Chapter 4: Fierce Battle! Mihono Bourbon

The waiting room before the race. I, Mithialx, was fidgeting restlessly.

This was my very first race—my make debut. It’s the path every Uma Musume must take: the first step on a long, demanding journey.

"Haa… haa… whew…"

"Hey, relax. You’ll be fine. You’ve trained plenty for this."

The Trainer was right. But even so, I couldn’t calm down.

Every participant here radiated a stronger drive than those in the selection race. There’d be far more girls burning with the will to win at any cost.

"This time’s course is the 1200-meter turf track at Chukyo Racecourse. You remember its characteristics, right?"

"Counterclockwise, the final straight’s about 400 meters long, and there’s a steep hill in the middle…"

"Perfect. That hill in the last stretch favors the chasers and closers, you know."

Right. The back-runners—chasers and closers—had an advantage when the final stretch included a slope. They saved stamina for the end and surged up the hill with power.

But even with that in mind, this make debut still felt hopeless.

I pulled a crumpled entry sheet from my pocket and looked at the name printed on the far left.

Mihono Bourbon. That’s what it said.

Why short distance? Well, in the real world, Bourbon’s debut race was a sprint. There’d even been talk that if she lost the Satsuki Sho, she’d switch permanently to short-distance races.

I’d already confirmed we were in the same class year, but if this followed the app’s version, her debut should’ve been a mile. I’d let my meta knowledge trip me up again.

But still… why did it have to be this race?

"Still can’t get her out of your head, huh? Mihono Bourbon—I went to scout her training sessions. She’s an amazing girl. Doing that level of intense training every single day… she must be incredibly tough. But don’t worry. You can win this."

"But…"

Mihono Bourbon’s front-running was terrifying. She charged up hills like they were nothing, keeping pace no matter the terrain. Easy to say—nearly impossible to do. If anyone could do that, the whole world would be ruled by escape-type runners by now.

My body trembled—probably from fear.

Then, a large hand gently rested on my head.

"Trainer…? Um…"

"No matter the result, I won’t abandon you. This is your first race—go have fun out there."

Those words sank deep inside me, melting away the heavy thought that I had to win.

Right. Losing here wouldn’t mean the end. Thinking that way made me feel just a little lighter.

"Thanks, Trainer."

"Yeah, that smile suits you better. If you’re all stiff and tense, you won’t be able to sprint down the final stretch!"

"Wh— That’s not—"

He tousled my hair with a quick ruffle.

"Don’t forget that feeling. You’re a capable Uma Musume."

"A capable Uma Musume…"

"That’s right. You’ve already cleared the average winning time for debut races."

Yeah. Even if my opponent was Mihono Bourbon—it didn’t matter. I just had to run my own race to the end.

"It’s time. Go get ’em, Lux."

I burst out of the waiting room and headed for the racecourse.

Only a sparse crowd had gathered for the paddock showcase. Naturally—who’d come to watch a make debut, except for hardcore Uma Musume fans, classmates, or parents?

Still, just the fact that there were spectators made everything feel different.

"Wow, look at Mihono Bourbon. For a junior making her debut, she’s in unbelievable form."

"My pick’s Up Tree over there. Her cornering’s phenomenal."

Fans were chatting left and right. I didn’t hear my name once—not surprising, since I’d never placed higher than last so far.

Then, among the crowd, I spotted a familiar face. Bridge Comp—my dormmate—she’d come to watch me.

That made me genuinely happy. There was someone here cheering just for me.

"Haaah…"

When the introductions ended, it was finally time for the race.

"Under clear blue skies, eight Uma Musume gather here at Chukyo Racecourse! The make debut—1200 meters on turf! Each runner is entering the gate!"

One by one, they stepped into their stalls.

During the selection race, I hadn’t thought much of it—but now, the gate felt uncomfortably tight.

"And the crowd favorite today—Mihono Bourbon! Can this front-runner claim victory in Chukyo’s 1200 meters, said to be tough for escape types?!"

"With that perfectly toned frame, she just might pull it off!"

All horses loaded. The announcer went silent. The moment of truth drew near.

The gate snapped open!

