October 23 — Japan — Kyoto RacecourseKikuka Sho3000 meters / Turf / Going: Good / Weather: Cloudy
For Glory Dyna, this was the most symbolic moment of the year.
This was the day she would write Triple Crown history.
An undefeated Triple Crown winner from Japan—one who already carried an overseas G1 victory in her résumé.
In the packed grandstand, Yamazaki held up his camera toward the tunnel where the runners would enter the course, his grin wild and unrestrained.
"Hah! Let them all see what true genius looks like! Great glory isn't something only Central Academy girls can achieve!"
The article he had written after interviewing Glory Dyna had exploded in popularity, bringing in a tremendous amount of traffic and revenue for the paper. His standing inside the company had risen with it. Strictly speaking, he no longer needed to be out in the field himself—but when it came to Glory Dyna's races, Yamazaki cared far too much to stay behind a desk.
There was also the fact that any firsthand footage he personally shot would remain in his hands, becoming the spark that drove the next wave of headlines. That was why he was smiling so broadly now.
"The hope of the Triple Crown… it's been building since the very beginning of the year. Glory Dyna is carrying a weight of expectation unlike any horse girl in history. Even Symboli Rudolf or Deep Impact never bore this much hope! Makes you wonder whether she might one day even snatch the student council president's seat away from Rudolf. Ahh, now that would be something worth seeing."
Still muttering to himself, Yamazaki adjusted the focus on his camera. Just as it finally locked perfectly onto the tunnel entrance, the first runner stepped out.
It was Orfevre, number fourteen.
When she emerged, she raised a hand to shade the spot where the sun ought to have been—though the sky was covered in cloud, and there was no blinding light to block.
Her eyes were hidden under the fringe that fell across her face. The polished arrogance she usually wore so carefully was nowhere to be seen. Yet somehow, that only made the other horse girls feel an even sharper chill.
Because when someone who was always proud and overbearing fell into this kind of brooding silence…
Either she had given up on herself entirely,
or she was holding something back.
And Orfevre was absolutely not the type to break so easily.
So the answer was obvious:
in this Kikuka Sho, Orfevre was going to give everyone a shock.
Through the lens, Yamazaki caught a clear glimpse of her eyes beneath her hair.
There was no emptiness in them.
Instead, in those smoky violet irises, he saw the same stubborn fire and hot blood that ran through the entire Gold line.
They looked exactly like Stay Gold's.
"Hah… hahahaha! Interesting, interesting! Stay Gold! Just like Stay Gold in Hong Kong back then! Those with Gold blood in them really are all cut from the same cloth!"
Yamazaki sounded genuinely astonished.
Back then he had only just entered journalism. His first field assignment had been to follow a senior reporter to Hong Kong and cover Stay Gold's race there.
A horse girl from a foreign land, standing as the overwhelming first favorite in Hong Kong for the first time in history.
A small body filled with a blazing, undying heat.
It had been those eyes Yamazaki captured back then—an image that ran on the front page and made his own name explode overnight.
Eyes could not speak, but they told people many things.
And the one thing that would never be worn away in the Gold family was their burning spirit.
Stay Gold had taken five years of struggle to finally win a graded race. In his sixth year, he had closed out his "journey" by winning overseas at the G1 level.
And now, that baton—
that journey—
might well pass from Nakayama Festa to Orfevre.
Then Glory Dyna's turn came.
She drew a deep breath. Even while still in the tunnel, she could already hear the tide-like roar rolling through Kyoto Racecourse.
All of that… was for her?
From a tiny bakery to this enormous world.
Not even two full years had passed, and yet she had come this far.
At that moment, standing as the most watched horse girl in the entire country, Glory Dyna felt she had truly grown.
[Once again she's drawn gate eighteen—but there is absolutely no question about her status as the overwhelming favorite! Glory Dyna enters Kyoto Racecourse in magnificent form, radiating a determination to seize the Kikuka Sho!]
For some reason, as she stepped out beneath the overcast sky, Dyna raised three fingers high toward the crowd.
Just as Rudolf and Deep Impact once had.
Except they had done it after the race.
Glory Dyna did it before.
"Arrogant," Symboli Rudolf murmured, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
She stood in the crowd with her arms crossed, every inch of her carrying the authority of an emperor.
"She didn't used to have this much ambition, did she?" asked Deep Impact, standing at Rudolf's side.
As Rudolf's student, Deep Impact had already reached the point where she could voice her opinions beside the student council president herself. In another few years, she might well be the one to inherit Rudolf's place.
Rudolf glanced at her with interest.
"If you'd done something like that back in your day, the seat I'm standing in now might already belong to you. But there is no doubt—you too were the kind of genius one only sees once in decades."
Back when she was active, Deep Impact had been much more obviously youthful. She had laughed when she won, cried when she lost, even cried when a ruling went against her. Now she had grown into an old hand of politics and power.
