Chapter 71. Stay Novel
Before Mejiro Dober even crossed the finish line, several Trainers had already begun moving toward Shuta An.
Regardless of what they truly felt—unwillingness, frustration, or quiet resentment—those emotions never surfaced. Here in Europe, appearances mattered. In a tradition shaped by aristocratic pastimes, Uma Musume racing still carried the weight of inherited etiquette.
At the very least, politeness had to be maintained.
Whiteley, being the closest, was naturally the first to arrive.
"Congratulations, Mr. Shuta. Mejiro Dober is truly strong."
"Thank you."
Shuta An responded without hesitation, his tone composed, his expression unchanged. Even toward someone who had previously underestimated both him and Dober, he showed no deviation from courtesy.
Then came the next.
Henry Cecil.
As the Trainer of Catchascatchcan—the runner-up of this Yorkshire Oaks—his presence carried a different weight.
"Truly impressive," he said, his voice steady. "This race was a complete defeat for Catchascatchcan and myself. There are no excuses."
There was a brief pause before he continued.
"I do hope there will be another opportunity for Catchascatchcan to compete against Mejiro Dober in the future."
On the surface, it was gracious.
But beneath that layer, the intention was clear.
Originally, Catchascatchcan's path had been perfectly laid out—an undefeated record, a Yorkshire Oaks victory, and a seamless transition into the Dream Trophy Series as a G1-winning Uma Musume.
But now, that trajectory had been broken.
Without this win, Henry Cecil would have to revise everything—adding more G1 races, rebuilding momentum, forcing recognition before making the transition.
And at the center of that disruption—was the man standing in front of him.
Shuta An.
He understood it immediately. Still, he tilted his head slightly, his smile neither sharp nor dismissive.
"Perhaps," he replied, his tone even, "I will arrange for Dober to return to Europe for another expedition in the future."
A faint pause.
"But that will depend on her development. For now, I can't give a precise plan."
It was neither agreement nor refusal.
Just enough to acknowledge the challenge—without committing to it.
—
"Honestly," another voice interjected, "with Miss Mejiro Dober's performance today, it's difficult to imagine anything stopping her on the Triple Tiara route."
O'Brien had stepped forward. His gaze rested briefly in the direction of the track before returning to Shuta An.
"Have you considered letting her challenge mixed-route races?"
A more direct suggestion.
Less restrained.
"I will take Mr. O'Brien's suggestion into consideration," Shuta An replied, spreading his hands slightly. "But it's not the right time yet."
His voice remained calm.
"At the very least, she hasn't completed her Triple Tiara challenge in Japan."
O'Brien studied him for a moment.
Then nodded.
"I hope we'll have another opportunity to compete in the future."
Unlike the others, his interest was not limited to the Uma Musume.
It was directed at Shuta An himself.
This time, the young man's smile carried a clearer edge of sincerity.
"My next overseas target will likely be Australia," he said. "If you're interested, we could meet again during the Australian Spring Carnival."
O'Brien's eyes sharpened slightly.
"Then I'll make arrangements," he replied without hesitation. "If possible, I'll have my team spread across the G1 races there."
It wasn't an exaggeration.
For someone who could treat an entire country's Twinkle Series as his domain, deploying multiple Uma Musume across a major racing season was simply routine.
—
After a few more exchanges, Shuta An shifted his gaze toward the media area.
A dense cluster of reporters had already gathered, their impatience barely concealed.
"Excuse me," he said, turning back to the Trainers. "It seems the reporters are running out of patience. I shouldn't keep them waiting too long."
"Then let's end it here," Houershi, Trainer of High and Low, spoke first, naturally closing the conversation.
Even those who might have wanted to continue held back.
Anything further would cross into impropriety.
Shuta An gave a slight bow, then turned and left.
—
The moment he stepped into the media area, the atmosphere shifted.
Microphones surged forward.
Voices overlapped.
Questions came in rapid succession.
"Let's go in order, alright?"
Shuta An raised a hand, a helpless smile appearing at the corner of his lips.
"I'll remain here until the winning live begins."
Even so, organizing the reporters proved far from simple.
The competition between media outlets in the UK was intense—far more aggressive than he had anticipated. It took the intervention of York Racecourse staff to finally establish some semblance of order.
Yet once the interviews began—the difficulty vanished.
Because the questions were nearly identical.
Different reporters.
Different phrasing.
The same core.
