Chapter 32: Preparations on the Eve of the Race

Chapter 32: Preparations on the Eve of the Race

The day before the big event—two weeks after the announcement—Kitasan Black’s efforts had finally borne fruit.

Thanks to her rendition of “Uchiage Hanabi”, the competition’s official account had exploded with activity. Within just three days of the song going live, her follower count had surged by over twenty thousand, smashing past the 24,000 mark required for the qualifier. And the momentum didn’t stop there.

In the following days, the number kept rising rapidly until it hit the cap of 30,000 additional fans, bringing Kitasan Black’s total fan count to over 40,000.

Naturally, the black-haired girl couldn’t contain her joy. Anyone walking by might catch her sitting on the couch, phone clutched tightly in both hands, grinning like a fool and whispering to herself. That could only mean one thing: another wave of comments, another burst of new fans.

Meanwhile, her trainer, Makoto, remained largely unfazed.

He, more than anyone, knew exactly how powerful that song could be. If anything, he thought 30,000 was almost too little for a piece that good. But it was a fleeting thought. His mind was already elsewhere—on the race ahead.

That evening, in the modest living room of his apartment—

Makoto stood next to a whiteboard cluttered with handwritten names and numbers. Kitasan Black sat nearby, studying the board with narrowed crimson eyes.

“So… we’re aiming to run a little further up front this time, compared to my debut race?”

Makoto gave a short nod. “Exactly. The strategy we used last time won’t work again. We’ll need to adapt.”

He tapped the list on the left side of the board, filled with opponent names.

“If there aren’t any sudden withdrawals, these are the girls you’ll be running against tomorrow.”

Kitasan tilted her head. “Are they all from last year?”

“Yeah. Every one of them has already run their debut race—last season, in fact.”

He paused deliberately, watching her reaction out of the corner of his eye.

“That makes you the only true rookie in the field. Everyone else’s had at least a year of professional training—and some of them worked with top-class trainers.”

Kitasan's expression tightened. Her lips pressed together, brows knitting into a small frown. She clenched her hands over her knees, shoulders stiffening slightly.

Makoto didn’t speak a single word of reassurance.

Because this wasn’t a game.

Sure, on the surface, the races looked like a sparkling idol showcase—dozens of cheerful, radiant girls sprinting side by side. But at speeds nearing 60 kilometers per hour, the competition was anything but harmless. Brutal rivalries, high-stakes decisions, and life-defining moments all happened in those few minutes.

A little nervousness wasn’t just natural—it was necessary.

Pressure, if channeled correctly, could push an Umamusume to reach beyond her limits.

That was why he was walking her through everything in detail.

“And on top of that,” he continued, “your opponents are far more experienced. On average, they’ve each raced three times. One of them’s already been in six.”

Kitasan’s grip on her knees tightened. She looked more tense now.

Makoto shifted gears with practiced ease.

“But that doesn’t mean they’re stronger than you,” he said calmly. “They’re not weaker either, of course—if they were, they wouldn’t be in the same race as you. So there’s no need to worry.”

“You don’t need to track all of them. You don’t have the time or mental energy to spare. Just focus on these few.”

He circled a few names with a squeak of marker on board.

Before he could say more, Kitasan leaned forward, her voice a quiet murmur.

“...Satono Rasen-san?”

Makoto glanced at the circled name, then looked at her with a curious smile.

“Oh? You know her? I thought you were in different classes.”

Kitasan nodded. “We are. But I see her sometimes when I hang out with Dia-chan, or when I visit Crow-chan. Sometimes she drops by when we’re all together.”

Her brows furrowed slightly, thoughtful. “I remember now—Rasen-san’s raced quite a bit already. And she’s done really well.”

Makoto confirmed with a nod. “Five races. One win, two second-place finishes, and two third-place ones.”

“She started off with three 1800-meter races in Sapporo. Then moved up to 2000 meters in Chukyo and Kyoto. She’s been improving every time.”

He folded his arms, tone firm. “She’s one to watch. Especially with how quickly she adapts.”

“But let’s not worry about her just yet,” he said, switching focus again. “There are two others I want to go over first—Saint Martin and Toki.”

“Saint Martin’s ranked second in popularity going into this race. And she’s the only other Umamusume here who, like you, has only run her debut race.”

“Second?!” Kitasan’s eyes widened slightly, her tone a mix of awe and dismay. She scratched her head with a sheepish smile. “I’m only ninth…”

Makoto ignored the comment and pointed to the numbers written beneath Saint Martin’s name.

“Niigata Racecourse. Turf, 1600 meters. Her final time is 1 minute 36.7 seconds—that’s around 17 meters per second.”

He underlined one figure. “The key stat here is her final spurt. Last three furlongs in 33 seconds flat. That’s 18.18 meters per second.”

“If she pulls that off again, she could qualify for OP-tier races without breaking a sweat.”

He wrote one more name—Crusher Rays—and underlined it.

“The number one in popularity—her final spurt last race clocked at 17.9. Also very strong in the closing stretch.”

Then he turned toward his pupil. “What do you think, Kitasan?”

The girl stayed silent for a moment. Though her shoulders were still a little tense, something sparked in her eyes—insight, maybe. Determination.

“I remember Scarlet-senpai once told me—if you're racing against girls with powerful closing speed, you have to hold onto your top speed longer, and create a bigger lead early on.”

She looked back up at Makoto. “So… you’re telling me I should use that kind of tactic tomorrow?”

Makoto couldn't help the small nod of approval.

She’d understood it perfectly.

Kitasan Black might act clueless at times, but when it came to racing, she was sharp. She asked the right people, remembered what they said, and most importantly—knew when to apply it.

What she said is exactly what he wanted to say.

“Correct,” he said. “That’s one of the reasons I want you running farther up the front this time.”

He picked up the marker again.

“There are two more to keep an eye on.”

He circled a name—Toki.

“She’s ranked tenth in popularity. But out of her six races, five were at 1400 meters, and one at 1600. That means she’s used to high-speed pacing.”

“In other words, she’s likely to take the lead—or even run ahead by accident, just out of habit.”

“That’s another reason I want you pushing forward early.”

Makoto’s voice grew a shade more serious.

“I expect this race to move faster than your debut. And one of your biggest weaknesses is your slow acceleration.”

“If you fall too far back, it’ll be hard to judge the pace. And if you’re even a second late to make your move—”

“—then I won’t have a shot at the podium,” Kitasan finished for him.

Makoto gave a short nod.

Under his steady guidance, her thoughts were sharpening, syncing to the rhythm of the race ahead.

“I see…”

She looked at the whiteboard once more, brows drawn in focus.

“So this time, the most important thing is knowing exactly when to shift gears…”

She looked up at Makoto expectantly.

“Trainer… you’ll tell me when I should accelerate, right?”

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