Glory Dyna: first favorite.
Orfevre, fresh off her Kobe Shimbun Hai win: second favorite.
And third favorite: Triumphal Ballet, the red-haired girl who had won the Aoba Sho this year, then lost to Dyna and Orfevre in the Derby, and lost again to Orfevre in the Kobe Shimbun Hai. She looked like a glossy red apple.
As fate would have it, Orfevre in gate fourteen and Triumphal Ballet in gate thirteen had become neighbors again. Bitter rivals face to face. Yet Orfevre merely swept Ballet with a cold glance, then closed her eyes as if conserving energy.
This time, no one could help Dyna.
At 3000 meters, Sea the Stars specialized in middle distance. Cody's Wish ruled the mile. If the trip stretched to 3000, then the only person Dyna could rely on was herself.
She poured her own conviction into her body.
A person's original power was always strongest when drawn from their own heart.
Dyna inhaled, and felt herself fill with the certainty of victory.
Curiously, no one said anything extra before the start. No taunts, no needless words. That was rare enough in itself—but perhaps it was for the best. No one would be distracted.
As the last one to load, Glory Dyna stepped calmly into her gate.
Silence pressed down.
Only faint breathing echoed in each girl's ears.
Eighteen horse girls, gathered here to decide who would be strongest among the classic generation.
The final classic of the year—
the Kikuka Sho.
Then—
CLANG!
The electromagnet released with a violent metallic crack, and all eighteen burst from the gates in near-perfect unison.
[They're off in the Kikuka Sho! All eighteen runners have broken well! Glory Dyna, from the far outside, drops back as usual. Orfevre and Triumphal Ballet have chosen the same approach!]
The fact that all three leading hopes had immediately gone to the rear put immense psychological pressure on the leaders and stalkers. The pace sharpened accordingly. The field stretched to nearly twenty lengths, forming a long, sparse line.
"Control my breathing. Shorten the stride, raise the cadence. Save everything for Kyoto's straight and settle it there in one shot."
That was Glory Dyna's plan.
Because of her extreme learning ability—and the influence of Sea the Stars and Cody's Wish—Dyna could shift freely among three modes: low stride rate with long steps, high cadence with shorter steps, or both high cadence and long stride together. She was, in short, utterly adaptable.
In staying races, the single most important thing was to save as much stamina as possible while following the field, so that one would hold the advantage later when endurance and willpower were finally measured against each other.
Then Dyna's brows twitched.
Something was wrong.
Goldly Orfevre and Triumphal Ballet were both supposed to be behind her.
She could hear Ballet's footsteps clearly, even through the wind.
But Orfevre… had vanished.
She seemed to have disappeared completely.
Dyna had never imagined a situation like this before, and an unpleasant chill crawled up her spine.
Luckily, the bend was coming. On the curve she would be able to steal a glance backward and confirm what was happening.
The moment she did, her breathing caught.
Orfevre was still there.
Locked onto her.
But no one could feel her presence.
It was as if her very existence had been erased. Like a shadow lying in wait, Orfevre clung to Glory Dyna's blind spot.
And in those smoky violet eyes, a faint red gleam had begun to turn.
[We're halfway through the race, and as the pace compresses the rear group begins to move forward—but Orfevre is still glued to Glory Dyna! That marking tactic is working beautifully!]
At that moment, Orfevre was frighteningly pure.
Her eyes contained only one desire:
to defeat Glory Dyna.
Whether she came first or not did not even matter.
As long as her placing was above Glory Dyna's, that was enough.
That fierce wish condensed on the racecourse into aura, domain, presence—something capable of interfering with other runners. The pressure spreading from Orfevre at that moment was like a swamp, wrapping itself around the ankles of every other horse girl and dragging down their speed.
"Hah… hff… My breathing's starting to get rough. But there's still a full kilometer left."
Dyna adjusted her disrupted breath. She moved up slightly later than she wanted to because of Orfevre's interference, and by then Orfevre had already drawn level with her—eyes fixed ahead.
Dyna pulled her gaze back and smiled.
So this is the real Orfevre.
This was the true strength of Golden Ship's bloodline—utter focus on one thing alone: running.
And not just focus.
Mastery.
At last, Orfevre had finally learned how to face her in earnest.
For the first time, Glory Dyna was genuinely excited.
This was the version of Orfevre she had wanted to meet.
This was the stage on which the two of them would truly decide something.
The blueprint of the future would be drawn here.
And the grudge that had twisted between them—
would also be settled here.
Dyna's heartbeat quickened. The blood surging from her heart into her legs burned hot. Every stride crushed turf into fragments beneath her feet. She had never felt so feverish, so exhilarated.
Pure Radiance.
Her own aura—one that belonged only to Glory Dyna herself—erupted under Orfevre's pressure and spread across the entire field, crushing every other aura, domain, and interference until they became meaningless.
