Chapter 87. Traces of Malice
However, Shuta An did nothing that Dober had imagined.
Throughout the entire meal, he behaved impeccably. No suggestive remarks. No ambiguous gestures. He merely congratulated her on winning the Hanshin Juvenile Fillies and spoke about ordinary matters — training adjustments, recovery cycles, travel schedules.
The distance remained intact.
"I saw in the reports that you're planning for me to go straight to the Oka Sho," Dober asked once the plates had been cleared. "Is that true?"
"Yes." He nodded easily. "There's no need for a prep race. You felt the rhythm of Hanshin's 1600 meters today. A prep would only waste stamina."
He shrugged.
"Of course, if you feel you need one, we can use the Tulip Sho as a warm-up."
"No," she replied immediately. "Let's follow your plan."
Then, after a pause—
"If I ran a prep race, you wouldn't be able to go to Dubai to prepare for the Dubai Turf with peace of mind, right?"
"I'd just fly back and forth," he answered casually. "That's how we handled the Tenno Sho (Autumn) and the Breeders' Cup this year."
"I don't want to see you go through that kind of trouble," she said instinctively — then quickly covered her mouth.
He tilted his head.
"Did you say something?"
"No. Nothing." She waved her hand, shrinking back into herself. "Trainer, you don't need to worry."
He let it pass.
"Leaving the Oka Sho aside," he continued, "if we win the Japanese Oaks smoothly — and if you still show surplus stamina — I intend to arrange a challenge at the Yorkshire Oaks."
He spoke as though discussing the weather.
"Alternatively, if you wish to use the American Oaks invitation from Miss Miesque, we can return to North America. The inaugural American Oaks would also be meaningful."
This time, Dober did not hesitate.
"I want to try the Yorkshire Oaks."
There was resolve in her voice.
"I want to experience European turf. The American turf Twinkle Series isn't as prestigious. I want to see what Taiki always boasts about."
"Alright."
He nodded once, decisive.
"I'll inform Miss Miesque that we won't require the American Oaks invitation."
Dober felt no conflict about it. If she would not accept, it was only proper to decline early.
—
Outside HAJIME, the night air of Osaka felt cooler.
Shuta checked the time.
"If we leave now and drive straight through, we should reach the Academy around ten."
"Then let's go immediately!" Dober blurted out. "If I'm late past lights out, the dorm leader will definitely scold me."
"If that's your concern," he said while walking ahead, "you can stay at my apartment across from the Academy for the night. I'll return to my house. It'll be empty."
"It's better not to trouble you," she answered softly, head lowered. "You've already spent so much today. If this continues—"
Her voice faded.
Shuta stopped, turned, and lifted a finger — gently shaking it.
"Dober. Don't worry about that."
His tone was calm, but firm.
"I am your Trainer. This isn't extravagance. It isn't a favor. It's a Trainer providing conditions for his athlete."
He slipped his hands into his coat pockets.
"As for tonight's expenses — you don't need to think about them at all."
He gave a small, almost amused smile.
"Even if Oguri treated HAJIME like a cafeteria and ate there three times a day, every day, for an entire year, it wouldn't damage my finances."
He tapped his pocket lightly.
"You've seen Laurel Way 1460 in America. Even though it's no longer mine, I could purchase several properties of that scale without difficulty."
His gaze settled on her.
"Even if I stopped being a Trainer tomorrow, my assets would allow me to live comfortably for multiple lifetimes."
There was no arrogance in his voice — only clarity.
"But I have ambitions. I want to become the best Trainer. For that, I need all of you to achieve results in the Twinkle Series. To accomplish that, I will create the best possible environment."
He paused.
"So in the future, don't feel embarrassed. Don't feel indebted."
Silence fell between them.
Dober did not lift her head. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft.
"But my results…they're also because of your training. Your planning."
"No." His eyes fell to her slightly trembling hand. "Believe in yourself."
"Team Sadalsuud does not recruit Uma Musume without talent. The fact that I chose you from among the Mejiro Family members I once oversaw proves something."
His gaze sharpened subtly.
"In my eyes, Dober, your talent is no less than Teio's."
"I was the one who applied to join the team," she murmured.
Back then, after asking Miss Ramonu to intercede, she had endured nights of anxiety — dreaming of rejection.
"Details," he dismissed gently. "Today you won the Hanshin Juvenile Fillies. How can you still doubt yourself?"
He extended his hand instinctively to pat her—Then remembered.
He began to withdraw it.
But before he could, Dober grasped his hand.
Her eyes closed.
She exhaled softly.
"Thank you, Trainer. Next year, I will continue to win."
He was visibly surprised — though his voice remained steady.
"Perform at your normal level. That's enough. Leave the rest to me."
"If we lose," he added, "then it means my pre-race preparation was insufficient."
"Your preparations are always the most thorough."
Her fingers tightened slightly around his.
"Let's return to Tokyo. I need to prepare properly for the Triple Tiara."
"First — the Oka Sho."
He smiled.
And this time, he gently returned the pressure of her hand, conscious of the warmth in his palm.
