Supporting Duramente as best as she could, Kitasan Black was so utterly drained she initially didn't catch the words her companion whispered between exhausted breaths.
Aside from concern for her friend's condition, her heart was awash in confusion and frustration.
In the end... she still overtook me. Kitasan thought gloomily.
Yet, she felt oddly at peace.
She had truly given this race her all.
As far back as she could remember, she'd never collapsed from exhaustion—not in training, nor in her races before or after her debut.
But at this moment, she felt exhausted like never before.
The opening surge, that steep slope, gradient acceleration through the first and second turns, pacing adjustments along the mid-stretch, second acceleration through turns three and four, the sharp bend, another grueling climb, and finally the homestretch…
At every segment, with every step, she'd pushed herself to the absolute limit, channeling every drop of her day-after-day training. Honestly, she wasn't sure she could replicate this performance even if she ran again.
Having done all she could, there was nothing she couldn't accept.
Yet, she still felt apologetic.
Her family and friends who always believed in her, the seniors who guided her training, her longtime idol Teio-senpai, her fans from all walks of life, the juniors she recently got acquainted with, and her trainer who had sacrificed so much…
They had supported her wholeheartedly, yet she had lost the race.
No matter how I think about it, facing them will still be hard...
As that thought crossed her mind, Kitasan finally noticed Duramente's stunned expression and registered the astonished shouts echoing throughout the stadium.
"A—a photo finish? So, who actually won?"
"It should be Duramente, right? Six lengths! She closed a six-length gap in just the last 200 meters!"
"Yeah, that's what I think, too. Probably even more than six lengths, considering Duramente was still toward the rear of the middle pack when she launched that sprint."
"But it looked like Kitasan Black from where I stood! They crossed the line together, and I think Kitasan was slightly ahead."
"So, what about the judges? Still no announcement?"
Kitasan Black froze as well. Listening dumbly for a moment, she blinked and then swiftly raised her head to stare at the huge screen opposite the grandstands.
On the scoreboard, names from third to fifth place were already displayed.
In the spots for first and second, no names appeared—just bright red letters:
"Photo Finish Under Review."
Unconsciously, the two long ears atop her head began twitching up and down, left and right, as if performing calisthenics. Kitasan stood there stunned a moment longer, eyes widening in shock.
"Ehhh—?! A photo finish? This... this is…"
"Yeah, a photo finish indeed..."
Resting against Kitasan's arm for a moment had helped Duramente regain some of her strength.
She chuckled softly, glancing briefly at the scoreboard before facing Kitasan directly.
"You really are incredible, Kita-chan."
"Huh? What made you say that all of a sudden...?"
Meeting Duramente's gaze, Kitasan blinked a few times, scratching her head bashfully before smiling earnestly.
"I actually think you're the amazing one, Crushing-chan.
"Down that final stretch, just when I thought I had it won, you came charging up with a bang.
"To be honest, I was sure I'd lost until they said it was a photo finish…"
"But in the end, you probably still won, didn't you? After all…"
Kitasan Black trailed off suddenly, uncertainly pressing her lips together before abruptly changing the subject.
"Oh, right! There's something I wanted to ask. Crushing-chan, during that final sprint just now... did you feel anything unusual?"
Before crossing the finish line, Kitasan had indeed briefly felt that victory was hers.
Exiting the final turn, based purely on her sense of the hoofbeats behind, she knew her closest pursuer was Cheval Grand.
If her performance had matched the Spring Stakes, she wouldn't have been confident of holding off that rival.
She'd experienced Cheval Grand's late kick firsthand and knew that if she led by only the same margin as before, she'd definitely be overtaken this time.
But in today's Satsuki Sho, aside from briefly losing the lead to Clear Sky at the start, the race had gone remarkably smoothly.
Her daily training had paid off exceptionally well—so well, in fact, that she'd even surprised herself.
Entering the final stretch showdown, she'd maintained a five-to-six horse-length lead, and still had energy in reserve.
With both distance and stamina advantages, even though explosive sprints weren't her specialty, she was certain that Cheval Grand couldn't possibly catch her before the finish line.
And yet, Duramente had suddenly appeared from nowhere.
After a month of training together, Kitasan was similarly familiar with her friend's galloping rhythm.
But this time, those familiar footsteps were unusually, impossibly swift.
Even more inexplicable was that as those powerful strides drew near, Kitasan felt a strange sensation—as if all her strength had been drained from her body.
Perhaps it wasn't an illusion.
It was precisely because of that powerless sensation that she'd had to expend extra effort to break free, nearly causing herself to stall entirely.
This was what prompted her question—just what exactly had happened with Duramente at that moment?
Meanwhile, at the very front of the spectator stands, the same conversation was taking place.
Arms folded, eyes fixed on the two figures standing beyond the finish line, Tokai Teio's eyes flickered with astonishment.
"There's no mistake—even if it was only for an instant, Duramente definitely entered the [Zone]."
"Seriously? She's still only a Classic-year student, right?"
Beside her, Daiwa Scarlet was incredulous. "I'll admit her talent is incredible, but to enter the [Zone] at her current stage…"
"But there's no other way to explain what happened out there."
Vodka frowned deeply. "You're also a front-runner, so you should know exactly what Kita-chan's lead meant. She clearly hadn't stalled. Without entering the [Zone], how could anyone possibly close that gap?"
Daiwa Scarlet fell silent, while Special Week and the others wore varying expressions of deep thought and puzzlement.
Yasui Makoto remained quiet.
In one hand, he tightly gripped his ever-present binoculars. His other hand was clenched into a trembling fist.
His fingernails dug painfully into his palm, and that sting felt like a fuse, igniting sensations—the dampness of sweat on his cheeks and nose bridge, the crawling itch like ants marching up his spine, and the waves of murmured speculation around him—into a buzzing pressure pulsing rhythmically in his temples.
The glaring red letters atop the scoreboard burned into his eyes, and after staring blankly for a moment, he quickly shifted his gaze downward.
The black-haired girl's bangs clung limply to her pale forehead. Fatigue like he'd never seen before covered her entire body. Her usually lively, perky ears quivered weakly in the gentle afternoon breeze.
That same breeze brushed across his sweat-soaked back, sending a shiver down his spine.
He trembled involuntarily, losing his grip on the binoculars.
When he bent down to pick them up, for a brief instant he glimpsed his reflection in the lenses—his distorted, tense expression, dry lips, flaring nostrils, bloodshot eyes.
He also saw clearly reflected in those eyes a flame of intense anticipation, beneath which lay confusion and anxiety buried deep within.
Suddenly, the loudspeaker crackled harshly, jolting him upright. Reflexively, he staggered forward.
His toe struck something, but he paid it no mind.
All his previous anxiety and confusion vanished instantly in a surge of overwhelming joy. The stinging pain returned sharply to his palm, while the stadium around him erupted into thunderous noise. Both sensations reached his brain simultaneously.
He found himself irresistibly swept up by the tsunami-like cheers, joining the crowd in shouting the familiar name now displayed at the very top of the scoreboard, replacing those blinding red letters:
...
...
...
...
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"Kitasan Black!!!"