By the third or fourth repetition, Shuta An was essentially reciting the same answers, adjusting only the wording.
Efficiency replaced engagement.
—
By the time Mejiro Dober was preparing to step onto the winning live stage, Shuta An's throat had already begun to feel dry.
Taking advantage of a brief opening, he slipped away under the guidance of a staff member.
While Dober delivered her opening remarks—he returned upstairs.
—
Inside the Box, the others were already waiting.
Then, after a short exchange, he headed back down again, positioning himself in front of the stage.
"Here."
Oguri Cap stepped forward, handing him a bottle of water after he had steadied himself.
"Drink slowly. Don't choke."
"Thanks."
He twisted the cap open, taking a measured sip before exhaling lightly.
"These reporters—asking the same questions over and over—I'm almost impressed."
A soft laugh followed.
"Ahaha, we saw everything from the Box earlier," Agnes Digital chimed in, her tone light as she picked up the conversation. "Being a Trainer is quite tough, isn't it?"
"Not really," Shuta An replied with a faint smile. "As long as we keep winning, the rest doesn't matter."
Air Groove, standing nearby, didn't respond aloud.
But inwardly, she agreed.
As long as Team Rigil maintained peak condition, Trainer Tojo always seemed capable of resolving any situation—no matter how complex.
—
On stage, the atmosphere shifted once more.
Unlike Silence Suzuka, Mejiro Dober conducted her entire winning live in English.
Her delivery was smooth.
Confident.
Without hesitation.
"Being from a aristocrat family really makes a difference—" Silence Suzuka muttered, pouting slightly. "I can't perform in English like that."
"It's fine," Shuta An said gently, smoothing her sideburns. "For this audience, your style is something new."
"Exactly," Oguri Cap added without missing a beat. "Last time I sang 'Kasamatsu Ondo' here, the audience loved it!"
"…"
Shuta An's mouth twitched slightly.
—
After Mejiro Dober's winning live ended, the group quickly gathered her and returned to the hotel without lingering.
"No celebrations tonight," Shuta An said on the way back, his tone leaving little room for negotiation. "Everyone rest early. Tomorrow we head to London, then take a flight back to Hokkaido and finish the rest of summer there."
"That's great!"
The response was immediate.
To be honest, York had never truly appealed to them. The unfamiliar environment, the restrained atmosphere—and most importantly, the food—had all worn down their initial excitement.
Originally, they had expected Shuta An to allow Mejiro Dober and Silence Suzuka a couple of days to rest before departing. Instead, he chose to leave immediately.
"If we're going to London, which flight are we taking?" Air Groove asked, already thinking ahead. "I should inform Trainer."
"I rented one," Shuta An replied casually. "Arranged through the Royal Bank of Scotland. A Bombardier Global 6000. We'll depart from London and arrive in Sapporo in about seventeen hours."
"…Ah."
Air Groove paused for a moment.
That answer was beyond her expectations.
Even for Team Rigil, which was not lacking in resources, chartering a private jet had never entered consideration. More importantly, Shuta An had never mentioned such an arrangement beforehand.
"Well, I decided it while discussing with Berno and the others," he added with a small shrug. "If we repeat the same route we took to get here, it'll just be exhausting. Once is enough."
His tone remained light.
"As for the cost, it's well within Team Sadalsuud's budget. Don't worry."
No one responded to that last part.
Because those within the team understood very clearly—that "budget" most likely meant his own.
And none of them had any intention of exposing it.
—
Since they had to depart early the next day, Oguri Cap and the others quietly refrained from going to Shuta An's room that night.
For once, the hotel corridors were calm.
The young man himself had no intention of using the afterglow of victory to seek out Mejiro Dober either.
"Since Oguri has already spoken to her—I'll wait for another opportunity," he thought.
No matter how he looked at it, the situation still felt unresolved.
He didn't know what Oguri Cap had said.
And that uncertainty lingered.
"She wouldn't have told Dober about that, would she?"
The thought surfaced, uninvited.
If that line had been crossed, the consequences would not be simple discomfort—it could affect Dober's mental state in ways that directly impacted her performance.
"That would only make things worse—"
Shuta An exhaled slowly.
"I'll need to find a chance to get Oguri to tell me exactly what she said."
The Shuka Sho was only a few months away. He could not allow any instability—no matter how minor—to interfere with Mejiro Dober's trajectory. Even if the cause had nothing to do with him directly—he would not take that risk.
—
The next time he opened his eyes—
He was already in the Dream World.
