"Da… za Demon King has truly returned!" Mischa's voice boomed, his hands gripping the edge of the VIP railing so tightly it creaked under the strain.
"Marvelous! Simply marvelous!" Adel laughed gaudily beside him, throwing an arm around Mischa's shoulders before shaking him back and forth with wild enthusiasm. "Using information to its utmost potential! Ohhh this—this is art!"
They both cackled in unison, a strange harmony of glee that made their trainees—lined up beside them—look on with wary, almost fearful expressions.
"…are they okay?" one muttered.
"I think they've gone mad," another whispered.
Meanwhile, Lucien wasn't cackling—he was smirking to himself, leaning casually against the railing with one hand resting on his scarf. His eyes tracked a single Uma in the pack. Nice Nature was weaving subtly, eyes scanning, frustration bleeding into her expression.
"Well played, mon ami…" Lucien murmured under his breath. She was looking for the two primary targets he'd told her to disrupt—but they were ghosts, gone from where she'd expected them to be.
The announcer's voice cracked as he finally shook free of his own disbelief.
"M—MEJIRO MCQUEEN HAS TAKEN FIRST PLACE FROM THE START!"
The crowd gasped, the stands vibrating with shock. This wasn't McQueen's style—ever. She was the type to hang back and surge late, not to dominate from the opening stride.
"And she's already two lengths ahead of Silence Suzuka! Unbelievable—Suzuka is chasing!"
On the big screen, Suzuka's focused expression was framed next to McQueen's, the two locked in a battle for supremacy right out of the gate.
"MEANWHILE—SPECIAL WEEK IS FAR BACK! SHE'S HANGING IN TENTH PLACE, WELL AWAY FROM THE PACK!"
The camera cut to her, jogging at what seemed to be a relaxed pace, smiling as if she were on a morning run rather than a G1 race. The crowd didn't know what to make of it.
Nice Nature glanced over her shoulder at her—then forward again, a grim frown setting in. She didn't like this. Not one bit.
As the race progressed into the second corner, Suzuka's incredible acceleration began to narrow the gap between her and McQueen. Meanwhile, Special Week's "comfortable" spot suddenly turned claustrophobic as the middle pack closed in, boxing her tight between two bulkier runners.
Beside Akuma in the stands, Tachyon's voice was calm but edged with warning. "They're in trouble. Your plan threw the competition off, but all that gets them is confusion at the start. Now they have to deal with raw positioning and pace, and in this crowd—"
"Don't underestimate them," Akuma interrupted, his eyes never leaving the track.
McQueen could hear Suzuka's breathing behind her, faint but steady. She knew the rising legend's stride—it wasn't a matter of if Suzuka would overtake her, but when. But instead of letting the fear creep in, McQueen shifted her weight forward, dropping her center of gravity a hair lower.
Her inner ear screamed at her, the track tilting in her perception as she subtly leaned into the curve, shaving precious fractions of a second from her stride. Her feet barely skimmed the dirt, her body riding the momentum of the bend like a racing yacht catching the perfect gust.
The crowd noticed—
"McQueen's form—what is this!? She's increasing her speed on the turn!?"
Suzuka narrowed her eyes. This wasn't standard racing posture—it was risky. But it was working.
Back in the mid-pack, Special Week felt the pressure closing in. One Uma to her left kept edging toward her lane, the one to her right keeping her boxed tight. The rail ahead wasn't far—if she stayed here, her shot was gone.
She clenched her jaw.
No way.
On the second corner's outer edge, she dug her hind hoof deep into the track—hard enough that dirt exploded behind her. The momentum almost jarred her teeth, but it gave her the snap she needed. Her body pivoted off the line of force, slingshotting her laterally toward the open side of the pack.
Spectators gasped as her sudden burst sent her out wide, skimming the edge of the group before slipping into a new lane.
"Special Week just launched herself out of the pack! Did she just—did she actually use the corner as a pivot!?"
She grinned as she settled back into rhythm, now free from the traffic jam. It wasn't pretty—but it worked.
McQueen hit the third furlong still ahead, though Suzuka was closing in. The crowd was deafening now, waves of cheers crashing over each stride. Suzuka's shadow stretched longer and longer on the dirt beside her.
Hold the line, McQueen thought. She shifted her breathing—two quick inhales, one deep exhale—matching it to her stride cycle. Her muscles screamed, but the subtle change let her keep her speed without burning too hot.
From the stands, Adel was pounding his fists against the railing. "YEEEES! That's it! Every ounce of preparation, every calculation—beautiful!"
By the backstretch, Special Week had climbed to sixth place. She could see the leaders now—Suzuka and McQueen, with a small gap to Teio and another two runners behind her.
Her eyes lit up.
Time to close it.
She tilted her head ever so slightly, scanning for rhythm breaks in the pack ahead. Every runner had one—a micro-hesitation, a posture shift, a moment where their speed dipped by a fraction. She locked onto Teio's tell: a tiny upward jerk of the chin every ninth stride.
When the moment came, Special Week slipped into the inside lane, sliding past two runners in a breath. The crowd's reaction followed her like a wave.
Final corner. Suzuka was now shoulder-to-shoulder with McQueen.
McQueen's heart pounded—not with fear, but exhilaration. The calculated risk had paid off so far, but here was the real test. Suzuka's burst was legendary in this phase of the race.
Not this time.
Instead of trying to match Suzuka's stride for stride, McQueen subtly altered the length of her own—shorter, sharper steps through the apex of the curve, then a sudden extension as she came out of it. It was like coiling a spring, then letting it snap.
She shot forward by half a length just as they hit the home stretch.
Special Week came out of the corner with clear track ahead. She kicked hard, her acceleration startling the runners behind her. Fifth place melted into fourth, then third. Her eyes locked on the blue-and-white blur of McQueen's tail ahead.
In the stands, the announcer was shouting so fast he was almost incoherent.
"McQueen's holding! Suzuka's not backing down! Special Week—Special Week is flying down the center! THIS RACE IS A WAR!"