Chapter 70. Yorkshire Oaks II
As she entered the long straight opposite the stands, Mejiro Dober, already positioned on the outside of the pack, began to assess the rhythm of the race with greater focus.
"After covering about a quarter of this straight, I'll estimate Cloud Castle's pace," she thought to herself. "Then I'll decide whether to move now or wait."
Her breathing remained steady, her stride controlled. She did not rush to act prematurely, instead allowing herself a short window to gather enough information before committing to a decision.
However, inside the Box, Silence Suzuka had already reached a conclusion.
"I think Dober can start moving up one or two positions now."
"Did you notice something?" Oguri Cap immediately asked, turning toward her.
The other Uma Musumes also shifted their attention in unison, while the juniors subconsciously straightened, ready to remember every word.
Suzuka did not answer immediately. She first recalled the earlier section of the race, then spoke in a measured tone.
"Even though the International Stakes and the Yorkshire Oaks differ by 400 meters and start from different points, we just saw that Cloud Castle took over 27 seconds for the first 400 meters. That's already slower than half a minute, which is significantly slower compared to my pace."
She paused briefly, then continued.
"And after entering this straight, she hasn't shown any intention of increasing the pace or stretching the gap. On the contrary, she's actively controlling it. If this continues, the first 800 meters will likely take around 55 seconds—which means the first 1000 meters will be close to 68 seconds."
"68 seconds?" Mejiro McQueen's pupils contracted slightly. "That's too slow."
"Exactly," Suzuka nodded lightly.
"It's extremely slow. This might also be one of the characteristics of European racing. It could be related to the track conditions as well, but since Ann hasn't explained it in detail, I can only infer based on what I'm seeing."
"If the pace in front is that slow, then moving up in the middle stage becomes necessary," Oguri Cap said, her expression turning serious.
"Otherwise, relying entirely on the final sprint will be very inefficient."
"Dober-senpai will definitely notice it," Tokai Teio said confidently, her trust unwavering.
—
When the race approached the 1000-meter mark, Mejiro Dober completed her own estimation.
"About 67 seconds for 1000 meters."
She reached the same conclusion.
"Too slow."
Having confirmed this, she did not hesitate.
Her decision was clear—not to surge all the way to the front in one move, but to gradually reduce the gap between herself and Cloud Castle. From more than five lengths—down to around two or three.
Her acceleration was controlled, deliberate.
It did not disrupt the overall formation of the race.
Noticing that Mejiro Dober had no intention of immediately contesting the lead, Shahtoush and Catchascatchcan made no adjustments in response.
From the sidelines, Aidan O'Brien watched with satisfaction. "Shahtoush should stay like this. Don't let Dober's movement affect her. Just maintain her own pace."
Meanwhile, beside Shuta An, Whiteley's expression shifted slightly as he noticed the change.
"She's adjusting her pace here?"
It was a quiet remark, but there was a hint of surprise within it.
Shuta An heard him, but did not respond. A faint curve appeared at the corner of his lips, yet he offered no explanation.
"Dober has already recognized the issue with the pace," he thought silently.
"By moving up during the middle phase, she can close the gap to Cloud Castle before the final bend. Once she enters the straight, she won't need an extreme last 3F. Even a 35-second range sprint will be enough to overwhelm them."
—
On the track, Mejiro Dober continued advancing along the outside line, her stride consistent as she approached the end of the straight opposite the stands. To her left, High and Low ran alongside her once more, the two maintaining a parallel formation.
"It feels like her timing is perfect," Oguri Cap said quietly. "Almost like she heard Suzuka's judgment."
"That's simply because Dober-chan herself is strong enough," Silence Suzuka replied calmly. "She's already an undefeated two-time Triple Tiara winner. Reaching this level of judgment is only natural with her races schedule."
Tokai Teio nodded in agreement, clearly confident she could achieve something similar.
However, Air Groove, Kurofune, and Agnes Digital all understood how difficult that actually was.
"Accurately reading pace in a real race is already hard enough," Agnes Digital muttered softly. "Even during internal tests at the Academy, I struggle to grasp the rhythm set by others."
"That's because your focus isn't on the race itself," Tokai Teio replied without hesitation. "If your attention is entirely on the other Uma Musumes, how can you accurately judge the pace?"