From that moment on, the race turned into nothing but a contest of the body, of will, and of technique.
For the first time in the race, Orfevre's face shifted.
She was startled.
Then, almost immediately, she understood.
This was Dyna's doing.
"Well then," Orfevre thought, smiling with savage joy, "let this race end honorably. Glory Dyna—I challenge you!"
[The final turn at Kyoto! Here it comes! The battle for the championship enters the straight—on the far outside, Glory Dyna and Orfevre surge together, while Triumphal Ballet lags half a beat behind but still gives chase!]
"Ohhh! Here it is! That's it, Orfevre! Bring out all of it—every last drop of what you've got!" Yamazaki roared, the shutter on his camera firing without pause.
The two of them carved through the turn in lanes eight and nine, locked together.
Neither lost speed in the bend.
All the stamina they had saved now became fuel for a death match. The distance between them was so small it recalled their debut race—except this time, there was still a hair's breadth of space between them.
[The two leaders have broken away! The Kikuka Sho has become a duel between Glory Dyna and Orfevre! They pass the 200-meter marker, and there is still no clear advantage!]
Orfevre had already thrown the very concept of "proper form" to the wind.
All for victory.
Only victory.
An entire year's worth of frustration had piled into her, each defeat becoming fuel for this very instant.
"Come on—let's settle this!"Both of them.
At this point, "fierce expression" no longer described either of them. Over the last 200 meters, they drove their bodies to the absolute limit.
The price came immediately: their lungs burned, oxygen thinned, their vision dimmed.
Three thousand meters had already pushed both Glory Dyna and Orfevre to their limit. In truth, their duel had reached that limit back at 2800.
The final 200 meters were no longer about stamina.
They were about will.
Dyna had never really understood how the "Guts" stat on those invisible panels was calculated.
But she understood this much:
Right now, she wanted to win.
She wanted to remain above Orfevre.
Not by tricks.
Not by accident.
But fair and square.
[The final 100 meters! Orfevre seems to falter—just slightly! The top two have already opened up three lengths on the rest of the field, and the gap is still growing!]
[Orfevre comes again!]
Her legs were in agony. Her lungs felt like they were tearing open. One moment of mental blankness had let her speed dip, and that was something Orfevre simply could not forgive.
She squeezed harder, harder still.
Even if it meant wrecking the rest of her season.
Even if it meant sacrificing every race after today.
She would not allow herself to fall behind Glory Dyna here.
The finish line was right in front of them.
With a final roar, both horse girls threw themselves through the wire.
The instant the pressure lifted, they stumbled. From a sprint to a jog, from a jog to an unsteady stagger, until both of them ended up leaning against the rail beyond the line, gasping for air.
They had put five lengths into Triumphal Ballet.
And Triumphal Ballet had put another length into fourth.
Their vision was dim, but they could still make out the infield board as the top two numbers flashed back and forth.
The announcer was saying something, but the ringing in their ears drowned it out.
Medical staff were gesturing frantically.
Neither of them understood a thing.
[Kyoto Racecourse, Race 11, Kikuka Sho—photo finish.]
The numbers 14 and 18 kept changing places.
Then at last, the top number froze:
18.
And at the bottom of the board, glowing in red, was the record:
3:00.0
Three thousand meters.
Exactly three minutes.
The tension melted from Dyna's body, though the pain in her legs remained. She still walked toward the grandstand-facing side of the course.
Behind her came second-place Orfevre.
[Photo finish official—winner, number 18, Glory Dyna… by a nose!]
[The first undefeated Triple Crown winner in history to already hold an overseas G1 victory has been born today!]
[Second place goes to Orfevre! Third place to Triumphal Ballet!]
The chestnut-haired girl was draped in the winner's sash.
Under a storm of camera flashes and streamers, she finally raised her third finger.
The queen was crowned upon Kyoto's green stage.
And brilliant gold bore witness to her ascent—becoming the final gilded brick laid beneath the queen's throne.
Orfevre stared at the result board.
There was no bitterness left in her.
This duel with Glory Dyna had left her with no regrets.
She truly was weaker than Glory Dyna.
But…
only Glory Dyna.
Beneath Glory Dyna, she was first among all others.
Thus Orfevre ended her classic campaign with three straight seconds.
All across Kyoto, the air rang with Glory Dyna's name—
and with the cry of Triple Crown.
"Congratulations," Orfevre said at last. "I lost fair and square."
It sounded as though she still wanted to say more, but the fire in her lungs finally overwhelmed her, and she doubled over coughing—
only for Dyna to cough at the exact same time.
Somehow, it made what should have been a solemn scene feel unexpectedly light.
The medics were beside themselves. They immediately forced both girls toward the medical room for examination. If there were no injuries, then the winner's ceremony could proceed afterward.
Because in the end—
their bodies came first.
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