"A brilliant start from Mihono Bourbon! Just as expected, she’s taking the lead!"

"Meanwhile, Mithialx has gotten off to a slow start. Will this be tough for her?"

I began slowly, deliberately. No panic. I focused on reading the rhythm of the race.

By the halfway mark, the pack had already formed—a tight cluster of runners fiercely contesting position.

And at the very front stood Mihono Bourbon.

"With such a short-distance race, the situation’s expected to change rapidly!"

"Oh! Moon Hop moves to the front! What’s this?"

"A bit early for a spurt—she may be overreaching!"

Not yet. The time to push comes at the 400-meter mark—right as we hit the final stretch.

I glanced sideways at the furlong marker, gauging the race’s flow. The inner rail was packed—everyone desperate to claim that ideal line, forming a tangled bunch. As expected, few could manage clean course positioning yet.

Meaning—the outer lane was wide open.

"Oh? Mithialx is coming up from the very back!"

"There’s still quite a gap to the lead—can she make it in time?"

The moment I saw the 400-meter marker, I drove power into my legs.

My hooves struck the turf, kicking up blades of grass as I charged forward. The outer lane was pristine—perfect footing for a fast run.

Keeping the clustered pack in my peripheral vision, I sprinted straight for the lead.

"Mithialx! Mithialx is moving up fast! But don’t forget—there’s a hill right before the finish at Chukyo!"

A steep two-meter incline loomed ahead. Mihono Bourbon, running in front, surged up it as if it didn’t exist.

I can’t lose—not here!

With a fierce stomp that tore into the turf, I powered up the slope.

"What a development! Almost everyone’s slowing down on the hill!"

"Looks like the fast pace, set by Mihono Bourbon, is taking its toll!"

Ignoring the sight of others faltering, I kept driving forward. My eyes were locked on one target—Mihono Bourbon.

The gap was closing… but not fast enough!?

"Mihono Bourbon’s holding strong! Mithialx is closing in—but can she make it?!"

Not yet! The slope was easing—I could push even harder now!

The distance shrank: four lengths… three… Just a little more—just a little closer!

My fingertips could almost reach her back—

And then, the figure before me accelerated again.

The gap stopped shrinking.

"Mihono Bourbon crosses the line! First place, Mihono Bourbon! Second, Mithialx—just one step short!"

The announcer’s voice echoed across the track. The two of us thundered past the finish post, and the final results were decided.

It wasn’t enough. Just a fraction of a second. But that fraction was an unbridgeable gulf between first and second—and it pressed heavily on me.

I ran off the track, head down, hiding the tears that threatened to spill.

I couldn’t even remember how I got back to the waiting room.

"U… ugh…"

"Lux, that was a great race."

"Hic… What do you mean, great… I didn’t win…"

My Trainer gently patted my head as I sobbed uncontrollably.

…Come to think of it, I sure cry a lot in front of him.

"Mihono Bourbon was strong—strong enough that I’m certain the upcoming G1 races will be shaken up."

"Sniff… Yeah…"

"And you were amazing too. You clung to her until the very end. Did you notice? You finished nearly six lengths ahead of the next runner behind you."

I hadn’t even realized. In that moment, I’d seen no one but Mihono Bourbon.

"If Mihono Bourbon hadn’t been there, the victory in this make debut would’ve been yours."

"But… the one who won wasn’t me."

"True. But there’ll be plenty of chances to take revenge. For now, wipe your tears—go show your fans your first live performance."

I’ll never forget that day—my very first live.

The cheers, the dazzling glow of penlights that seemed to bless me. And among the crowd, near the entrance, I spotted him—my Trainer—wiping away tears.

"Idiot… If you’re sad, then just say you’re sad…"

He was kind—too kind. Probably holding back his own frustration so I wouldn’t feel worse, trying to shoulder it all himself.

Seeing him like that made something deep inside my chest tighten painfully.

At the same time, that pain ignited something hotter.

Next time—for sure.

And that determination would soon bear fruit.

In my second race ever—the so-called “maiden race.”

"Mithialx with an incredible finishing burst! Despite the longer distance from the outside lane, she powers through and takes first place!"

No surprises, no upsets. My goal was achieved at last.