"But they're all SO CUTE when they run seriously," Agnes Digital lowered her head slightly. "It's hard not to look."
"To observe them properly, you first need to stand on the Twinkle Series stage,"
Berno Light said, her tone firm.
"And to reach that stage, you need to perform well in the Academy's internal tests. Otherwise, no Trainer will choose you, and you won't even debut."
"I understand," Agnes Digital nodded obediently.
Although Berno's running ability was the weakest among those present, her support position within Team Sadalsuud was undeniable. Because of that, her words carried weight, and Agnes Digital listened seriously.
If Shuta An had been present, he would likely have spoken up on Agnes Digital's behalf. With her innate talent, even without complete focus, she would have little trouble attracting a Trainer's attention during internal evaluations.
However, her close relationship with Mejiro Dober created a different kind of hesitation among the Trainers of Central Tracen Academy—none of them were certain whether she had already been informally reserved by Shuta An.
—
On the track, as the field maintained its spread-out formation, the broadcast camera began to pan toward the stands.
Soon, it captured Shuta An standing by the trackside.
The Japanese commentator did not find this surprising.
"Mejiro Dober's Trainer is watching from the stands, calm and composed, as though the entire flow of the race is unfolding exactly as he anticipated," he said with a smile. "At this rate, it seems our undefeated two-time Triple Tiara winner may very well continue her perfect record today."
Until entering the final sharp bend, the formation of the pack showed no signs of collapse. Mejiro Dober's earlier advance—those one or two lengths she had carefully taken—had not triggered any chain reaction. The pace remained suppressed, almost unnaturally so.
Cloud Castle still led at that same restrained tempo, neither accelerating nor attempting to widen the gap, as though deliberately maintaining a ceiling over the race's intensity. Behind her, the other Uma Musume followed with equal patience, their silence speaking of a shared understanding—no one would move prematurely.
"It's obvious," Silence Suzuka said quietly, her gaze fixed on the track, "everyone is saving everything for the final 900 meters."
Her tone carried certainty, not speculation.
"To be honest the pacing structure here in Europe is completely different from Japan," she continued after a brief pause, as though organizing her thoughts even while observing the race unfold in real time.
"If this isn't clarified beforehand, Uma Musume who come here will make critical errors."
"Mm," Oguri Cap nodded in agreement, her expression more serious than before.
"I mentioned something similar to Ann once. But at that time, he thought most Trainers in Central Tracen wouldn't even consider sending their runners to Europe—though now, that assumption may no longer hold."
"The first half is just too slow—" Tokai Teio muttered, frowning slightly. "It feels like I could keep up even if I ran backward. Is that really because of the track?"
"Not entirely," Berno replied, lifting her hand in a small, dismissive gesture, though she didn't elaborate further. "Let Ann explain it properly later. This kind of thing needs a Trainer's perspective."
Silence Suzuka and Oguri Cap both gave small nods at that.
Then, as if remembering something mid-thought, Oguri Cap turned toward Air Groove.
"If everyone wants to understand it clearly, perhaps you could speak with President Symboli Rudolf. Ask Ann to hold a lecture for the Trainers at the Academy."
Air Groove had already taken out her phone before Oguri finished speaking. Her hand moved swiftly across the screen as she recorded the suggestion.
"Understood."
There was no hesitation in her response—only quiet execution.
After all, whether others requested it or not, this was the kind of matter she would pursue regardless. Something beneficial to the Academy did not require consensus; it only required action.
—
While the Box continued its discussion, the race itself had already reached its next critical phase.
Mejiro Dober maintained her line along the outside as she approached the sharp bend. Her breathing remained steady, her stride controlled—not a single movement wasted.
Then, with a smooth outward arc, she rounded the bend.
And stepped into the final straight.
York Racecourse's defining feature unfolded before her—the vast, uninterrupted 900-meter stretch, flat to the point of severity, leaving no room for illusion or misjudgment.
The moment her hooves struck the straight, the instinct to accelerate surged up from within her body.
But she suppressed it.
Firmly.
In middle-to-long distance races, the final 3F—the last 600 meters—defined everything. That was the window where true speed revealed itself.
And right now—there were still over 800 meters remaining.
If she accelerated here—if she allowed instinct to override calculation—then the outcome was already decided.
