Chapter 63.
If one were to truly trace the reasons behind the British URA Association's escalating losses—losses severe enough to force the former chairman into resignation—then placing the blame on that single individual would be nothing more than a convenient simplification.
In Shuta An's view, the issue had never been about one person's competence or failure, but rather about a deeper, structural imbalance that had been left unaddressed for far too long.
Because of that, he had no illusions.
Even if he himself were placed in that position, given authority and influence beyond what he currently possessed, the outcome would not fundamentally change. Without identifying and correcting the root problems, any attempt to reverse the situation would only delay the inevitable.
Losses would continue to accumulate, and the so-called "turnaround" would remain nothing more than an empty slogan.
That was precisely why he paid little attention to the optimistic words of the staff member driving them.
"None of this concerns me," he thought calmly, his gaze resting somewhere beyond the passing scenery. "There are too many variables involved, and I have no interest in becoming the one who fixes them."
His purpose here had always been simple. He was not here to repair a system.
He was here for two people.
"For Suzuka and Dober, this trip is about results," he concluded quietly. "Everything else is irrelevant. The less I involve myself, the better."
Beside him, Silence Suzuka seemed to sense that quiet resolve without needing any explanation. She did not speak, nor did she question him. Instead, she gently wrapped her arm around his and leaned closer, her presence soft yet firm, expressing her support in a way that required no words.
When the car finally came to a stop and they stepped out, the building before them drew Silence Suzuka's attention immediately.
"This is really a four-star hotel?" she asked, her tone carrying a hint of genuine surprise.
It wasn't that she was being critical. Rather, the appearance of Middlethorpe Hall did not match the expectation that came with such a rating. The exterior looked aged, almost understated to the point of seeming ordinary, and it was difficult not to question whether it truly met the standard it claimed.
Shuta An had felt the same way at first.
That was why he had gone out of his way to have it verified beforehand.
"The outside does look plain," he admitted, his tone even, "but the interior and facilities meet the requirements."
He paused slightly, then added with quiet certainty, "Trust me."
Silence Suzuka looked at him for a moment before nodding. She did not press the matter further. If he said it was fine, then she would accept that.
Mejiro Dober, standing nearby, did not even show that initial doubt. From the beginning, she had placed her trust in Shuta An's judgment, and nothing about this situation gave her reason to reconsider that choice.
Once they entered the hotel, the contrast became immediately apparent.
The interior was well-maintained, refined without being ostentatious, and carried a sense of quiet elegance that the exterior had not suggested. Silence Suzuka exhaled softly as she sat down on the edge of the bed in Shuta An's room, her earlier hesitation fading.
"It really is decent inside," she said.
"I had Grace confirm it," Shuta An replied, letting out a small yawn as the accumulated fatigue from travel began to catch up with him.
Then, after a brief pause, his tone shifted back into something more practical.
"You should focus on adjusting your schedule," he said. "I only gave you three days."
Silence Suzuka nodded. Although she had already rested during their stop in Dublin, she could tell that Shuta An himself had not fully recovered from the time difference. Without saying anything more, she stood and quietly returned to her own room, leaving him the space to rest.
Even if he did not participate directly in training, his role during this period would not be light.
He still needed to oversee everything.
—
Normally, Shuta An would not enter the Dream World during an afternoon rest.
But this time, the moment he lay down, his consciousness slipped into that familiar state without warning.
When he opened his eyes again, it was already night.
He sat on the bed, a book in his hands, reading under the dim light. The quiet atmosphere felt almost detached from reality, as if time itself had slowed.
Then the phone rang.
The sudden sound cut cleanly through the silence.
"At this hour?" he muttered, placing the book aside as he reached for the receiver.
His thoughts moved quickly.
"It's not close to race preparation time, so it won't be Take-san asking me out and it's definitely not my agent."
That left only one possibility.
"A Trainer."
He picked up the phone.
"Hello, this is Shuta An."
"This is Matsumoto Shoichi."
The moment he heard the voice, his posture straightened slightly.
"Trainer Matsumoto." His tone lost its earlier casualness. "It's late. Is something wrong?"
"It's about Tokai Teio."
The words landed with enough weight to immediately sharpen his focus.
"What happened?" Shuta An asked, his voice tightening. "Is there a problem with him?"
"No," Matsumoto Shoichi replied. "Nothing unexpected has happened."