—
That day, Shuta An had been invited to the Mihono Training Center by Iizuka Yoshitsugu.
It wasn't a training day, and with no immediate duties, he had accepted the invitation without hesitation.
"Trainer Iizuka invited me here most likely for Rice Shower's second-half planning."
The thought formed naturally as he stepped into the stable.
"And probably something else."
"Shuta-kun," Iizuka Yoshitsugu greeted him, already preparing a glass of iced barley tea. "Come, sit."
"Thank you."
After taking his seat, Shuta An didn't waste time.
"This invitation it's about Rice Shower's second-half plan, correct?"
"That's part of it," Iizuka Yoshitsugu replied, placing the glass in front of him. "There's also a personal matter."
"Oh?"
That drew a reaction.
In Shuta An's impression, this Trainer—old enough to be his grandfather—lived a life that was almost rigid in its simplicity. Personal matters were rare.
"Yes," Iizuka Yoshitsugu nodded. "But we'll discuss Rice Shower first."
He sat down across from Shuta An, his expression turning slightly more serious.
"This summer, Rice Shower's weight increased from 432 kilograms at the Japanese Derby to 460 kilograms. Once he resumes full training, that will come down again. I estimate he'll be around 430 to 440 kilograms by the time he's ready to race."
"That's within expectations," Shuta An replied after a brief pause. "If we're aiming to challenge Mihono Bourbon at the Kikuka Sho, training intensity will increase. Controlling his weight to around 435 kilograms would be more suitable for long-distance conditions."
Strictly speaking, that was the Groom's responsibility.
As a jockey, there was little he could directly do—aside from something as crude as limiting his intake.
"I originally planned to have his face Mihono Bourbon again in the Kyoto Shimbun Hai," Iizuka Yoshitsugu continued, his gaze steady. "But I recalled Tokai Teio's route last year."
He paused.
"So I'd like your opinion. Should Rice Shower go directly to the Kikuka Sho?"
Shuta An didn't answer immediately.
His thoughts moved quickly, but not chaotically.
Tokai Teio had skipped preparatory races because of concerns about long-distance adaptability. Reducing strain had been the priority then.
Rice Shower was different.
Distance was not his weakness.
The Kyoto Shimbun Hai—2200 meters.
At that range, Mihono Bourbon still held the advantage.
Even if Rice Shower won—the margin would matter.
A narrow victory would only invite doubt. It would give Mihono Bourbon's camp a reason to adjust, to refine, to return stronger.
And at the Kikuka Sho—that adjustment would become pressure.
If Rice Shower wanted to silence all uncertainty, there was only one way.
Win decisively.
Overwhelmingly.
Without giving room for reinterpretation.
Which meant—
Not giving them a preview.
Not giving them data.
Not giving them time.
—
The conclusion settled.
Shuta An looked up.
"I think it's better to go straight," he said calmly. "Let Mihono Bourbon's camp be caught off guard."
"I see."
Iizuka Yoshitsugu didn't hesitate.
"Then I'll arrange for him to return to the stable in mid-September. One month of focused preparation for the Kikuka Sho."
Shuta An simply nodded.
There was nothing more for him to add.
After all, the final decisions belonged to the Trainer.
—
"Now about the personal matter."
Iizuka Yoshitsugu rubbed the tip of his nose, his earlier composure loosening slightly.
"My nephew is currently working as a Groom. He plans to take the Trainer qualification exam in the future."
Shuta An listened quietly.
"I was thinking—" Iizuka Yoshitsugu continued, his tone turning a bit awkward, "if possible, when the time comes, perhaps Shuta-kun could ride one of his horses—help him secure his first win early. Build some confidence."
"That's it?" Shuta An's expression shifted. "And he hasn't even passed the exam yet, right?"
"That's correct," Iizuka Yoshitsugu admitted, letting out a small, embarrassed laugh. "But he's my only nephew. Naturally, I want to do whatever I can."
His honesty was almost disarming.
"His name is Tezuka Takahisa," he added. "I'll introduce him when there's an opportunity. He graduated top of his class from Keio University's Faculty of Business and Commerce. I convinced him to join the JRA as a Groom with just one sentence."
"No wonder." Shuta An couldn't help but smile. "A top Keio graduate giving up conventional career paths—of course you'd want to support him."
"Ahaha…"
Iizuka Yoshitsugu scratched his head, the awkwardness returning.
But there was no regret in it.
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