Color rose rapidly to her cheeks. Her breathing quickened.
She looked as though she might combust.
Realizing it, he released her at once and turned forward.
"We should leave. If we delay any longer, you really will be locked out of the dorm."
"Mhm, mhm!"
Flustered but determined, she followed.
After sending Mejiro Dober back to Central Tracen Academy, Shuta An did not return home. Instead, he went to his apartment near the Academy.
It was already past ten. Fatigue pressed against his temples. Driving any farther would have been irresponsible.
After a brief shower, he lay down — and slipped almost immediately into sleep.
And once again, he entered the Dream World.
This time, he stood on the turf of Hanshin Racecourse, preparing to contest the Hanshin Juvenile Fillies.
But here, the overwhelming favorite was not Mejiro Dober.
It was Nishino Flower.
Shuta did not fight for her mount. Instead, he continued partnering DiscoHall from Shadai Race Horse Club — runner-up in the Sapporo 2-Year-Old Stakes, a filly with respectable ability and upward potential. With his riding, her popularity remained high, only slightly behind Nishino Flower.
Still, he understood the hierarchy.
Nishino Flower's raw ability was superior.
Just as in the Dream World Tenno Sho (Autumn) earlier this year, securing a placing would be acceptable.
I'll ride Disco Hall properly, he thought. If her growth continues, she may become my primary partner on next year's Triple Tiara route.
Gate draw: 9. Slightly wide.
Given her previous performances, Trainer Yamauchi Kenji had instructed him to execute a tactical close-tracking ride — sit just behind the leader and strike early.
Simple enough.
When the gates opened, Foundry Evert from gate 15 exploded outward, as declared beforehand, aggressively cutting across toward the rail.
Shuta did not resist the momentum.
Instead, he used it.
Following Foundry Evert's sweeping inward line, he slipped Disco Hall into a pocket behind her, securing second position without burning excess stamina — one and a half lengths off the lead.
Clean. Efficient.
Mid-pack, Nishino Flower traveled smoothly. Yet jockey Sato was already asking her to edge forward, increasing pressure earlier than expected.
Shuta did not see it.
Not until the latter half of the bend, when he stole a quick glance over his shoulder—And felt a chill.
Nishino Flower was directly behind him.
Calm. Controlled. Watching.
"I didn't even notice…" he muttered.
Third position already. They're afraid of traffic.
A decision formed instantly.
No easy breakout.
He angled DiscoHall slightly outward, preemptively blocking Nishino Flower's advancing lane.
Jockey Sato understood at once.
There was no need for finesse. Nishino Flower possessed superior power.
He shifted her wider — then asked with the whip.
Just once.
The response was immediate. Nishino Flower surged.
The acceleration was violent in its smoothness. Within seconds she swept past DiscoHall as if stepping over a line on the ground.
Shuta urged in reply.
It was meaningless.
The gap widened — one length, two, three.
The difference in engine class was undeniable.
—
In the stands, Yoshida Zenya exhaled.
"The disparity is too large. Even with Shuta-kun compensating through technique, it isn't enough."
"Sunday Silence's first offspring won't debut for two more years," Yamauchi Kenji said quietly. "By then, perhaps he'll have better resources."
"Two years…" Yamauchi frowned. "Are you certain Sunday Silence can transmit his qualities? His pedigree isn't exactly fashionable."
Yoshida smiled faintly.
"He will become a cornerstone of Shadai's history."
"I hope your gamble succeeds."
As they spoke, Nishino Flower crossed the finish line first.
Disco Hall fought bravely, but only managed third.
"At least she secured podium-stage," Yoshida said with mild satisfaction. "A solid result."
"There was little more to be done," Yamauchi agreed. "Nishino Flower will likely take next year's Oka Sho as well."
"If Disco Hall cannot threaten her there," Yoshida added calmly, "I will find Shuta-kun a filly capable of doing so."
Yamauchi looked at him with genuine surprise.
"You favor him greatly."
"If someone delivers me an American Triple Crown champion to stand as a stud," Yoshida replied evenly, "I invest accordingly."
—
In the underground tunnel, Shuta guided Disco Hall back toward the stable area.
He dismounted and gently rubbed her neck.
"You worked hard," the stable staff said.
"Sorry," he replied with a light shrug. "I prepared early, but her acceleration in the straight exceeded expectations."
"It wasn't your fault."
He nodded once.
Just then, Nishino Flower returned to the tunnel. Her stable staff, trainer, and owner gathered quickly.
"Well done!" the owner exclaimed, embracing the jockey. "That damn Shuta needed a lesson!"
The words carried clearly.
The tunnel grew quieter.
Several reporters glanced instinctively toward Shuta.
He did not react.
The owner continued, voice rising with excitement — oblivious, or perhaps indifferent, to the fact that the subject stood only meters away.
Shuta understood immediately.
The hostility did not stem from tactics.
It stemmed from nationality.
A small sound escaped him — almost a laugh.
Expressionless.
Very well.
He filed it away with clinical precision.
Pray your horse never meets and lose to mine in a G1.
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