A memory surfaced unbidden.
The false straight before the finish. The countless times Shuta An had warned her about it—about the illusion of distance, about the trap of premature acceleration.
If she moved now, she would surge to the front, yes.
But by the final 200 meters, when her legs began to tighten and her speed inevitably decayed—everything she had gained would be taken back.
No.
Not here.
Not like that.
Suppressing the rising impulse, Mejiro Dober held her pace. Her stride length remained unchanged, her rhythm unwavering as she advanced down the straight—not accelerating, not hesitating, simply—enduring.
Behind her, however, restraint did not hold.
Crown of Light broke first.
With roughly 700 meters remaining, she surged forward, her acceleration sharp and immediate, rapidly closing the distance to Mejiro Dober's shadow.
"Mejiro Dober is about to be caught! Why isn't she accelerating?!"
The commentator's voice cut through the air, unable to mask his confusion.
But near the finish line, inside another Box—
Crown of Light's Trainer, Suroor, covered his face.
"Why now—" His voice was low, strained. "Why would she accelerate at this point?"
Even as he spoke, the frustration was evident.
"She's already at the back—if she held on, if she waited until the final 400 meters, she could still fight for position—but like this—what will she have left at the end?"
"Her temperament is too impatient," Shuta An said calmly.
Suroor lowered his hands, glancing sideways at him. "Or perhaps—it's because the way your Uma Musume runs looks too effortless. It's making her anxious."
"Regardless of the cause," Shuta An replied, his gaze never leaving the track, "this is not a mistake that should appear in the Yorkshire Oaks."
Suroor fell silent.
Because there was nothing to refute.
—
At the 500-meter mark—
Mejiro Dober moved.
No hesitation. No wasted motion.
The restraint she had maintained until now converted instantly into acceleration. Her stride length expanded, her cadence sharpened, and in a single, decisive transition, she surged forward.
Crown of Light, who had forced her pace early, was overtaken almost immediately—her earlier advance collapsing as though it had never existed.
Then came Lady in Waiting.
Passed cleanly. Efficiently. Without resistance.
Further ahead, Shahtoush's sprint had already begun.
O'Brien watched closely, his earlier satisfaction still lingering—but the moment Mejiro Dober closed in, that expression tightened.
"Something's off—" he muttered.
Shahtoush's acceleration—solid, controlled—was suddenly being compared against something sharper. More decisive.
"Why does her sprint feel—weaker?"
The thought formed before he could suppress it.
Then, almost instinctively, he searched for an explanation.
"The track—today's surface is fast, dry… that would blunt her strength power advantage…"
Regret followed immediately.
"I should have waited. Ascot would have been better. Or even returning to Ireland for a preparatory race—"
But the realization came too late.
Because on the track—
Mejiro Dober had already passed Shahtoush.
Cleanly.
Decisively.
Third place.
Now, only two remained ahead.
Cloud Castle—whose earlier slow pace had long since revealed its cost.
And Catchascatchcan—who had accelerated earlier, but was already beginning to show signs of strain.
"You can't stop me."
The thought rose within Mejiro Dober with absolute clarity.
Cloud Castle's speed—slower than Kyoei March in the Oka Sho.
Catchascatchcan's lead—built on borrowed time.
Neither was enough.
Not anymore.
—
"100 meters remaining! Mejiro Dober has caught Catchascatchcan!"
The commentator's voice surged, rising with the moment.
"She takes the lead cleanly—no hesitation! This is the finishing burst that defines Mejiro Dober!"
"The final 100 meters—she's still pulling away!"
Near the finish line, Shuta An's fists tightened unconsciously.
"DOBER… HOLD IT!"
Thirty meters.
The outcome was already decided.
Behind her, the gap had stretched to five lengths—an absolute margin. Even under ideal conditions, it was no longer something that could be overturned.
Victory had already chosen its owner.
And in the next instant—Mejiro Dober crossed the finish line.
—
The result flashed onto the screen.
Shuta An raised both arms, the motion sharp and decisive, his clenched fist cutting through the air as he turned toward the Box.
His voice didn't need to be heard.
The gesture alone carried everything.
"Even overseas—the undefeated crown will not be stained."
And from the broadcast—the commentator's voice followed, filled with unrestrained exhilaration.