After two undercard races, the first G1 graded stakes of the day at Arlington Racecourse was finally about to begin.
"Suzuka's condition looks excellent today," Shuta An said quietly, his gaze fixed on Silence Suzuka standing motionless on the turf. "It seems the fatigue from the Japanese Derby has completely worn off."
"I followed Ann's instructions and massaged Oguri and Suzuka after every training session," Berno Light added proudly. "Looks like my work paid off!"
"Massage?" Shuta An froze for a moment.
He had taught Berno Light his family's muscle-relaxation techniques—but he had never once used them personally on the Uma Musume under his care.
"I really should've done it myself when I had the chance," he muttered, patting his forehead in silent regret.
On the turf, Silence Suzuka closed her eyes.
She stood there, breathing steadily, quietly sensing the wind brushing past her ears and the faint resistance of the grass beneath her feet.
"Since the Derby—this is my first race," she murmured to herself. "And it's an overseas G1, right from the start."
Her fingers tightened into fists.
"But no matter what race it is, I will always strive for the very front. I will never share the view at the head of the track with anyone. The view from the lead is Mine"
With her eyes still closed, she lifted her chin slightly. Deprived of sight, her other senses sharpened instead.
She could hear her opponents chatting fluently in English nearby—words she didn't fully understand. She could hear the camera car to her left making its final adjustments. A G1 broadcast accident would turn Arlington Racecourse into a laughingstock.
She could hear the restless cheers from the stands. And among them, she could sense a single, unwavering gaze fixed firmly upon her.
"Trainer is watching."
Silence Suzuka opened her eyes.
Her focus snapped into place as she followed the staff's guidance, making her final preparations before entering the gate.
Although it was merely an undercard race on Arlington Million Day, it bore the name of a America legendary Uma Musume—the Secretariat Stakes—and thus drew immense attention.
In pre-race predictions, most experts favored Gate 1's ShowingUp. Beyond that, opinions varied—but not a single analyst named Silence Suzuka as the likely winner.
The reason was simple.
Her résumé contained only one listed race victory in Japan. In American terms, that was little more than an ordinary allowance race. Among all participants, Silence Suzuka possessed the lowest-grade main victory.
Even with Shuta An—who had risen to prominence the year before last—as her Trainer, experts did not believe he could transform a front-runner who had suffered a crushing defeat in the Japanese Derby into a G1 winner here.
"America's turf division may lag behind dirt," some analysts scoffed, "but that doesn't mean just any overseas Uma Musume can come here and treat it like an ATM."
Shuta An neither knew nor cared. The combined achievements of those experts didn't amount to even a fraction of his own.
But Silence Suzuka cared.
She entered the gate. The metal doors shut behind her. Her body lowered slightly, muscles taut, fully prepared for the start.
"I'll prove the results of my training here," she thought. "I won't disappoint Trainer."
Her focus condensed to a razor's edge, poised to tear through the air ahead of her at any moment—
Click.
The gates burst open.
All six Uma Musume sprang forward instantly—but Silence Suzuka's start was visibly sharper. Within fifty meters, she surged into the lead with ease.
ShowingUp, aided by the inside gate, followed a length behind. Half a length further back was Primary, charging forward fiercely from the far outside.
The rest could wait.
Shuta An narrowed his eyes, tracking the carrot-haired Uma Musume at the front of the pack.
"Don't get carried away just because you took the lead," he murmured. "Stick to the plan."
Silence Suzuka's potential was unquestionable—but at this stage, results demanded something unconventional.
In devising the strategy, Shuta An had done two things: he retained Amulet as a safety net, and he demanded that Suzuka maintain a pace as close as possible to 58 seconds per kilometer.
"Arlington's 2000-meter layout gives a 400-meter straight after the break," he recalled. "If she secures the lead smoothly, that straight alone gives her 300 meters to build separation."
More importantly, he was confident of one thing—
Once Silence Suzuka began her escape, none of the other five would dare to follow her closely.
They weren't foolish. A tactic that worked every time wouldn't be called daring. From their perspective, letting her run and waiting for her to slow in the final stretch was the rational choice.
And they wouldn't be wrong.
Without Standard Biological Clock, Suzuka would be unable to regulate her pace during a long escape. She could easily push herself into a 57-second kilometer—or faster—and collapse at the end, picked off one by one.
"The ideal split would be 58 seconds for the first 1000 meters, 59 for the second," Shuta An calculated. "A 2000-meter finish around 1:58—that wins anywhere in the world."
Of course, Suzuka couldn't achieve that yet. Even fully realized, maintaining such a pace would be difficult. In his experience, only the West Coast's Student Council President could guarantee it.
"But an Uma Musume doesn't need to be the strongest in the world," he reminded himself. "Winning a major race alone is something most can boast about for life."
Still, he knew Silence Suzuka wouldn't lower her own expectations.
"So," Shuta An thought, standing beside Berno Light, eyes never leaving the track, "what answer will you give in the first half of the Secretariat Stakes?"
Ahead of them, Silence Suzuka continued to stretch the gap.
And soon, she delivered her answer—
"Half-mile (800 meters): 46.5 seconds."
Eight hundred meters in 45.6 seconds.
