Another mid-race surge?
But this was the St. Leger Stakes. There were still nearly fifteen hundred meters left to run.
Setting aside the stamina Ryoka had already spent on the opening uphill stretch, the headwind alone was enough to make anyone's head ache. And after the next sweeping turn there was still another climb waiting. Was it really all right to accelerate so suddenly here?
If it had been anyone else, the crowd would have said, She's going to hit the wall in the closing stretch. No horse girl can pull that off.
But this was Seiun Ryoka—the undefeated legend.
Most of the spectators chose to trust her judgment. Even the commentator only dared say:
"What a tremendously bold decision!"
Several confident pundits had already had their faces thoroughly slapped by reality, so for the sake of their dignity, the smartest move now was to say less and be wrong less. Better to smooth it over and move on.
Some people thought the host and commentator were simply flattering Ryoka, but most didn't care. After all, her decision really did make their hearts race.
It was not just unde debuted horse girls like Tokai Teio who were shaken by Ryoka's audacity. Even seasoned racers like Rudolf Symbol and Symboli Sirius, and even the former empress Oh So Sharp, found their eyes stolen by Ryoka's recklessness.
That silver-white hair streamed behind her like a pair of pure white wings about to take flight, filling those who saw it with anticipation, making them want to move forward with her. At the same time, it resembled a sacred wash of moonlight, giving off such a powerful sense of reassurance that it stirred courage in the hearts of those watching.
Once seen, it was impossible to look away.
Before anyone realized it, everyone except the most stubborn anti-foreign hardliners had begun to want the same thing:
They wanted to see Seiun Ryoka win.
They wanted to see her crowned again.
They wanted to watch those wings soar into the heavens.
Of course, perhaps it was also because of the way she was running.
How to put it?
At this moment, Ryoka gave off a sensation of effortless power and elegance, as though she had already become one with the gale itself.
Every step had become the perfect solution.
Every sway of her body carried a strange, mesmerizing rhythm, as though she was not fighting the wind at all, but mastering the airflow itself.
It was as if she wasn't running into a headwind—
but with a tailwind at her back.
Watching her, Agnes Tachyon unconsciously held her breath. Her crimson pupils shrank, then trembled. Before she even realized it, the corners of her lips had started to lift.
As a fanatical researcher who worshipped numbers and efficiency, Agnes Tachyon had always preferred to break "running" down into its components, into figures and formulas. That method let her refine her style, optimize her tactics, and better probe the limits of speed.
But now, her overclocked mind abandoned calculation.
She only wanted to carve Seiun Ryoka's running form deep into her memory.
In that figure, she could feel something that could not be quantified—something beyond the reach of physical equations. It was a harmony and a strength so close to art that it defied analysis.
An incomparable beauty.
Even seated in the stands instead of chasing behind her on the track, Tachyon could feel her heart surging.
"Perfect efficiency... no, it's more than that..."
She murmured to herself, fingers unconsciously tightening around the sleeve of her white coat.
A hot, swelling emotion spread through her chest. It was a yearning for a kind of beauty she still did not fully understand. A longing for a posture that seemed to have tempered both body and will to their absolute limit.
An admiration.
Agnes Tachyon swallowed.
She had already liked Seiun Ryoka very much.
Now she liked her even more.
Meanwhile, in another section of the stands, little Zhuofu, straining up on tiptoe, wore a huge smile, her lovely face flushed crimson.
Her feelings were the complete opposite of Tachyon's.
Data analysis?
Breaking movement down into parts?
She knew nothing about any of that.
What struck her was something much simpler, much more direct.
Those eyes burning with pride.
That silver-white streak like a pair of wings ready to take flight.
That nimble, powerful, and yet elegant figure—
every part of it drew her in.
"So amazing..."
The words slipped out before she knew it.
Zhuofu didn't know how to describe what she felt in Ryoka's running.
Maybe it was a kind of language.
A magnificent poem about possibility, written through motion itself.
A beautiful song about the future, engraved in strength and grace.
Watching Ryoka split the wind and charge forward alone, Zhuofu felt something inside her ignite—a pure, burning urge to become stronger, to one day run with that same blinding brilliance.
She clenched her little fists so tightly her nails bit into her palms, yet she felt no pain at all. All she could feel was the furious pounding of her heart.
Yes—her heart was beating for that distant, radiant figure.
A seed had fallen silently into soil made of pride, stubbornness, and competitiveness.
What kind of flower would bloom from it in the future?
No one could say.
But one thing was certain.
From this moment onward—no, really, it had begun before today—Seiun Ryoka's existence had become like the blazing North Star hanging high in the night sky, pointing an entirely new, exhilarating direction for horse girls who had yet to debut.
"Breaking through the headwind!"
The host shouted at the top of his lungs.
"Seiun Ryoka has cast off that placid early tempo and suddenly accelerated! The others were lured in by the mild pace at the start—they can't match her increase in speed while running into this headwind! With a blistering cadence she's opened a gap so enormous it's almost terrifying! By eye, it has to be over thirty lengths! The cameras can't even get them in the same frame anymore!"
"This is an unbelievable level of stamina and explosive power!"
the commentator cried.
"And this isn't even a full finishing kick—this is a powerful, sustained acceleration, like water gradually coming to a boil, an endless wellspring of force rising up from within!"
Then he turned his attention to the rest of the field.
"Several of the others are still keeping their breathing steady. They're probably calculating the current pace, the distance remaining, and how to distribute what stamina they have left..."
Which raised the obvious question:
Could they catch her?
Could any of them overcome the psychological pressure, launch a desperate chase, and reel her in?
Sanctuary Scion kept her breathing even, her body moving naturally with each stride.
Some of them won't be able to endure this, she thought.
But no—not yet.
If I go after her now...
There would be only one outcome.
She'd burn out in the stretch.
join here to read ahead.
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