Chapter 169: The Pinnacle of a Racer
Makoto had not forgotten his earlier intention of having Kitasan Black study those three racers.
He had even planned out exactly how he would explain which aspects she should pay attention to.
At first glance, Seiun Sky's strategy this race seemed to be a recreation of her Kikuka Sho tactics—but the acceleration in the third turn proved that this was only a decoy.
Her pace from the opening to mid-race was far too similar to "pace deception," and because of that, most of the other Umamusume were likely focused only on the tactical layer… and accidentally neglected the basics.
For someone who could win a 3000-meter G1, Seiun Sky's stamina was unquestionable.
Which meant that in this 2000-meter race, maintaining a high pace for the first 600 meters was child's play for her.
She had openly conserved stamina in front of everyone—only choosing this moment to unleash her full power.
Doing so, of course, invited pursuit.
The sequential acceleration from Special Week and Grass Wonder was proof of that.
But since everyone had been overly focused on tactics earlier, their sudden chase now forced the pursuers into immediate conflict over positioning.
Special Week and Grass Wonder were both stuck behind Seiun Sky—neither could close the distance easily anymore.
As expected, this was the exact timing Seiun Sky had envisioned for her victory.
This strategy, like "pace deception," was simple to explain but incredibly difficult to execute in a real race.
In comparison, another Kikuka Sho winner—Taiki Shuttle—had a much simpler tactic.
She didn't need to care about whatever Seiun Sky had planned.
All she needed to do was maintain consistently good positioning.
That alone allowed her to advance when it was critical, with enough stamina and enough distance remaining to accelerate.
What she needed to do next was even simpler:
Maintain rhythm.
Wait for the right moment.
Then—just like in her Kikuka Sho—arrest the front running leader.
And this time, the "front runner" wasn't even performing a true extreme solo front-run.
That was all.
Mejiro Bright's strategy was somewhere between Seiun Sky's complexity and Taiki Shuttle's simplicity.
Compared to Seiun Sky's intricate deception, Bright set her late-charge plan from the start—and she was the only end closer in the entire race, sparing her from entanglement with others.
Compared to Taiki Shuttle, her strategy was more complex:
At every turn, she skillfully surrendered part of her resistance to centrifugal force, drifting outward little by little.
By doing so, she minimized stamina consumption while positioning herself ideally in the current curve.
More importantly, inching closer to the outer lanes meant that she avoided all interference, and could begin the long-distance racer signature "sustained acceleration" earlier than anyone else.
Now, she was still running on the farthest outside of every opponent—yet her speed was matching that of the suddenly accelerating King Halo, Mejiro Dober, and Seiun Sky.
Makoto was fully aware of all of this.
But amid the blazing atmosphere, he too found himself burning with a different kind of fever.
The rational analysis in his mind collided with the fierce clashes unfolding before his eyes, making his gaze sparkle with an intensity he had never felt before.
The light in his eyes burned so fiercely it seemed as if it could ignite the air around him.
He stared at every figure on the track, refusing to miss even a single brilliant moment.
His cheeks flushed from excitement, his breath came fast, his chest heaving with adrenaline.
His body leaned forward, as if he might burst onto the track and run alongside the racer.
His hands clenched unconsciously, knuckles turning white from the pressure.
A sharp sting ran through his fingertips as his nails scraped the railing—he instinctively pulled back, only to grip the adjacent bar even harder.
"Do you see it, Kitasan? This is the charm! This is what I've been chasing! They're nowhere near their limits—this level is still far from their true limits!
"The pinnacle of a racer is far more extreme than I ever imagined!"
Makoto's hand was gripping Kitasan Black's.
Suddenly having her hand taken made Kitasan Black freeze for a moment.
Her gaze, which had been fixed intently on the track, shifted instantly to their joined hands.
She couldn't control it—her usually carefree face flushed with a rare hint of red.
But because of the burning atmosphere of the race, and because her cheeks were already rosy with excitement, that blush looked completely natural, just part of the thrill.
She blinked and instinctively tried to pull her hand back.
But for some reason… when she felt the intense heat of his palm, she halted.
She raised her head to look at her Trainer.
Those familiar eyes weren't looking at her at all—they were still locked onto the track, blazing with feverish brilliance.
His mouth was still running nonstop:
"Even after retirement they can still run like this…"
"As expected, Kitasan's true limit hasn't been reached yet…"
Hearing her own name slip out between those breathless, excited words, the heat in her palm seemed to rise along with her pulse.
Kitasan Black felt her heartbeat quicken for reasons she couldn't explain.
A strange, never-before-felt sensation welled up in her chest.
Her lips curled into a small, foolish smile without her realizing it.
She no longer tried to pull her hand away.
She let her Trainer keep holding it—then quietly tightened her grip in return.
The large hand holding hers did not squeeze back, but the heat radiating from it was unmistakable.
It conveyed passion, exhilaration—the same energy he always had whenever he talked about extreme sports.
Her eyes drifted back to the track, but her thoughts wandered far away.
Images flashed through her mind:
Her Trainer's usual calm and dependable face… then the fiery, youthful energy he had just shown moments ago.
A new emotion rose faintly in her chest.
Along with it came a thought that grew clearer and clearer:
If my limit is what Trainer hopes for… then the next race, and the one after that…
Her hand tightened again, squeezing his.
Makoto, however, noticed none of this—not her expression, not the subtle grip.
His eyes were glued to the runners entering the final turn.
He didn't know what exactly he was muttering under his breath, but he knew one thing for certain:
Everything on the track was exceeding his expectations.
From the start to this clash—it was all still far from the Umamusume's true limits.
"Everyone! The final turn is about to end! No need to say it again—the heat of this race speaks for itself! Every runner is giving everything they've got!"
The commentator's voice thundered across Tokyo Racecourse:
"Leading the pack is still Seiun Sky! Her acceleration in the turn has opened a five-length gap!"
"Special Week and Grass Wonder are still chasing, but they're slowing each other down—"
"Wait! They're closing in!"
"Still tangled with each other, but they're accelerating together—they're chasing Seiun Sky in unison!"
"The gap is shrinking! It's shrinking! Four… three lengths… two lengths!"
"It's still shrinking—there's another pursuer!"
"El Condor Pasa!!"
"Trapped in the center of the pack this whole time, El— now she's finally burst free!"
"An opening appeared as the turn straightened ever so slightly—El Condor Pasa caught it!"
"With razor-sharp technique, she seized that tiny gap and flipped her disadvantage!"
The roaring crowd and the commentator's cracking voice echoed each other as the race reached its peak.
And on the track, veins bulged on Seiun Sky's forehead, sweat dripping down her cheeks as she gritted her teeth—and laughed bitterly.
"So even this can't stop you guys, huh…? And you, Co-chan—can't you go bother Spe-chan instead?"
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