Chapter 50. Mejiro Dober's Answer
After the Winning Live concluded, Mejiro Dober did not linger.
There were no exchanges with Meiner Max. No polite words with Super Dress. Both had been thoroughly shaken by her performance. So she stepped off the stage, returned quietly to the lounge, packed her belongings, and left Hakodate Racecourse without ceremony.
When she emerged from the underground passage, sunlight greeted her—and so did three familiar figures.
Shuta An.
Silence Suzuka.
Tokai Teio.
She quickened her steps.
"Trainer," she asked, stopping a meter before him, eyes bright yet searching, "I didn't disappoint you—did I?"
"No," Shuta An replied immediately, sincerity steady in his voice. "In fact, your performance exceeded my expectations. Now that you've overcome short-distance adaptation, there's no longer any need for you to run such races for the Queen route."
Dober let out a small breath.
"Short distances are too intense—When I crossed the line, I didn't even dare judge whether I'd won. And after stopping, my head was spinning. It was unbearable."
"From now on, the shortest distance you'll run is 1600 meters," he assured her. "The Oaks will determine whether we explore 2400-meter middle distances in the future. But that's something to discuss after."
She nodded—then glanced at Suzuka.
"I do want to be able to run 2400 meters. For races Suzuka-senpai finds difficult, someone from our team should step forward. Like the Japan Cup—"
Shuta An shrugged lightly. "That depends on whether you can demonstrate exceptional 2400-meter ability in the Japanese Oaks."
Even if she won it—but only narrowly—he would not rush to push her toward extended campaigns in her senior years.
He had no intention of gambling recklessly with her future.
—
That evening, Team Sadalsuud's celebration was held at their hotel.
Rather than a restaurant, Shuta An chose to host it privately in his suite—an added expense, certainly, but the prize share from the Hakodate Nisai Stakes was more than sufficient.
The Yunokawa Nagisa Prince Hotel carried a distinct Japanese elegance, and the feast reflected it: sashimi gleaming like gemstones, golden tempura, and fragrant Genghis Khan barbecue.
Hakodate's specialty squid sashimi was piled high.
Tokai Teio wasted no time, eagerly taking her seat.
Mejiro Dober sat beside her. Silence Suzuka paused a moment upon entering, gaze lingering on Shuta An before moving quietly to his side.
He seated himself opposite Dober.
There was something he needed to ask her.
Seeing his choice, Suzuka smiled faintly and folded her legs neatly beside him.
Teio sighed inwardly.
Suzuka-senpai is far too obvious—and Trainer doesn't even react. I wonder what Oguri-senpai would say.
After brief congratulations and a toast, Shuta An drained his non-alcoholic beer. When he set the glass down, he noticed Dober hesitating over which dish to begin with.
"Dober," he began evenly, "there's something about today's race I'd like to ask."
Teio paused mid-reach.
Suzuka's hand, hovering over the grill, stilled.
"Did I…make a mistake?" Dober's shoulders tightened instantly.
"No," he reassured her, raising a finger gently. "It's something I observed. During your final sprint, I sensed a particular aura from you. Did you experience anything unusual at that moment?"
Dober's expression shifted.
She remembered.
"Yes…it was different," she admitted honestly. "At first everything felt normal. But in the last few dozen meters, it was as if a wall appeared ahead of me. When I chased it, it moved farther away. No—that's not quite right. It kept retreating—and I kept chasing."
She bit her lip.
"When I crossed the finish line, it vanished instantly. It felt like a mirage."
Shuta An's brow furrowed deeply.
A glimpse of the "Zone."
But logically, she should not have brushed against it in only her second Twinkle Series race—unless she had already reached her limit.
Impossible.
An Uma Musume could not fully unfold in merely two months.
"It's strange," he murmured.
Dober nodded quickly. "Exactly. But—that feeling—I think I've experienced it before."
His eyes sharpened.
"Before? When? Try to recall."
"I…" She shrank slightly under his intensity. "I need time. I'm not certain."
"It's fine," he said at once, leaning back. "There's no urgency."
—
Later that night, after the celebration ended, Mejiro Dober returned to her room.
She sat on the edge of the bed, closing her eyes, sifting through memory.
The sensation was so familiar.
Yet elusive.
After a long while, she sighed.
"Forget it~"
She picked up her drawing board, intending to sketch the seaside night view from the terrace—perhaps relaxation would clear her mind.
But as she lifted her brush—
Her hand trembled.
The brush slipped and clattered to the floor.
Her eyes widened.
She spun around, rushed back inside, and grabbed her phone.
Her fingers flew.
"Trainer!" she sent urgently. "I remember! It was when the deadline for the Comic Market artbook was approaching—and I was desperately rushing to finish the manuscript!"
