Chapter 64. York
(This horse placing in real Takamatsunomiya Hai G2 was the second place)
Hokusei Ciboulette's low popularity in this Takamatsunomiya Kinen was not without reason.
"Two races ago, he won the Hankyu Cup over 1400 meters—and then stretched to 1800 in the Kinshachi Sho and finished eleventh,"
Shuta recalled quietly as he guided him in a steady circle within the waiting area. His gaze remained forward, but his thoughts were already organizing the information he had reviewed before the race.
"That result alone was enough to shake people's confidence," he continued inwardly. "And even though he once placed second in the Mainichi Hai over 2000 meters, that was when he was three. It doesn't hold the same weight now."
From the perspective of racing fans, the logic was straightforward.
If 1800 meters had already exposed his limitations, then asking him to handle 2000 meters—even with a top jockey—was nothing more than wishful thinking. Under those assumptions, his current odds were not surprising at all.
Shuta An did not disagree with that assessment. But that did not change his position.
"Since I'm the one riding her now, I just need to find a way to make it work," he thought calmly, his hands resting lightly on the reins as Hokusei Ciboulette continued his measured circling.
It was at that moment that an idea began to take shape. His eyes narrowed slightly, though his expression remained composed.
"Gate eight." The realization settled into place. "This position gives me room to act."
He pressed his lips together briefly, refining the thought as he continued to guide the horse in a smooth arc.
"The only question is whether he's willing to cooperate."
If he did—then the possibility of turning this race around was not as far-fetched as it seemed.
"At the very least," he concluded, "there aren't any overwhelmingly dominant middle-distance runners in this field. That alone leaves an opening."
—
After entering the starting gate, Shuta An did not waste time observing the opponents on either side.
It wasn't necessary.
The plan he had formed did not depend on them—it depended only on execution.
He adjusted his posture slightly, raising his center of gravity just enough to prepare for the break. His hands tightened subtly around the reins, his body aligning with the rhythm he expected to unleash.
The moment came.
"Click."
The sound of the gate opening was crisp and, in that instant, Shuta An moved.
He drove his center of gravity forward without hesitation, his hands pushing instinctively as Hokusei Ciboulette responded immediately, bursting out of the gate with remarkable sharpness. Even before the gate had fully opened, he had already surged ahead, forcing his way into clear space.
"What—?!" The jockeys on either side reacted almost simultaneously, their surprise evident. "That start speed—how is that possible?!"
But there was no time to dwell on it.
Shuta An did not slow.
Instead, he pressed forward again, urging Hokusei Ciboulette to accelerate further before guiding his cleanly toward the rail. Within a few strides, they had secured the leading position, cutting inward with precision and decisiveness.
The other runners did not immediately contest the lead.
From their perspective, there was no need to waste energy at this stage. If Hokusei Ciboulette wanted to take the front, then so be it. Most assumed that Shuta An would settle into a controlled pace, just as Sugai Shosuke had done in previous races.
But Shuta An had no intention of doing that.
As they entered the first bend, he glanced briefly over his shoulder, confirming the positions of the trailing group.
"They're holding back." A faint smile touched his lips. "Then I'll take this further."
His hands pressed forward again, increasing the intensity of his urging.
"How could I let this turn into a slow race and hand it back to them in the final stretch?" he thought, his gaze sharpening slightly.
"If I'm going to run at the front, then I'll run properly."
Hokusei Ciboulette responded without hesitation.
His pace increased, not in a sudden burst, but in a sustained escalation that gradually widened the gap between his and the rest of the field. By the time they exited the bend and entered the straight opposite the stands, the distance had already stretched to nearly twelve lengths.
From the stands, the reaction was immediate.
"Shuta An is using a runaway tactic!" the commentator exclaimed, unable to hide his surprise. "But can Hokusei Ciboulette maintain this pace?!"
His tone quickly shifted into skepticism.
"Hokusei main victories have all been over 1400 meters. This race is 2000 meters—six hundred meters longer. Maintaining this pace to the finish line will be extremely difficult!"
The doubt was not unreasonable.
Even among the spectators, similar thoughts spread quickly.
—
In the stands, Sugai Hikozou folded his arms, watching intently.
"Shosuke," he said, his tone calm but firm, "watch carefully."
