Chapter 15: The Preliminary Battle — The Keio Junior Stakes!

The Keio Junior Stakes—a Grade II race held at Tokyo Racecourse.

There were two reasons we chose this race as our next goal. First, we needed to get used to real competition before the Asahi Hai Futurity Stakes. Second, the top two finishers here earn priority entry to that very event.

A direct confrontation with Mihono Bourbon was drawing near. This race would be the perfect prelude to that showdown.

“Whew…”

“You all right, Mithialx? It’s a GⅡ this time, but there’s no notable rival in sight. If you could push Mihono Bourbon that far, you’ll be fine.”

“Maybe so, but still…”

In the game, GⅡ races were what you’d call “farming races.” You ran them to gain fans or resources. As long as your distance compatibility matched, you could win most of the time. But now that this world is real, there’s no such thing as an easy race.

Every girl out there runs like her life depends on it, desperate to seize that first-place finish. This is a battlefield.

“I’m still scared, you know. I’ve gotten a little used to it, but I can’t shake this nervous feeling…”

Compared to debut or maiden races, this would be on a completely different level—especially with stronger horse girls in the lineup.

A shiver ran down my spine. Was it fear—or excitement?

“You’ll be fine. I’ll say it as many times as it takes—you’re my horse girl. Or are you saying you won’t show your trainer that victory live?”

“That’s not fair…”

Seriously, my trainer’s unfair! He’s way too good at making me take this seriously. After hearing something like that, what kind of horse girl wouldn’t feel fired up?

“I’ll do my best, Trainer.”

I tensed every muscle, letting the energy inside me surge instead of holding it back. My fighting spirit flared, syncing with my body as I readied myself for the race.

As I steadied my breathing, someone knocked on the door.

“Mithialx.”

“Yeah. I’m off. Watch for me at the finish line—I’ll make sure you see me win.”

Without turning back, I left the locker room, leaving only those words behind.

This would be my third real race since becoming a horse girl—and my first major one. The sheer number of spectators was overwhelming.

“Whoa…”

The horse girl industry in this world is enormous. For GⅠ races, they even enforce traffic control around the venue. The crowd here reflected that scale.

A sea of people filled the grandstands, their voices blending into a continuous roar.

“Stay calm… If I lose my composure, it’s over…”

There wasn’t anyone in particular I needed to mark today. The strongest horse girls—the so-called “Conqueror Generation,” including Mihono Bourbon—were all aiming straight for the GⅠ races from the start.

That meant none of the competitors here could be underestimated. No one might be famous yet, but that only made them more dangerous.

“That girl looks well-conditioned. That one over there… maybe not doing so well?”

Anyone racing in a GⅡ was probably close to GⅠ level already. I scanned the others, reading their forms and expressions.

“She’s restless… Nerves, maybe.”

Before every race, horse girls are presented in the paddock outside the course. But for a GⅡ, only the hardcore fans usually come to watch. After all, if you linger too long here, you’ll miss the best seats inside.

At a GⅠ, though, the paddock draws crowds—it’s their chance to see the stars up close.

“So, who’s your pick today?”

“Hmm… maybe Nexus Force? She’s in great form. Probably a short-distance specialist.”

“That one, huh? She looks good physically, but she can’t seem to settle down.”

Even the chatter from the stands showed how closely these fans followed every detail.

Yeah—these were definitely the diehards.

I couldn’t help wondering what they thought about me, so I listened a little closer.

“Mithialx, huh? You know why she picked this race?”

“No idea. But judging by her vibe, she’s either aiming to crash the Asahi Hai FS or rack up wins in short-distance races.”

“Figures. With that finishing speed she showed against Mihono Bourbon, you’d think she’d dominate in middle-distance races instead.”

Well… they’re not wrong.

If I had the focus for it, I’d have gone for middle-distance races too—my stamina could handle it. But focus is something I can’t control. In anything longer than a mile, something inside me always snaps. The mental thread just… breaks.

Maybe it’s because I can’t handle long duels or drawn-out pressure. That’s just who I am. Nothing I can do about it.

“Still, her finishing kick was incredible. If she keeps that up, she could do some serious damage even in a sprint.”

“Yeah, I hope she does. Short-distance races have been dominated by front-runners lately—it’s getting predictable.”

Surprisingly, most of the comments were positive. The fanbase seemed… decent, actually. Even online, you rarely saw toxic fans.

Probably because this isn’t a money-driven public gambling sport.

On the paddock’s central stage, I spun gracefully for the presentation. No racing outfit today—it’s just a GⅡ—but it’s still part of the show.

“Whoa, look at that muscle tone! Mihono Bourbon’s build was amazing, but she’s right up there too.”

“From her form, I thought she was a middle or long-distance type, but… no, she’s definitely a sprinter.”

The crowd erupted with surprise. How about that? Pretty amazing, right? This was the result of a special training program I’d asked my trainer to create—one designed specifically to counter Mihono Bourbon.

That said, since I’m wearing tights, I can’t exactly show off the full results. Because come on, that’d be embarrassing—bare legs!

Once the paddock presentation ended, the next step was the racetrack itself.
We moved through the long underground tunnel toward the battlefield.

“I’ll do my best, Trainer! Praise me if I win, okay?”

“Yeah, let’s do our best!”

“I’m starting to feel nervous.”

“Wait, where did you say I should make my move again!?”

Quite a few trainers accompany their horse girls up to this point. After all, this is the last place they can meet before the race—it can’t be helped.
Some pairs were confirming strategies, some trainers offered last-minute encouragement, and others soothed horse girls on the verge of tears. The tunnel was alive with emotion.