(Zone can be used like this!!?)
"Huh?!" Shuta An froze when he read Mejiro Dober's explanation. Never in his wildest calculations had he imagined that her effortless brush with her limit had come from the experience of rushing a manuscript.
"There's such a thing?!" He scratched his head after lowering his phone, incredulous. "So grinding through deadlines can also let someone touch the 'Zone'? Just how close were you to that deadline, Dober?"
After muttering inwardly, relief followed. It was easier to approach through mental extremity than through pure physical output. That clarified everything—why she had sensed the threshold yet failed to seize and shatter it.
"To break through, both body and mind must be driven to their absolute brink. A case like Dober's—where the mind reaches the boundary first—should be rare. Oguri reached her physical ceiling before her spirit ever brushed against it." Recalling Oguri Cap's experience with the Zone, he murmured to himself, "Fortunately, Dober's Trainer is me. There's probably no one more suited to handle this at this moment."
Another Trainer might already be recalculating training loads, plotting how to push Mejiro Dober's body to its limit as quickly as possible. Shuta An had no such intention. He would not alter her program.
Her physical development was incomplete. If she touched her limit now, what meaning would that have? With that conclusion settled, he chose inaction—for now. Matters concerning Mejiro Dober's Zone could wait until her Senior years. Before sleeping, he submitted her entry form for the Natalma Stakes to the Canadian URA Association.
In race prestige, the Natalma Stakes, though a G1, did not rival the European G2 and G3 events of the same season. Still, it remained a G1. For Mejiro Dober, who sought to accumulate honors for the Mejiro Family, it was the most pragmatic next objective.
The following morning, Shuta An woke to a message from Secretariat on Line:
"Natalma Stakes? Breeders' Cup Juvenile Fillies Turf?"
The implication required no elaboration. Shuta An tapped back a concise reply: "Yes. Both are in the plan."
Within seconds, his message showed as read. Another came through: "Then when are you leaving? After Natalma, why not remain at West Coast Tracen Academy?"
"No need," he replied. "Team funding is sufficient. And Dober won't be alone—Silence Suzuka will be joining the expedition."
"I see." The text conveyed faint resignation. "Very well. Miesque must be grateful. The Breeders' Cup Series added new races, and one of them, in its inaugural year, already has overseas entries. That proves her success."
"Mainly the prize purse," Shuta An typed bluntly. "One million US dollars in total. Comparable to the Arlington Million. And there aren't better options during that window."
"True—With Southern Hemisphere debut-year limited races excluding Northern Hemisphere registrants, Australia's G1s are off-limits," Secretariat added teasingly.
"By the time those run, Dober will be in her Classic season. That's the decisive factor." He had evaluated Australian circuits; eligibility barriers rendered them irrelevant.
After two days' rest in Hakodate, Shuta An and the three Uma Musume returned to Tokyo by air, landing at Narita around eight in the evening. Mejiro Dober's recent victory was only a domestic G3—no press awaited them.
But another figure did.
Outside the terminal stood Mejiro Ramonu, accompanied by the Mejiro Family's butler and attendants.
Silence Suzuka gently nudged Mejiro Dober forward. Shuta An stepped aside, granting space.
Mejiro Ramonu approached alone, leaving her entourage behind. Her gaze shifted briefly to him. "Thank you, Shuta-kun. A short-distance Twinkle Series graded victory is rare for our Mejiro Family. It marks a significant chapter in Dober-chan's career."
"It was only a G3," Shuta An replied evenly. "She has far higher stages ahead. Still, it secures an overseas ticket—that's the true value."
"I've heard from Symboli Rudolf. A G1 turf race in Canada next, correct?" Her smile softened. "Grandmother and I have decided—the Mejiro Family will bear all expedition costs."
"That's generous, but unnecessary." His refusal was immediate. "The academy reimburses overseas achievements. And the Mejiro Family surely has broader financial considerations."
"Grandmother anticipated that answer." Mejiro Ramonu sighed lightly, then turned to Mejiro Dober. "You performed beautifully. Though we couldn't travel to Hakodate, we gathered to watch the broadcast together."
"Our family has long been labeled 'Mejiro of Endurance.' Outsiders assume our Uma Musume are defined solely by stamina. I know you've felt self-conscious for not excelling at long distances." She reached out and gently ruffled Dober's hair. "But the family has never thought that way. After yesterday's race, Grandmother said you will become the new pride of the Mejiro Family."
Mejiro Dober lowered her head, voice steady and resolute. "I will work harder. I will listen to Trainer. I will train with everything I have and earn greater honors for the Mejiro Family. I will never allow anyone to say our family is in decline."