Not surprised—because Shuta An had already anticipated that the French URA Association would take notice of him.
Surprised—because he didn't expect just any ordinary staff member to recognize him on sight and approach him so proactively.
He steadied himself and murmured inwardly, "It seems the French URA Association is rather friendly toward me."
With that realization, he knew he had to keep his emotions in check for the time being.
"I must think for Oguri," he reminded himself. "Grandma's matter can be investigated later—right now, Oguri comes first."
He believed that even if his parents were here, they would fully support him cooperating with the French URA Association for the sake of his Uma Musume.
Returning to the conversation, he addressed the staff member politely. "I'm here to request some photocopies of documents."
"Oh? What documents do you need?" the young woman blinked, curious.
To her, it was natural to assume Shuta An might try to leverage his status for some special convenience. Not because she held prejudice—simply because the French URA Association had seen similar cases before.
"I'd like ten years' worth of May meteorological data for Chantilly Racecourse and Longchamp Racecourse," he said. "And the turf maintenance plans for both racecourses for this April and May."
The staff member paused to think before responding, "The meteorological data is fine. But the turf maintenance plan is considered sensitive. I'll need my superior's approval."
Then, tilting her head, she added, "Not many people ask for these documents. Are they really that useful to Mr. Shuta?"
"I need them, so naturally they serve a purpose." He had no intention of explaining—anyone knowledgeable would understand immediately.
"Understood. Please wait in the lounge for a moment," she said, guiding him to the room before heading off.
When the President of the French URA Association heard the request, he approved it without hesitation.
"The maintenance plans may be 'sensitive,' but who doesn't know them every year? Chantilly and Longchamp don't bother hiding them—why should we? If he wants them, give them to him."
"I'll prepare the documents then," the staff member replied with a polite bow before leaving the office.
Once she was gone, the President picked up his phone, hesitating.
"Should I notify them? Logically, they should already know Alice's child has returned, yet they haven't made a move. If I say something now— am I overstepping?" He muttered for a while before firming his resolve.
"If I stay silent and something happens, the blame will fall on me. If I say it and they don't act—that's their business."
With a mindset of avoiding unnecessary trouble, he dialed the number.
Meanwhile, in the lounge, Shuta An waited patiently until the staff member returned with the documents.
"Thank you very much." He stood, sincerely grateful, and prepared to leave.
He couldn't wait to analyze the data and plan Oguri Cap's strategies for the next two races.
"Oguri's best style right now is hold-up. But neither Longchamp's 1600 meters nor Chantilly's 2400 meters favor a hold-up runner…" He exhaled in frustration. "If only I had a way to teach her the 'Senko no Oni' technique."
At the same time, inside the Student Council office of Paris Central Tracen Academy, Sagace—put down her phone. (Note: I don't know who she is, I put it as it is)
"What's wrong?" Rainbow Quest—looked up. "Did the URA Association call another meeting you need to attend?"
"No." Sagace shook her head. "That old man just informed me that Alice's child brought the Uma Musume he trains to France."
Rainbow Quest blinked. "Coming here from America at this timing? What race are they challenging?"
"Not America—Japan," Sagace corrected with a shrug. "It's wild. A Uma Musume from such a backward region attempting to enter our Classic races."
"What's so strange about that?" Rainbow Quest didn't mind. "This year's generation isn't particularly strong. Naturally, outsiders will take interest."
"But it's Japan!" Sagace puffed her cheeks. "Japanese Derby winners can't even secure an advantage in our G3 races, yet he directly entered his Uma Musume into the 2000 Guineas?!"
Rainbow Quest could tell that Sagace's irritation stemmed from her feeling that Alice's son was looking down on the races of his mother's homeland. Yet Rainbow Quest—who understood the academy's internal situation far better—knew the truth: the current French Classic generation runner simply wasn't strong.
"Last year's 1000 Guineas winner, Miss Miesque, doesn't even come back to campus because she can't find appropriate sparring partners. She'd rather stay in a hotel." She sighed inwardly. "I wonder if any of this year's debuting students can revive the glory of French Uma Musumes."
As she mulled over the word "glory," a more pressing concern surfaced in her mind.
She turned to the Student Council President. "Speaking of which, who from the Academy plans to enter the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe this year?"
"Emmm—" Sagace froze. After mentally running through the list, she found no one at the Academy currently qualified—unless new talent emerged from the Classic races.
"Trempolino, after winning last year's Arc, confidently challenged the Breeders' Cup Turf in America—and was beaten by Theatrical by half a length. She lost heart afterward and announced her retirement. Now we have no one who can confidently face Tony Bianca in the Arc." Rainbow Quest stated bluntly. "We need to start cultivating our juniors. The glory of the Arc can't always be taken by foreign Uma Musumes."