“Phew…”

I had already said my goodbyes back in the waiting room. As I walked through the tunnel, I steadied my mind.
For someone like me—who relies on knowledge, judgment, and logic—mental stability is everything. Lose track of when or where to make my move, and there’s no chance of winning.

Then, once I emerged from the tunnel, I finally stepped onto the real stage—the course itself.
What came next was the parade before the race—the so-called “warm-up.”

“Yup, hop. The turf’s not looking bad. Though the inside rail’s a bit rough…”

There isn’t just one race in a day. The Keio Hai Junior Stakes is Tokyo Racecourse’s 11th race, meaning around ten have already taken place before it.
Not all of them are turf races, of course—but still…

"I shouldn’t stick too close to the inside. Playing it safe on the outside, like usual, sounds best."

The way horse girls behave during warm-up really shows their personalities. Here I am, checking the turf’s condition, while that girl over there is already sprinting full speed. Doesn’t she ever get tired? …Or maybe I just have no stamina.

Then, an announcement echoed through the venue.

"Up next is the Keio Hai Junior Stakes! All horse girls, please prepare to enter the gates."

When I arrived at the starting area, fourteen horse girls were already waiting with serious expressions. The maximum lineup is eighteen, so we were a few short—but for a sprint, that’s not too unusual.

I stretched, loosening my muscles as I finished my pre-gate routine.

Then, as if to fire us up, the fanfare blared across the course.

"Under clear skies, we bring you the Keio Hai Junior Stakes—1400 meters on turf! The going is good today! What should we be watching for in this race?"

"Well, Tokyo Racecourse is known for its long final stretch. It’s a 530-meter straight with a two-meter incline. How the runners handle that will likely decide the winner."

For me, it’s a favorable course. That long stretch and uphill slope—it’s perfect. Thanks to that, even runners from the rear have a real shot at victory.

And another thing—the outer and inner lane advantage here isn’t very pronounced. That’s great for me.
This time, I drew gate number 10 in the fifth bracket. Not bad at all.

"Now, each horse girl is entering the gates."

"Oh, looks like one of them’s resisting a little. Will she be okay?"

I’ve never had much trouble with gate starts, but a lot of horse girls do.

Take Seiun Sky, for example—she’s known for struggling with them. And sure enough, the girl beside me was throwing quite a fit. Things were getting pretty chaotic.

Inside the narrow, enclosed gate, I fell into thought.
Should I make my move right after the corner?
If the incline slows them down, maybe I should wait until the middle of the straight.

"The last runner has now entered the gate."

"For this race, the top favorite is Mithialx! Though she lost to Mihono Bourbon in her debut, her performance there—and her follow-up victory—clearly earned her this reputation."

"She’s got a brilliant finishing kick. Let’s see if we’ll witness that same burst today."

Wait—I’m the top favorite? That’s… kind of nice.
But it also means one thing: I’m going to be marked. Closely. If I let my guard down, I’m done for.

My running style is easily influenced by others’ movements. That’s both my strength and my weakness.

"The second favorite is Nexus Force, whose debut race left quite an impression."

"She’s a classic sprinter—an escape-type. The only concern is how she’ll handle the incline."

The audience held its breath, waiting for the signal.

Then came the sharp metallic clack! of the gates bursting open—the sound that signaled the race had begun.

"And they’re off! All the horse girls are out of the gate cleanly! Taking the lead is Number 3, Nexus Force!"

"As an escape runner, it’s only natural she’d aim for the front. That was an excellent start."

"Not bad at all. In short races like this, grabbing the lead early gives you a huge advantage."

As usual, I settled in near the back of the pack, watching the flow of the race unfold.
Not that I could do much else in the opening stretch.

But that didn’t mean I had nothing to think about.

Nexus Force was cruising up front—but that pace wouldn’t last. Judging from her form, she’d never make it past the final uphill. No point chasing her and wasting stamina.

"The top favorite, Mithialx, has chosen to stay near the back for now."

"She’s known for saving everything for one decisive strike on the final stretch. She’s likely watching and waiting for her moment."

Tokyo Turf, 1400 meters.
A course unusual for sprints—it’s not one that forces a blistering early pace.

That makes the timing of my move all the more critical.

We cleared the first corner and approached the second. Around its midpoint, something started happening up ahead.

"Oh, the field’s spreading out horizontally."

"Could it be that several horse girls have chosen to take measures against Mithialx?"

Damn it—they’ve done it.

This isn’t good. I’m weak when boxed in or caught in a cluster. Not to brag, but even a light pack? No thank you.

Think. Think, come on…

"Looks like an unintentional formation of a blockade."

"Yes, it seems several runners are trying to neutralize that powerful finishing burst."

"Quite a risky strategy, though. Taking the outside on the corner increases distance and can be disadvantageous."

"True, but these are still junior-class horse girls. Some may not be great at tight turns, so taking a wider curve helps them maintain speed. It’s probably intentional."

All right then—time to push forward.

Midway through the corner, I quickened my pace just a little, drawing closer to the front group.

As I hoped, they took the bait—thinking I was about to launch my final sprint—and started accelerating too.

"Oh, the pack’s picking up speed! For a moment, it looked like Mithialx accelerated as well…"

"But only for an instant. She’s still calmly holding her position at the rear."

I kept teasing them with brief, half-hearted bursts of speed, prodding and unsettling the front group.

Their pace started to crumble, their formation loosening—
and then, finally, the corner ended.

The final stretch.
From here on out—this is where it really begins.