There was a brief pause before he continued.
"It's about his next race."
Shuta An exhaled slowly, though the tension did not leave his expression entirely.
"Has it been decided?"
"Yes." The answer came without hesitation. "We've decided not to go to the International Stakes."
For a moment, Shuta An did not speak.
Then his brows drew together.
"You're not going?"
"Tokai Teio will remain in Japan," Matsumoto continued. "He'll focus on recovery and preparation for the Japan Cup. We're also skipping the Tenno Sho (Autumn)."
Shuta An's reaction came a beat later, sharper than before.
"I thought you were leaning toward accepting that invitation."
"There are conditions," Matsumoto Shoichi said calmly.
Shuta An did not interrupt.
"Owner Uchimura wants him to win the Japan Cup with overwhelming dominance," he continued. "Even if the exertion prevents him from running in the Arima Kinen afterward, it doesn't matter."
The implication was clear.
Not just victory—But an undeniable one.
"Understood," Shuta An replied.
There was no hesitation in his voice this time. Such a condition was not a burden to him. It was a challenge he had already accepted.
"As for the British G1s," Matsumoto Shoichi added, "we're not giving up on them. We'll aim for them next year."
Shuta An nodded slightly.
"As long as the intervals between races are managed properly," he said, "I'd still be confident even if he ran on American dirt."
Matsumoto Shoichi did not comment on that part. He understood enough to know that the real concern was not capability, but management—maintaining both physical and mental stability over an extended campaign.
After the call ended, Shuta An remained seated for a moment, letting the conversation settle in his mind.
The uncertainty that had lingered for several days had finally been resolved. With Tokai Teio's schedule now clearly defined, the direction ahead no longer felt ambiguous. As his thoughts shifted naturally toward the upcoming races, he began reviewing the next stage of his own plans.
"The Tanabata Sho—and the Takamatsunomiya Kinen," he murmured.
He had already made his decisions.
"I didn't take the Tanabata Sho."
Fukushima was a local track, and accepting a single ride there would not contribute meaningfully to his overall performance.
"So I stayed in Chukyo."
His attention then moved to the second race.
"For the Takamatsunomiya Kinen, I accepted a ride."
He paused briefly.
"Hokusei Ciboulette."
The name lingered.
"Strange." The thought came quietly. "Why didn't Sugai Hikozou let his son ride him?"
The answer formed almost immediately.
"Because he's unpopular."
He recalled the numbers.
Fourteenth favorite. Odds exceeding one hundred.
Even after his name had been announced as the jockey. Shuta An leaned back slightly, his gaze lowering as the thought settled.
"This won't be an easy race."
"Forget it, no matter what, I just need to ride well."
With that thought, on the evening of the next day, Shuta An arrived at Chukyo Racecourse in the Dream World.
Today, Shuta An had ten riding assignments at Chukyo Racecourse.
"Ten in a row—" he murmured while glancing at the race card in his hand, his thumb lightly tapping the edge of the paper. "That's actually pretty comfortable."
Most jockeys would complain about such a schedule. Continuous rides meant no rest, no breathing room, and constant pressure to maintain focus. But for Shuta An, it was the opposite. Once he entered a rhythm, he preferred not to be interrupted.
"If there's a gap, that's when things get annoying," he added quietly.
From the side, one of the staff members laughed. "You say that like it's easy."
"It is," Shuta An replied calmly, folding the race card and slipping it into his pocket. "As long as you don't let your rhythm break."
His tone wasn't arrogant—it was simply factual.
—
At the same time, news about Tokai Teio's upcoming schedule had already spread throughout the racing world.
Skipping the Tenno Sho (Autumn).
Going straight to the Japan Cup.
"That must've made a lot of people breathe easier," Shuta An thought as he walked toward the paddock.
Without Tokai Teio appearing in autumn middle-distance G1 races, the landscape had changed overnight. For many Horse Owner who had previously given up hope, a narrow path to victory had suddenly opened.
But that didn't mean anything had become easy.
"The Japan Cup isn't a race you 'try your luck' in," he muttered under his breath. "If you enter that race, you're either going all-in—or you shouldn't be there at all."
He paused slightly, recalling the current situation.
Mejiro McQueen had chosen the Melbourne Cup.
Mihono Bourbon would likely aim for the Kikuka Sho, then rest for the Arima Kinen.
