Chapter 59. The Absolute Protagonist Part 2
Mejiro Dober did not have to wait long.
As they passed the 300-meter marker, Golden Mirage and Marvelous Silver both began to flatten out. Their speed held, but the sharpness was gone—no further acceleration remained.
Dober narrowed her eyes.
"Now."
She released the restraint she had maintained all race. Power flowed from her core into her legs; her stride lengthened, cadence quickened. Within twenty meters, she swept past both Marvelous Silver and Golden Mirage with decisive ease.
Only Kirbys Song remained ahead—about two lengths in front.
"The final 200," Shuta An thought calmly. "With Dober's standard burst, there's no scenario where Kirbys Song can withstand this."
Tokai Teio and Silence Suzuka leaned forward instinctively, their confidence mirroring his.
Back at the Mejiro estate in Japan, the younger members kept impeccable posture despite their excitement, bodies tilted ever so slightly forward. With Agnes Digital present as a guest, none dared behave improperly—Mejiro Ramonu's reprimand would be immediate.
At West Coast Tracen Academy, two legends observed the same scene.
"It appears settled," said Secretariat, watching Dober draw clear of the field.
"From this position, an ordinary finish suffices," replied Miesque, whose authority over mile races needed no introduction.
"Her next target is the Breeders' Cup Juvenile Fillies Turf, correct?" Secretariat asked, though she already knew.
Miesque nodded. "Yes. Supporting the newly added events is part of Mr. Shuta's consideration. Without graded status, they struggle to attract depth. An overseas contender elevates credibility."
"I've persuaded several European runners to attend," she continued lightly. "With his team involved as well, the field may begin to resemble a future G1."
Secretariat's lips curved. "I invited him to stay here. He declined—claimed it inappropriate."
"Oh?" Miesque's interest sharpened.
"It doesn't matter. I have two alternative proposals. Both involve hosting his team on my properties." She paused deliberately. "Different locations. Different advantages."
Miesque's brows lifted. It was rare to hear North America's most revered figure speak of her private holdings so casually.
—
On the track, Dober had already drawn alongside Kirbys Song.
The consequences of Kirbys Song's earlier pace manipulation now surfaced. The uneven tempo had consumed far more stamina than anticipated.
Amid the roar of the crowd, Dober could distinctly hear her rival's breathing—ragged, irregular.
There was no room for mercy. Compassion belonged after the finish line, not before it. This was the Twinkle Series.
She straightened her neck, drove her knees higher, and surged past Kirbys Song. Without hesitation, she widened the gap—two lengths, then three.
One hundred fifty meters remained.
"Mejiro Dober takes the lead!" the Woodbine commentator shouted. "And she's accelerating further! Two lengths! Three!"
The noise blurred. All Dober could hear were her own footfalls and breath.
This feels different from Hakodate.
She was not straining at her limits. She was simply running—and the field dissolved behind her.
Are they truly not strong enough?
A faint crease formed between her brows. If so, then perhaps the upcoming Breeders' Cup required less anxiety than she had imagined.
In the stands, Shuta An watched her silhouette grow larger in his vision.
"You can ease slightly," he murmured under his breath. "Preserve something for the next race."
"Dober-chan never eases up," Tokai Teio protested immediately, nudging his leg.
He only waved a hand.
Winning by the smallest possible margin each time is an art, Teio, he thought. But she did not need that lesson yet.
Silence Suzuka, however, understood—and wisely remained quiet.
The commentator's voice rose again, echoing through Woodbine.
"Unbelievable! Mejiro Dober from Japan has dismantled this field! No—she and the others are not even competing in the same race!"
The remark subtly echoed commentary from this year's Arlington Million. Those who caught the reference smiled knowingly—Silence Suzuka and Mejiro Dober hailed from the same team.
"Seven lengths clear! Mejiro Dober hits the wire! 1:35.8—a new Natalma Stakes record! And she appears to have more in reserve! Remember this moment, ladies and gentlemen—perhaps we are witnessing the future sovereign of turf miles!"
As Dober crossed the finish line, Shuta An exhaled softly.
Then he glanced sideways at Tokai Teio.
"That makes every active Twinkle Series runner on our Sadalsuud Team a G1 winner."
"I want to debut sooner too!" Teio pouted, lightly kicking his leg in mock protest.
Shuta An only smiled.
"we'll celebrate properly tonight. After all, this is Dober's first G1."
"Yay!" Tokai Teio beamed. "And we can celebrate Suzuka-senpai's Arlington Million win again too!"
After parting with the three Uma Musume, Shuta An returned to his room. He had just reached for the bathroom door when his phone rang.
"Shuta An speaking."
"It's me."
The voice required no introduction.
"Secretariat?" He straightened instinctively. "Is there something I can assist you with?"
"Must there be a problem before I call?" she teased.
He deflected diplomatically.
She shifted to her purpose. "Congratulations on your trainee's Natalma victory. I watched the broadcast. Exceptional composure. Will she specialize on the mile circuit?"
He hesitated. The mile was suitable—but limiting her trajectory prematurely would be shortsighted.
Secretariat continued seamlessly. "Whiskey Mile in April. Turf Classic in May. Return to Japan for summer conditioning. Four Star Doctor in August. Woodbine Mile in September. Keeneland Turf Mile in October. Then the Breeders' Cup Turf Mile—or even the Hong Kong Mile to conclude the year. Six, perhaps seven G1s."
(She wants Japanese Uma Musume race in America all year long, huh?)
He silently revised the sequence in his head—Yasuda Kinen would naturally fit after Turf Classic.
"Thank you," he said at last, "but I won't define her long-term direction before her Classic season concludes."
"As expected." She sounded neither surprised nor disappointed.
A brief silence followed. He considered how to conclude politely.
She spoke again first.
"Her next start remains the Breeders' Cup Juvenile Fillies Turf?"
"Yes."
"This year's series is at Hollywood Park Racetrack. You'll need accommodation in Inglewood."
"I've already arranged a hotel near LAX. Logistics won't be an issue."
"I have a suggestion." Her tone shifted—measured. "Years ago, after losing the Champagne Stakes, on inquiry, I bought a house in Inglewood. A minute's walk from Hollywood Park. I wanted the spirit of those striving in Los Angeles to motivate me."
She paused deliberately.
"I can lend it to you."
"No need to trouble Senior," he declined reflexively.
"I anticipated that." She moved to her second proposal. "Then use my other property. Superior location. Superior design."
"I can't accept that either."
"You will."
Her confidence sharpened.
"The villa is on Laurel Way. Beverly Hills."
He froze.
"1460," she added calmly.
A long breath escaped him.
"So that's why it sold so quickly," he said quietly. "You purchased it."
"Yes. I bought it at your asking price without negotiation. You priced it modestly—roughly thirty percent below its potential."
"Most of the proceeds funded the team," he replied instinctively.
"That's precisely why you should accept." Her voice softened. "It's your former home. Close enough for convenience, far enough for privacy. Consider it—returning temporarily."
Silence lingered.
Finally:
"Thank you."
A satisfied hum crossed the line.
"Train well," Secretariat said. "One day, I expect you to condition a Uma Musume capable of challenging the American Triple Crown."
"I'll do my best," he answered.
And this time, the promise carried weight.
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