lay flat on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
For a long while, he did not move.
Then he closed his eyes.
And the Dream World opened.
—
In the Dream World, there were no complicated emotional entanglements. No confessions awaiting response.
Here, Shuta An possessed not even a single female friend.
His world was singular.
Horsemanship.
He stood now in the jockey waiting room at Kyoto Racecourse, preparing for battle.
"Tomorrow is the Queen Elizabeth Cup," he muttered quietly. "I will ride Scarlet Bouquet to challenge the final leg of the Triple Tiara Route."
Since the establishment of that route, no filly had secured a two-crown combination of Oaks and Queen Elizabeth Cup.
"If we win…it will be history."
Yet even as the ambition formed, realism followed.
It would not be easy.
"The Oaks required a last-minute correction through riding adjustments," he analyzed internally. "Now the Queen Elizabeth Cup distance has been shortened by 200 meters. Horses that faded in the Oaks may sustain here."
He pressed his lips together.
Ever since his unexpected triumph in the Tenno Sho (Autumn), expectation had grown. Not merely from others—but from himself.
He wished, undeniably, to create another miracle.
To carve another line into history.
But miracles were not summoned by desire alone.
And as the waiting room clock ticked quietly forward, Shuta An understood that tomorrow would demand far more than hope.
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