"If he even makes it that far," Shuta An thought, a faint smirk appearing for a brief moment. "I'm not planning to let her have it that easily."
—
"Shuta-kun!"
A voice pulled him back.
Trainer Shimizu Hisao waved at him from a short distance away, clearly in high spirits.
"Dream Dash is ready. Leave it to you."
Shuta An gave a small nod and stepped forward, his expression already settling into focus.
"Understood."
—
The second race of the day—three-year-old maiden, 1000 meters on dirt.
From the moment the gates opened, Shuta An did not hesitate.
"Go."
There was no need for complicated tactics in a race like this. He urged Dream Dash forward immediately, taking control of the lead before anyone else could react. Once in front, he stabilized the pace, allowing the horse to settle into a comfortable rhythm.
By the time they entered the final straight, the outcome was already leaning in one direction.
"Maintain it."
The whip came down—not recklessly, but with precise timing. Each strike reinforced the horse's rhythm rather than breaking it, and the gap behind them gradually widened.
Three and a half lengths.
Clean.
Decisive.
—
After dismounting, Shimizu Hisao let out a long breath.
"That was perfect," he said, clearly relieved. "There aren't many chances left for a maiden like this."
Shuta An wiped the sweat from his hand before replying.
"The horse itself is good. There's still room to improve in short-distance races."
His tone remained calm, as if this result had been expected from the start.
—
The next race brought different conditions.
1700 meters on turf.
Heavy ground.
"Not ideal."
Shuta An adjusted his approach immediately.
Instead of settling mid-pack as originally planned, he kept Platina City close behind the leader, ensuring he wouldn't be forced into a late, energy-consuming acceleration on difficult footing.
When the final straight came, the difference in approach became clear.
"Now."
He increased pressure gradually, guiding him past the front-runner without breaking her stride. The overtaking movement was smooth, almost inevitable, and once he gained the lead, there was no hesitation.
Another win.
—
"Two in a row—"
The commentator's voice carried a hint of excitement now.
—
The third.
The fourth.
The pattern repeated.
Different mounts, different race conditions, but the same result.
By the time the fourth consecutive victory was secured, the atmosphere around the racecourse had begun to shift noticeably. Conversations grew louder, glances lingered longer, and expectations began to build.
"Is he going for it again?" someone muttered.
But the momentum broke in the sixth race.
Midway through the run, Shuta An's expression changed slightly.
"Something's off."
It wasn't obvious to the spectators, but the rhythm beneath him had shifted. The response was dull, the gait uneven.
That was enough.
"Pulling up."
Without hesitation, he eased the horse out of the race.
—
Afterward, a reporter immediately stepped forward.
"You stopped mid-race. Was there an issue?"
Shuta An answered without delay.
"A partner's safety comes first."
He didn't elaborate. He didn't need to.
—
"Sorry," Shirai Toshiaki said later, his expression stiff with embarrassment. "We should have checked more carefully."
Shuta An shook his head.
"No. Just make sure the horse is fine."
That was all he cared about.
—
"So it was just in a bad mood?"
When the result came back, even Shuta An couldn't help but pause.
Shirai Toshiaki looked like he wanted to disappear.
"I…I didn't expect that either."
"That's rare," Shuta An muttered, letting out a quiet breath.
He didn't dwell on it. There was no point.
—
The seventh race.
Another mount.
Another win.
By this point, the mood at Chukyo had shifted completely.
"This is turning into his stage again—"
"He's ridiculous today."
"If you bet on him all year, you'd be up twenty percent."
The voices were no longer subtle.
—
And then—the final race.
Takamatsunomiya Kinen.
Hokusei Ciboulette. Fourteenth favorite. Odds exceeding one hundred.
Even after his name had been announced.
"So it's this kind of race."
Shuta An placed his foot into the stirrup and mounted in one smooth motion, his expression calm.
From the outside, there was nothing remarkable about the horse.
But that didn't matter.
Once seated, he closed his eyes briefly.
Felt the rhythm. The breathing. The balance.
"Not bad." His condition was far better than his odds suggested. "He can run."
That was enough.
—
The Groom hesitated for a moment before handing over the reins.
"I'll leave it to you."
His voice was quiet, almost cautious. Shuta glanced down at him, then smiled faintly.
"Then believe me."
He adjusted his grip on the reins, his gaze settling forward.
"I'll win this race for him."