On the course, the thunder of cheers still seemed to tremble in the air.
But once that crisp clack sounded, the world shrank to nothing but pounding hooves and racing hearts.
Clack—!
The gates flew open! Thirteen horse girls, stars of this era, burst out like thirteen streaks of light snapping their tethers.
"The race is on!"
The caller fired words like bullets. "A clean break! We're straight into an opening battle for position!"
"Leaping to the fore—King Halo! An explosive start like an arrow from the bow—she seizes the lead without a hint of hesitation!"
The girl in regal silks ran with eyes stripped of doubt.
Across her face burned the color of resolve.
This was her retirement race.
More than anyone, she knew how terrifying the crimson shadow lurking in the pack was. Even last year on this very course, Tamamo Cross hadn't pressed her as hard as the volcano now roaring at her back.
Maybe even her limit—or beyond—wouldn't be enough to withstand that power.
So what?
In this final run, what she sought was not guaranteed victory, but a finish she could face with her head high—no regrets.
To burn everything she had to ash upon this last stage.
"Daitaku Helios right behind—she locks onto King Halo in second!"
The caller kept rolling, but a sight in mid-pack made grizzled fans and trainers alike hold their breaths as one.
Unlike the usual free-for-all, several Pace Chasers and Late Surgers angled inward together, knitting themselves, wordlessly, shoulder-to-shoulder.
Their cadence matched so tightly it looked like a living barricade—will and muscle laid brick on brick—to seal the middle of the course shut.
Their goal was singular—
The Tyrant of Ōi, Inari One, who shadowed the pack unhurried, running as a Late Surger.
A silent declaration.
Facing a power that defied reason, these G1-class elites chose the most direct—and most effective—answer: join forces and build a cage.
"The mid-pack's formed an extremely tight formation! For closers trying to slingshot from the rear, this is a massive roadblock!"
And just as all eyes fixed on that "human wall"—
A blue silhouette slipped the knot.
"Up into third… Super Creek!!"
The caller's pitch snapped upward.
On the turf, the blue-clad girl moved like a specter threading whitewater—
From the far outside, she flowed inward with impossible smoothness, every step landing on the perfect gap, every sidestep a brushstroke. In a handful of breaths she'd swum from that most unfavorable gate to the leading rank.
Third—Super Creek!
As ever, she executed her plan: seize a forward perch early.
"Magnificent racecraft from Super Creek! She's negated the wide draw and carved out a textbook Pace Chaser position!"
Her brown hair framed a face that did not flicker. The roar, the praise—none of it existed.
In her eyes there was only the open stretch ahead—and the script she'd simulated a thousand times.
Yes. Pacing forward was correct.
Use her deepest pride—endurance—to stretch the field from the start, to blunt Inari One's monstrous late kick.
"Haa—"
Her breath came long and even, as though each cycle stored strength that could tilt mountains.
Tenno Sho (Spring)… I underestimated that explosion. That's why the gap yawned so wide.
But this time—
A hotter, deeper blue lit behind Creek's eyes.
—Never again.
Behind her, Yaeno Muteki kept her rhythm, biting down on silvered teeth.
"This tempo… isn't it too fast…?"
Her budō-trained instinct howled, but she forced the unease down and made her body match Creek's footprints.
This was the plan she'd set with Shihan-dai: hold the first flight, do not fall away before the stretch.
Yet instinct kept flaring red: things were off-script.
King Halo was too keyed up.
Her stride and breath had left the range of a sane front-runner.
That burn-it-all resolve was dragging the race to "half-runaway" levels.
By rights, that speed should have prised open a roomy buffer to the pack.
But Creek clung like a shadow under the lamp—glued to Helios in second. With her bottomless stamina she pressed tight to every sense of the leaders.
She was forcing the entire race to synchronize to King Halo's near self-immolating beat.
"Already a top-tier G1 load… and now it's even hotter…"
Even seeing it at a glance, sweat needled Muteki's temple.
In a storm-scored by two titans, her own power wasn't enough to bend the tide. She could only be dragged by the flood and spend everything not to be washed off her feet.
What… do I do…?
The question flashed by like a spark.
…
Dada-da—!
Thirteen sets of legs hammered a drumroll, grass flying in chaff, as they shot out of the first turn.
The shape of the race had formed.
Back of the pack.
Inari One ran in last, wind tossing the fringe over her eyes. She didn't even look at the "wall" cast by the others to pen her in. She dipped her chin and let the gale smear her bangs and shadow her face.
She could feel it ahead—tension, resolve, a thread of fear—all braided and pointed at her.
Her lips curved into a wild, free line.
Not mockery. Joy.
"Keep going—"
A breath-soft invitation. To them ahead—or an order to herself.
She moved.
No thunderclap. Just a half step—an almost invisible slide into the nearest channel she might use to break out.
And when they edged to close it—
Inari, smooth as oil on water, folded back to the rail in one liquid motion.
Open–shut, feint–flow.
In that breath, the wall—seamless a heartbeat before—picked up a thread-fine slack.
Like the savviest hunter alive, she tested with the cheapest moves, the lightest expense—
Probing, probing, probing the limits and seams of the beast-cage the field had built for her.
(End of Chapter)
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