Chapter 80. Ideas for Scouting New Teammates
After returning to 1460 Laurel Way, Shuta An listened quietly as Tokai Teio and Mejiro Dober relayed the invitation.
An invitation from the Student Council President—unexpected.
He had not even finished processing it when Teio leaned forward dramatically.
"Trainaaa~! Dober-senpai and I want to know what happened back then at West Coast Tracen Academy!"
His mouth twitched. "There's nothing worth telling. I simply chose not to associate with certain people."
"Certain people," Mejiro Dober said evenly, "does that include someone named Bob Baffert?"
That name made his expression change instantly.
"You ran into him?" His eyes scanned Dober from head to toe. "Are you alright?"
"We're fine," she replied with a small wave. "Miss Secretariat's people chased him off."
Shuta exhaled.
Tokai Teio, unable to contain herself, added brightly, "Dober-senpai slapped him!"
There was a brief silence.
"He stood in front of me," Dober said, turning her face away slightly, "and embodied every fear I have about men. I couldn't stand it."
Shuta lowered his head, reaching toward her hands. "Did you hurt yourself?"
She quickly hid them behind her back. "I wore gloves. I threw them away after."
"Good." He nodded once.
Teio leaned forward again. "So? What actually happened before?"
Shuta saw the curiosity in both of them—Teio's open and fiery, Dober's quiet but piercing.
He relented.
"It's not confidential," he said at last. "I left because I refused to compromise with certain methods. That's all. Some people believed results justified anything. I didn't."
Teio frowned deeply. "I can't believe you left because of people like that. One day I'll win an American Classic Race just to shut them up."
"Don't," Shuta replied calmly. "There's no need to prove anything because of trash talk. I've already beaten him enough times on the track. Competing for ego is meaningless."
Unless, he added silently, there was a way to end it permanently.
He pressed his forehead lightly. "You two walked all morning. Go rest."
He turned and went upstairs.
After he disappeared, Teio sighed. "If only I could run dirt."
Dober glanced sideways. "Then what about the Undefeated Triple Crown?"
"Of course I'm considering it!" Teio stuck out her tongue. "But dirt doesn't suit me."
She thought aloud. "Besides, in Japan dirt isn't emphasized. Everyone focuses on turf. Very few debut on dirt."
Dober nodded. "The one-win dirt classes don't even appear until winter in debut year. The URA doesn't prioritize it."
Teio blinked suddenly. "Trainer studied in America. He must be better at dirt training. Should we scout promising dirt-oriented Uma Musume when we get back and invite them?"
"That's not our place," Dober replied gently. "We can't guarantee someone would join the Sadalsuud team just because we asked. Only Oguri-senpai might have that influence."
Teio had to concede.
"Trainer will just have to work hard himself," she muttered.
—
The next morning, however, Shuta rose earlier than either of them.
He drove alone to West Coast Tracen Academy.
This time, his steps through the corridors were familiar—almost automatic. Memory guided him.
When he reached the Student Council office, a composed voice answered from inside.
"Please come in."
He opened the door.
The one seated at the desk was none other than Secretariat.
"You're here," she said with a faint smile. "Sit. I'm finishing a report."
He obeyed, though his pulse was unusually loud in his ears.
When she completed the paperwork, she rose and moved to sit opposite him.
Her first question caught him completely off guard.
"How have you found living at 1460 Laurel Way?"
If anyone else had asked, it might have sounded mocking.
From her, it was literal.
"It's been comfortable," he answered honestly. "Thank you for allowing me to stay there."
"Don't thank me too quickly." She waved her hand lightly. "Beverly Hills property is never a bad investment."
She leaned back slightly.
"But that isn't today's topic. Though it is related."
Shuta felt the air shift.
"After your parents passed," she continued, voice steady, "they left behind a considerable estate. I would like to discuss the remainder of that inheritance."
His heartbeat quickened.
"There may have been," he replied carefully. "But I was still in junior high at the time. My father left me Laurel Way and living expenses—what remained after IRS taxation."
She studied him closely.
"Would you like to know where the rest of it went?"
He answered immediately.
"No."
For the first time that morning, she looked genuinely surprised.
Silence settled between them—not hostile, but heavy with implications yet to be unfolded.
"Why?" Secretariat's surprise was genuine this time.