Judging from the stability of the pace, Silence Suzuka maintaining a first 1000 meters in the 58-second range was now almost a certainty.
"She's running exactly as instructed." The Young man gazed at the small figure already charging into the back straight opposite the grandstand and murmured softly.
"She's opened up a huge gap!" Berno Light didn't know the details of Shuta An's pre-race strategy, but after hearing his words, she couldn't help but wave her arms excitedly. "This is the first time Suzuka has ever run this fast! It feels just like her debut race last year!"
"The gap will shrink later," Shuta An replied calmly. "What matters is whether she can hold this nearly seven-length advantage until the finish."
He narrowed his eyes.
"Her pace is fast—but the group behind her isn't slow either."
In the first 1000 meters, Silence Suzuka had only gained about 1.4 seconds. Shuta An estimated that ShowingUp, currently in second place, had also clocked the opening kilometer in the 59-second range.
"After finishing sixth in the Kentucky Derby, ShowingUp decisively switched to turf," he analyzed silently. "Given the difference between dirt and turf, she should be able to withstand Suzuka's pace—but the others might not."
His gaze shifted.
"GoBetween's stamina is clearly tightening. She's trying to cut inward—shortening the route, saving energy, and using the slipstream."
Shuta An shook his head slightly.
"That kind of move at this stage is no different from admitting weakness."
In his judgment, there was now only one real opponent left.
—ShowingUp.
On the other side of the world, in a bar near Japan Central Tracen Academy, Tojo Hana sat with two colleagues, watching the live broadcast of the Secretariat Stakes.
Normally, an American G1 of this level wouldn't be aired in Japan. But with two Japanese Uma Musume competing today—one of them being Oguri Cap, the most accomplished active Uma Musume—Japanese networks had gritted their teeth and jointly purchased the Arlington Million race-day broadcasting rights.
As a result, the overseas Twinkle Series was now playing on the bar's television.
While her colleagues sipped their drinks, Tojo Hana merely held her stemmed glass, untouched, her eyes fixed blankly on the screen.
"If she keeps running like that, she'll lose speed later," one of them commented after draining his glass.
"Nishizaki-kun has a point," another chimed in. "But this Suzuka has been trained specially by Ann-san. She's definitely different from how she was at the Derby."
"Kitahara, you really trust Shuta-kun," Trainer Nishizaki said, shaking his head. "It's only been two months. Even if she's improved, how much could that improvement really be?"
"Of course I trust Ann-san," Kitahara grinned. "Few people understand his abilities better than I do. In two months, he helped Oguri Cap win a local exchange major race. Advancing Suzuka further? That's not a problem at all."
Tojo Hana set her glass down—still without taking a single sip.
"She can't run like this—" she murmured. "If she runs like this, she'll lose speed—and risk injury. No results, no health—does Shuta-kun not understand that? Or is he willing to disregard everything just to fulfill his promise?"
Both Trainers knew exactly what promise she meant.
Kitahara believed in Shuta An without hesitation. Nishizaki, however, felt uneasy—he understood Tojo Hana's abilities all too well, and he knew precisely why Silence Suzuka had been so difficult to handle at Team Rigil.
"Could it be," he wondered quietly, "that Suzuka simply doesn't throw tantrums in front of Shuta-kun?"
"Please—don't get hurt, Suzuka." Tojo Hana closed her eyes, praying for the Uma Musume she had once trained.
———
Silence Suzuka surged into the final straight—310 meters remaining.
Her speed had clearly dropped compared to the first half of the race, but relying on the advantage she had built earlier, she was still five lengths ahead of ShowingUp in second place.
Behind her, the other five Uma Musume began preparing their final acceleration.
But none of that mattered to Silence Suzuka.
She had only one task left.
Run.
Run toward the finish line already within sight.
Burn the last of her stamina.
Swing her legs.
Reach the smile of the goddess of victory before anyone could catch her.
"The last time I ran this boldly was last year—" Though her condition was worse than her rivals', her mind had never been clearer.
"Still escaping! Still escaping!" The commentator's voice rang out. "The Silence 'Assassin' Suzuka from Japan is desperately holding onto the lead! ShowingUp, Ivan Denisovich, Niagara Causeway are all giving chase! GoBetween is losing strength and falling back!"
"Go, Suzuka!" Berno Light shouted with all her might, even though she knew full well Suzuka couldn't hear her.
"Don't catch her— don't catch her—" Shuta An clenched his fists, his heart racing. "This lead—hold it! Absolutely hold it!"
One hundred meters to go.
Silence Suzuka still led by three lengths, though her deceleration was now unmistakable. The Trainers of the chasing Uma Musume showed no relief on their faces.
"An American G1 debut victory—is it really happening?!" The Japanese commentator's voice trembled with excitement. "Silence Suzuka is still in front! Fifty meters remaining!"
"ShowingUp is closing! Silence Suzuka refuses to yield!" The American commentator's roar nearly drowned out the screams of the crowd.
But no voice could drown out Shuta An's exhilaration.
"Too late…too late!" The commentator exhaled sharply. "She's escaped everything! The runaway Uma Musume who finished ninth in the Derby has claimed victory on foreign soil!"
As the words rang out, Silence Suzuka crossed the finish line—
half a length ahead of ShowingUp.