One runner in command.
Then—pull the camera wide, and you can finally see the pack behind.
It wasn't that she'd opened some impossible gap—the race had only just begun. What mattered was this: no one ran beside Garden Gale. She was out in front, leading the whole field alone.
Steady breathing.
Cold February air filled her lungs, feeding her body as her heart rate climbed.
That power seemed to throb under her skin—and yet her form stayed impossibly clean.
Or rather—it was beautiful.
Not the kind of beauty you could sum up with one neat phrase, so here's a frame of reference: Go watch Kipchoge run—the way his stride looks effortless, natural, almost like it was made for the road.
Garden Gale had the beginnings of that. Watching her run was pleasing in itself—enough to make you stop and stare.
Her spike bit deep into the turf.
The next drive was even harder—so hard it looked like the shoe might twist under the force of the push-off.
You could see it, plain as day: she wanted to win.
She couldn't lose.
Garden Gale couldn't lose. So she cut off every possible point of failure, dragging the outcome into her own hands. Maybe sitting in the pack would save stamina and set up a better burst later—but what if she got boxed in again, and [A Prodigy's Intuition] didn't fire?
…Then the answer was simple.
Run.
Just like this.
Run ahead of everyone.
Pour out everything she could pour. Tighten every resolve she could tighten.
Garden Gale wanted to lead from start to finish— straight through the tape.
And the instant that thought settled, danger flared in her chest.
That feeling of being targeted.
No matter what, Umamusume had something primal at their core; their monstrous bodies came from that. It made them sensitive to hunting and being hunted—sharp, immediate, undeniable.
Garden Gale felt it: someone behind her was about to explode.
She didn't need to look to know where that prickling pressure came from—
Admire Vega.
So she's moving already?
Garden Gale's mind stayed strangely calm as she weighed it.
Looks like Admire Vega was the same type as her—someone who couldn't hold it in. Someone who wouldn't tolerate the ordinary, who wouldn't just let Garden Gale coast to the finish. She'd do whatever her hunger for victory demanded.
So this wasn't going to be some boring "final spurt decides everything" kind of race.
It was going to be you pass me, I pass you.
And honestly, turning a race into that kind of brawl took guts.
Normally, with no clear front-runner, everyone kept the tempo steady, saved it for the stretch, and sprinted.
But Garden Gale was the anomaly that shattered the rhythm.
Admire Vega couldn't wait anymore—no, she was starving. She wanted to get past Garden Gale. Her calves began to pour out power, tensing tight, then releasing—driving her speed higher.
She accelerated for real.
If you didn't know any better, you'd think Admire Vega was a front-runner—the type who breaks away early and never looks back. But that wasn't her. Her strength was late surge: conserve in the pack, then launch from the outside like lightning in the endgame.
…And yet, now—
"ADMIRE VEGA IS COMING UP! ADMIRE VEGA IS ACCELERATING!"
Even the announcer's surprise landed at just the right moment. They knew this consecutive graded winner well—but they didn't understand the choice. There was nothing tricky on the track. No accidents. No pressure from behind.
So why now?
Confusion—and then, through that confusion,
Admire Vega accelerated fully, reeled her in, and drew level with Garden Gale.
Garden Gale could even feel it—the wind resistance like a blade, shaving at her face.
As if it were saying:
I'm passing you.
Ah…
Then come and try.
Garden Gale's own ferocity answered. She didn't let Admire Vega go by uncontested. Her feet sped up too, and her center of gravity sank—lower, lower, lower—so low it made everyone stare.
A posture close to Tokai Teio's low, grounded run—so low it looked wrong, like she was cheating physics.
Just like that, she flew—she skimmed over the green.
Seeing it, even Symboli Rudolf, who'd braced herself for almost anything, said aloud, "That girl… evolved again."
…She pressed a hand to her forehead.
For a moment she didn't even know what to say. Garden Gale had evolved again since last time. Her growth was too fast… too sharp. Too unnatural.
But—and this mattered—even with Garden Gale dropping low and accelerating…
Admire Vega passed her anyway, clean and merciless, surging right by her shoulder. Her form stayed fluid, her speed bursting forth like an arrow loosed at point-blank range.
At the instant she overtook—even Garden Gale's hair lifted from the shock of it, strands snapping up into the air.
And in those strands… their owner's pupils tightened.
She clearly hadn't expected to be passed that easily.
Then—she clicked her tongue, and let out a soft laugh.
Now this is a race.
She forced down her restless heart. They hadn't even reached the second corner yet, and it was already this thrilling—this sharp, brutal head-to-head.
Garden Gale didn't rush to take the lead back. Instead, she eased off a fraction, choosing to clear the corner first before doing anything else.
And then—
This wasn't a debut race.
It wasn't as if the other Umamusume would just watch, unmoved. Even if they weren't as strong as Admire Vega, they'd won graded stakes, open-class (OP), even pre-OP races before. They had experience. They had pride.
And they realized they couldn't let these two run off into the distance.
They had to reel them in.
So—the pack, thrown into chaos, surged from behind. The thunderous applause became iron shoes pounding turf—cheers made of hooves.
Intertwined with the roar of the crowd.
Eyes locked.
Everyone watched the needlepoint clash at the front, watched the pack's late surge, and felt their blood start to boil.
Yes.
This was the kind of race they came to see.
Because it was good.
Overtakes.
Constant overtakes—you pass me, I pass you—the order flipping again and again.
In an instant, the battlefield changed a thousand ways.
Now this was interesting.
...
They cleared the second corner cleanly.
Garden Gale ignored the swelling momentum behind.
Instead—she fixed her eyes on Admire Vega's back.
Garden Gale straightened her calves, coiling power—
Admire Vega, here I come.