Sugai Shosuke frowned slightly.
"If it's just about letting him run away, I can do that too," he replied. "I don't see what's so special about this yet."
Sugai Hikozou did not respond immediately.
Instead, he let the race continue.
"What about the earlier races?" he asked after a moment.
"The horses he rode were strong," Shosuke answered, his tone carrying a hint of defensiveness. "With that kind of quality, winning is expected."
Sugai Hikozou shook his head slowly.
"If winning with strong horses were that simple," he said, "then the profession wouldn't exist."
He shifted his gaze slightly.
"Being able to consistently win under those conditions is already something worth studying. But what matters most—"
His voice lowered.
"is what comes next."
—
As the race entered its final phase, the distance began to close.
By the time they reached the final straight, Hokusei Ciboulette's lead had narrowed to around ten lengths, with Mr. Spain emerging as the primary challenger from behind.
Chukyo's final straight stretched for 412 meters—long enough to favor those with strong finishing speed, and not particularly kind to front-runners who had already expended significant energy.
Under normal circumstances—this was where the leader would falter.
But Shuta An had already prepared for that.
His left hand controlled the whip, applying precise strikes to maintain rhythm, while his right hand managed the reins with equal care.
When Hokusei Ciboulette raised his head, he eased the tension slightly; when he lowered it, he pressed forward, guiding his movement with subtle adjustments rather than brute force.
Every action was deliberate.
Every motion calculated.
At the same time, he applied the push-riding technique he had learned from Tahara Seiki, aligning his body with the horse's stride to reduce unnecessary resistance.
The result was clear.
With each step, Hokusei Ciboulette conserved just a fraction more stamina than the pursuer behind him.
That difference—accumulated.
Step by step.
Until it became decisive.
Mr. Spain closed the gap, but never quite enough.
The distance held then stabilized. And finally—
The finish line arrived.
—
"Unbelievable!" the commentator shouted, his voice breaking through the tension. "The fourteenth favorite has pulled off a massive upset! Believe in the horse or not—but you must believe in Shuta An!"
In the stands, Sugai Hikozou turned his head slightly.
"Well?" he asked.
Sugai Shosuke remained silent for a moment.
Then, slowly, he exhaled.
"I understand now."
His gaze returned to the track, his expression no longer resistant.
"Maintaining that level of control for the entire 412 meters—I can't do that."
There was no frustration in his voice.
Only acknowledgment.
"There's a reason he became champion," he added quietly.
And this time—there was no argument left to make.
—
Winning the Takamatsunomiya Kinen once again brought Shuta An a reward from the Attribute Viewer.
When the interface appeared before him that night, he only needed a glance to recognize it—another charm.
In the past, whenever he obtained one of these, he would instinctively feel a trace of unease, as if it foreshadowed something troublesome that had yet to occur. But now, looking at the growing number of charms already stored, that vague sense of foreboding had long since faded.
"At this point, it's just inconvenient," he muttered.
What bothered him now was something far more practical.
"If I could use multiple charms before a race, that would actually be useful."
Instead, they simply accumulated, sitting there without immediate application.
Shuta An closed the interface without further thought. There was no need to dwell on it.
—
After waking up the next morning and quickly washing up, he left his room and headed downstairs. Rather than eating at the hotel, he planned to find something outside before taking a walk to York Racecourse.
As he passed the training ground, he noticed Silence Suzuka and Mejiro Dober already engaged in their morning exercises. Their movements were steady, their rhythm gradually settling as they adapted to the new environment.
"Morning," he said casually.
The two Uma Musume paused briefly to return the greeting before continuing their routine. Shuta An did not linger. After a short glance to confirm that everything was normal, he turned and left.
Watching him walk away, Mejiro Dober tilted her head slightly.
"Why hasn't Trainer been eating at the hotel these past few days?" she asked.
Silence Suzuka did not stop her movements, but her answer came without hesitation.
"The food doesn't suit him," she said. "We can eat it, but for him—it's probably more like torture."
She still remembered the expression on his face the first night, when he had looked at the dishes laid out in the restaurant. He hadn't said anything, but his reaction had been obvious enough.
"Then we should talk to the hotel," Mejiro Dober said after a moment. "We've booked for a month. It shouldn't be difficult to request something different."
Silence Suzuka nodded slightly.