"Shuta, you haven't forgotten the scale of your family's assets, have you? Your father trained multiple G1 winners across America, Europe, and Australia. Your mother—Mrs. Alice—was a French Triple Tiara champion who competed in the Dream Cup for years before investing on the West Coast. Purchasing 1460 Laurel Way was trivial for them. That property was never the entirety of their holdings."
She paused, then added deliberately, "And Mrs. Alice also inherited from her mother. The accumulated prize earnings of Sea-Bird."
Sea-Bird
Shuta's expression remained level. "I never saw the will myself. My father's attorney told me that beyond what I received, everything else was left to someone else."
He folded his hands loosely. "To favor someone in that way, that person must have been someone he worried about deeply."
Secretariat lowered her head. A faint flush appeared along her cheeks.
Shuta noticed immediately. His eyes narrowed.
"Could it be?"
She lifted her head and met his gaze directly.
"First, let me clarify. I did not receive the inheritance. I have been managing it on your behalf."
The words struck with quiet force.
His pupils contracted. "Then why was I not informed before?"
She turned her head slightly, uncharacteristically avoiding eye contact. "Would you believe me if I said the estate was only fully consolidated and the tax obligations finalized last month?"
He did not hesitate. "Yes."
Having dealt personally with American taxation, he understood what complex, multi-jurisdictional estates entailed. If his father's holdings were substantial—and they undoubtedly were—liquidation, restructuring, and compliance would not have been simple.
Secretariat straightened. "Since Trainer entrusted me with this responsibility, I ensured the IRS did not extract more than necessary. Once the formal handover is complete, you may review all U.S.-based assets yourself."
"No." He rose and bowed slightly. "I am not skilled in such matters. If my father trusted you, then I will as well. Should I need something, I will consult you."
She leaned back with a faint smile. "If I must personally handle everything, that would become troublesome. I established Sadalmelik LLC for administrative purposes. I will introduce you to its assistant. You can issue directives through her."
"Understood."
She paused again.
"There remains one portion you must personally resolve."
He frowned. "Another?"
"Your grandmother's estate." A rare bitter expression crossed her face. "Mrs. Alice paid inheritance tax in France at the highest marginal rate—45 percent."
France's inheritance regime was among the most severe in Europe.
"If you directly inherit that estate without prior planning, you will also face approximately 45 percent taxation. My influence does not extend there. That matter, you must handle yourself."
He nodded slowly. For now, he had no immediate use for that portion. The American assets alone were already beyond anything he had imagined managing. And without structured planning, there was no quick solution to a French succession tax burden.
In truth, the most immediate benefit of wealth was clarity: he no longer needed to hesitate over training resources. Equipment, international travel, recovery facilities—Team Sadalsuud would never lack support.
He exhaled.
"After returning to Japan, I should inform Oguri and the others."
Secretariat's brow lifted slightly.
"Speaking of which," she said, shifting tone with deliberate composure, "as Student Council President of West Coast Tracen Academy, I have a request."
He tilted his head. "Please."
"Would you consider sponsoring a race at a West Coast racetrack?" Her smile brightened considerably. "For a six-figure annual contribution, you may secure naming rights for a G3 event."
He muttered under his breath, "I haven't even seen the money yet."
Then, more seriously: "What if I sponsor a G1 turf race?"
Her eyes sharpened instantly.
"For approximately 500,000 U.S. dollars annually, most G1 turf races at Santa Anita Park can accommodate naming rights."
Santa Anita Park
He closed his eyes briefly, calculating.
"Five hundred thousand per year, then. I choose the G1 Frankie O'Mille Championship. The 1600-meter turf race held the first Sunday of March."
He opened his eyes again.
"The naming rights will be The Alice France Championship."
A pause.
"Named after my mother."
Secretariat did not hesitate. "Accepted. We will finalize documentation shortly."
He stood.
"Thank you."
She grinned faintly. "On the contrary. Santa Anita has been complaining that certain purses are becoming less competitive. This will help maintain field quality."
He smiled in return. "Then I should thank you. You could have concealed the inheritance indefinitely."
Her expression turned firm.
"That would have been dishonorable. If I ever meet Trainer again, I must be able to face him."
For a brief moment, neither spoke.
Between them lingered something unspoken—loyalty extending beyond contracts, beyond estates, beyond money.
A debt of trust.
And now, at last, properly acknowledged.
(Author Note: The liaison from Sadalmeik LLC was named as Miss Grace, she will became the Shuta's assistant from here forth)
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