(IRL Tony Bianca name is Tony Bin)
"You're right" Sagace fell silent, finally letting out a long sigh.
Shuta An neither knew nor cared about the conversation happening between the Student Council President and Vice President at Paris Central Tracen Academy. After securing the documents he needed, he scanned them into his computer and immediately immersed himself in analysis. Originally, Oguri Cap and Berno Light had planned to drag him out for an evening stroll, but he declined.
"Trainer was free before, but after going out today, he suddenly got busy," Berno Light grumbled. "I don't know what happened."
"It should be related to my race," Oguri Cap replied simply—an obvious truth that earned her a dramatic eye-roll from the chestnut-haired girl.
"Well, if Trainer won't say anything, we can't help," Berno said helplessly. "Oguri, let's go for another walk."
"Mm. And afterward, I'll go over everything Miss Miesque taught me today," Oguri Cap nodded.
Hearing that, Berno Light muttered under her breath, "If Oguri keeps studying, then won't I be the idlest one here?"
She didn't want to stay idle and useless.
"If I don't find something to do, my significance here will just fade" Berno Light began racking her brain. "I need to think of how I can contribute."
Molitor Paris – MGallery, located near Longchamp Racecourse, had plenty of places to explore at night—Parc des Princes, the Seine, Balzac's House. But since neither of the two Uma Musume cared much for football or literature, their destination was obvious.
They headed straight for the Seine. A few minutes into the walk, Oguri Cap noticed that although Berno Light had been the one to pull her out, she seemed oddly distracted.
"Is Berno thinking about something?" Oguri finally voiced her doubt. "If something's bothering you, tell me—we can think about it together."
"It's nothing," Berno waved it off—then, as if struck by a thought, she looked at Oguri. "Oguri, we'll always be together in the future, right?"
"Eh?" Oguri blinked, confused. But seeing Berno's expression and the longing in her eyes, the gray-haired girl gently nodded.
"Mm."
Relief washed over Berno's face. "Good. Now let's go see the night view by the Seine!"
"Let's go. That was the plan anyway," Oguri said, relaxing as Berno's mood stabilized.
Meanwhile, on the media side, preparations for the Classic season had begun. By April, every French publication focused on Uma Musume racing was already busy.
"This year's Classic generation— I really don't see any standout contenders," sighed Mr. Boussac, editor-in-chief of Paris Turf, the largest newspaper in the French racing world.
"Besides Blushing John, none of the prep-race performers left any impression," he muttered, scanning through the list of intended runners for the French 1000 and 2000 Guineas.
At the very bottom was Oguri Cap—quiet, unfamiliar, a foreign entry from Japan.
"So we're really going to have to hype up an overseas Uma Musume for publicity?" Boussac frowned. "What level could a Japanese runner possibly be? Even if she won a G2, it was still just a Japanese G2. She probably won't adapt to Chantilly's turf either."
"Her trainer is far more interesting." His gaze moved to the name beside Oguri Cap.
"That name~ it sounds familiar." He tapped his finger rhythmically on the desk, digging through his memory.
And then it clicked.
"Ah. He must be Miss Alice's child. I remember how disappointed everyone was when her firstborn turned out to be a boy."
Understandable—France's Triple Tiara queen could only pass down her legacy through a daughter. A son meant that lineage ended, at least in racing.
"After that, Miss Alice refused all interviews to protect her family's privacy. In the end, no one knew much about that child." Boussac tapped the table again. "But logically, landing a job on the West Coast shouldn't have been hard. Surely the cold-blooded Americans didn't fire him because of last year's stock crash and economic downturn— right?"
With that, the editor already began constructing a dramatic narrative in his head— A noble orphan cast out by villains, struggling alone in the countryside, now returning to the stage to conquer the world with his team.
Unfortunately, this time, the "world" he aimed to conquer happened to be France's Twinkle Series.
"The more I think about it, the more I feel this kid will generate news." Boussac licked his lips. "Let's start digging into him."
As soon as the editor decided, the staff of Paris Turf began working. Of course, not all attention went to Shuta An—Boussac would never allow tunnel vision in his newsroom.
—
The next morning, after finishing training, Shuta An suddenly decided not to return to the hotel. Instead, he headed to a café. He ordered another flat white and sat in a quiet corner, ready to enjoy a moment of peace. He had barely taken a sip when Miss Miesque arrived—with a serious expression.
"What's wrong? Is something wrong with Oguri?" Shuta dropped his relaxed demeanor at once.
"No, this is about you, Mr. Shuta," she clarified immediately. "Paris Turf is preparing to dig up information about you. It would be wise to stay alert for a while."
"Let them dig." Shuta An remained unfazed. "I don't have anything to hide."
He had always lived with one principle: stand upright, act openly. No need for guilt—no need for fear.