"I'll handle it later."
There was no need to discuss it further.
—
After finishing a simple meal at a nearby Japanese restaurant, Shuta An made his way to York Racecourse. He was not in a hurry. To him, this visit was less about immediate preparation and more about familiarization—an opportunity to understand the environment firsthand.
The entrance was open to visitors that day. Although access to the turf itself was restricted, that did not affect his purpose. Observing from the outside was enough.
He paused briefly near the entrance, his gaze shifting to the notice board before moving on.
"As one of the oldest racecourses in the UK—over two hundred years of history," he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.
Then, as he stepped further inside, his attention shifted from history to structure.
"Left-handed course, counter-clockwise—similar to Epsom and the Curragh."
He walked slowly, his eyes tracing the layout, mentally reconstructing the flow of a race across the terrain.
"The full stretch is about 2800 meters, but that's irrelevant here. The International Stakes is 2000, and the Yorkshire Oaks is around 2400."
He paused near the edge of the viewing area, studying the curves more closely.
"The shorter distances—1000 to 1200—are straight courses. The 1400 adds a slight bend before entering the main straight. Longer distances start from auxiliary sections—"
His thoughts moved steadily, each observation building upon the last.
"For Suzuka and Dober—both races start from within the curved section."
That detail mattered.
"It means they can't afford to relax after the break. If they draw wide, they'll lose energy early."
He folded his arms slightly, his gaze narrowing.
"Even if they're strong enough to compensate, there's no reason to accept that disadvantage."
Minimizing negative factors—
That was always his approach.
—
After completing his walk, he came to a quiet conclusion.
"The terrain is flat," he said softly. "No significant undulation."
That alone defined the nature of the course.
"It really is one of the fairest tracks in the UK."
The final straight stretched nearly 900 meters. On paper, it seemed ideal for runners with strong finishing bursts, but Shuta An did not see it that way.
"If Suzuka controls the pace properly, she can hold the lead all the way."
Because when the terrain offered no hidden advantages—
The race returned to fundamentals.
Rhythm.
Endurance.
Execution.
"And if everyone is on equal ground," he thought, "then overtaking her won't be easy."
—
Even so, he did not allow himself to become complacent.
"This type of open track—they haven't experienced it before."
That alone was enough to warrant caution.
"They need to get used to it."
Not just physically—but mentally.
After this, he planned to bring them here more frequently, letting them observe, adapt, and internalize the differences.
—
The Ebor Festival itself spanned four days.
International Stakes.
Yorkshire Oaks.
Lonsdale Cup.
And the surrounding races that completed the program.
Despite its prestige, the number of participants in the International Stakes had not been particularly high in recent years. On average, only around seven runners entered, a factor that subtly altered the dynamics of the race.
"That's not ideal for Suzuka," Shuta An thought.
Her escape-style running benefited from a larger field, where hesitation and mutual caution among opponents created space. With fewer competitors, that dynamic weakened.
But even so—
He was not concerned.
"Even without that advantage—they're not strong enough."
The conclusion came without hesitation.
—
For the Yorkshire Oaks, the situation was different.
The expansion of eligibility to older Uma Musume had improved both the number and quality of participants. Over the past five years, results had been evenly split between Classic-year and older runners.
This time, the top favorite was clear.
"Catchascatchcan," he murmured.
Three races. Three wins. All by significant margins.
"She hasn't proven herself in graded races yet—but the raw strength is there."
Mejiro Dober, on the other hand, was placed as the second favorite.
That position owed much to her previous G1 victories overseas. Without those, European analysts would likely have rated her lower.
The third favorite, Shahtoush, had won the Epsom Oaks, yet her popularity lagged behind expectations. Inconsistency, perhaps, or a lack of broader results.
Shuta An scanned the rest of the list briefly, then dismissed it.
"No need to look further."
His evaluation was already complete.
—
At first, he had found it slightly irritating that Mejiro Dober's popularity was lower than Catchascatchcan's.
But after seeing how Shahtoush was rated below her, that feeling faded.
"They really do have their own logic," he said with a faint smile.
In the end, such evaluations did not matter.
What mattered—was the result. And that, he was already certain of.
"This year's Ebor Festival has three G1 races," he thought, his gaze steady. "And we'll take two of them."