Chapter 20: Run, Uma Musume

People often say there are two major types of front-running.

The first is when a horse girl’s personality or abilities force her to take the lead. Some feel instinctive stress unless they’re in front, some simply can’t hold themselves back, and some lack the late burst needed to pass others from behind. The reasons vary, but in all cases, they’re compelled into a front-running strategy.

This kind of front-running is, in a way, a gamble—trying to exploit whatever openings the race’s development offers.

They take the lead before the first corner, manage the pace from behind them, and launch their sprint at a point where the stalkers and closers can’t quite catch up. But depending on how the race unfolds, there are plenty of situations where no matter when they make their move, they still can’t hold on. In the end, it remains the strategy of the weaker side.

And the one who shattered that paradigm was Suzuka.

Blessed with innate speed, once Suzuka learned how to relax briefly during a race, she flipped the entire board upside down.

She would blast to the front right out of the start gate, use her massive lead to recover stamina, then check behind her at the fourth corner before unleashing her sprint. That—checking behind first—was where she differed from every front-runner before her.

Where ordinary front-runners are forced to sprint early, Suzuka—with her astonishing initial acceleration, ample stamina, and top-class finishing kick—could afford to look back first and still outrun anyone chasing. With this reversal, she achieved victories that no longer depended on race development.

It was precisely because she possessed that overwhelming finishing kick that she didn’t need to cling on—she could blow everyone away with a runaway lead that no one could touch.

The other type of front-running is the violent kind.

With brutally superior physical specs, they seize the lead early, avoid interference, and run the most economical path all the way through.

If someone with naturally high ability is allowed to race with minimal loss, there’s no beating them.

Normally, a time-attack style run would get blocked or bumped and never go as planned. If they tried to force it anyway, they’d be pushed wide, and the extra distance alone would slow them down.

But if their optimal “time-attack pace” is so fast that it surpasses everyone else, then none of those problems matter.

When they simply run at their ideal pace, they naturally end up in front and gain the freedom to choose their course. The race ends with everyone behind them just helplessly watching.

And this type doesn’t even need to insist on front-running.

If other girls try to block her in the front pack and keep her from running freely, she’ll just breeze past from a stalking position instead. If she’s already in a forward position, others could theoretically mark her from behind—but if everyone tries to do that, there’s no interference among them, meaning she’ll simply escape anyway.

So as long as everyone is genuinely trying to win, what happens is simple: she runs away from them, start to finish.

Witolum Pedes is exactly this type of front-runner.

On top of that, her finishing kick is massive—she can even blow past the field from a deep-closing position with ease.

And she and Spe will almost certainly face each other in the Satsuki-shō.

The Nakayama 2000m course of the Satsuki-shō is not a short race. But imagining Witolum Pedes tiring just because she front-runs is… difficult.

The only place we might be able to take advantage would be—

…No. For now, I need to focus on the Yayoi-shō right in front of us. There’s nothing more foolish than stumbling before the big race because you were staring too far ahead.

Even so, it’s honestly a relief that Witolum Pedes didn’t enter the Yayoi-shō.

Right now, Special Week still doesn’t have the racing experience needed to stand against her. It’s her first 2000m race, and her first time at Nakayama.

If she can gain that experience before the real Satsuki-shō, then maybe—just maybe—I can help her win…

Watching Suzuka doing her final adjustments for her comeback and Spe practicing her hill runs for the Yayoi-shō, I lowered my eyes again to the stack of papers in my hands, planning out our future course.

Witolum Pedes’ POV

Lately, the amount of my merchandise piling up in the trainer’s room has gotten absurd.

They took a ton of pictures when I was named Best Junior Uma Musume or whatever, and apparently some of those were used for merch.

Even the plushies alone come in endless variations—Paka-Puchi versions in my racing outfit, my PE uniform, even my live-performance costumes. Sizes range from giant hug-sized ones to tiny suction-cup types you can stick to windows. There’s no end to the variety.

Keychains, small accessories, towels, uchiwa fans—something new seems to appear every single day.

At this point, checking whether my eyes still look alive whenever a new item arrives is becoming part of my daily routine.

I used to post pictures of the merch on Uma-tter whenever I felt like it, but those throwaway posts started getting an unbelievable number of replies. It freaked me out, so I stopped.

Honestly, even just scrolling through UmaTube gets my race videos shoved into my recommendations, and even the ad pages in the weekly shonen magazine I normally read have headlines like “This Year’s Classic Uma Musume Special Feature,” with my name printed right there.

The final blow came while I was eating with Trainer in the trainer’s room, when a TV program happened to come on. I wasn’t paying full attention—just following along with my eyes—so I didn’t catch all the details, but it seemed like some kind of feature on the Classic generation.

As part of their “promising contenders” segment, what showed up on-screen was:

"Clear vision on the Classic front! She won’t surrender the peak of her generation. Eight flawless wins, carrying the majesty of a reigning champion. The ruler herself—Witolum Pedes!!"

Then came a needlessly flashy title card and a dramatic montage of all my past races edited to look cool.

After that, they started speculating about how I might run in the Satsuki-shō and the Derby, and how other Uma Musume might try to counter me.

This… might actually be bad.

I don’t know exactly what part is bad, but at the very least, it can’t be good that incomprehensible expectations are being stacked on my races to a ridiculous degree.

I didn’t understand the commentators’ tactical explanations, but from the tone of it, the Derby is way more dangerous of a race than I thought.

To be honest, my original plan was to run the Derby, pretend I tweaked my leg or something, and then spend the rest of the season taking it easy. But at this rate, if I did that and got caught, something terrifying would definitely happen.

Ugh, what do I do?

People like those commentators will absolutely go, "She ran the Satsuki-shō, so now the Derby! She ran the Derby, so now the next stakes race!" Always demanding the next thing and the next thing.

I mean, back when I first entered Tracen Academy, I figured running decently would help me get some sports-recommendation-type benefit or something. I think I even said I’d run the Derby.

But… can you even enter the Derby without actually winning that much?

There’s no point in purposely losing, and if I’m going to enter, I figured I might as well win—except did I accidentally let people’s expectations get way too high?

The whole concept of “winning” in races is the problem. If ten of us run, and second place still counts as a loss, then continuous winning becomes insanely rare. No wonder everyone gets obsessed with winning streaks.

Ugh… I really want to run away.

I must be a new kind of front-running Uma Musume—not one who runs away in the race, but one who runs away from the race entirely.

…Maybe I’m just tired.

……
……
……

All right, I’m done thinking about this.

Besides, if I say I’m not racing anymore, they might kick me out of this nice, comfy trainer’s room. So for now, without overthinking it, I’ll just show up and casually run whatever race is in front of me.

Thinking any further feels no different from resting—or like a computer freezing. I mean, I got so lost in thought that I didn’t even notice the spaghetti sauce splattered on the tip of my nose until Trainer wiped it off for me.