Chapter 105: Before the Journey

As the Yorkshire Cup approached, our preparations to leave Japan were nearly complete. But there was still one last thing we had to do—and for that, we called on Sirius Symboli.

The goal was to deepen our understanding of Europe. Sirius had won the Japan Derby and spent years racing overseas. I was set to study at Chantilly's training center until fall. Naturally, I wanted to tap into her experience.

The horse girls in the reserved meeting room were me, Jarra Jarra, and Guriko. Since they were also preparing for Europe, I’d invited them after checking with our trainer.

By the way, the rumor mill had gone wild over Guriko and Sirius meeting—especially certain corners of the internet (cough dream-girl fandoms cough). Seriously, who leaked that?

“Guriko, have you ever talked to Sirius before?”

“Nah, never. You, Jarra Jarra?”

“Don’t think we’ve met...”

“So it’s everyone’s first time, huh?”

“She’s got this kinda unapproachable aura, y’know? Bet she’s nice once you talk to her, though!”

While we chatted, the door swung open. We shut up fast.

Tomeo stepped in—Sirius Symboli behind him.

Sirius had presence. Sharp, narrow eyes. Ridiculously long lashes. A figure that made you want to quit life. Unfair.

“Pleased to meet you~!”

Stunned by the real-life Sirius, I bowed. The others followed suit, a beat late but still polite. First impressions matter. Etiquette counts.

Our greetings seemed to soften her mood... until she spotted Symboli Rudolf, the student council president, standing beside me with her usual serene smile. Sirius’ cheek twitched.

“...Why the hell is she here?”

“Oh? Am I unwelcome?”

“...Tch. Do what you want.”

“I shall.”

Sirius glared, then took the seat farthest from Rudolf. Her eyes were cold. Rudolf’s stayed neutral. Even I, slow as I was, felt the tension.

But we were here to learn. I didn’t know their history—or whatever was going on. As Jarra Jarra, Guriko, and I braced against the chill, Tomeo cleared his throat.

“Ahem. Now that everyone’s here, let’s begin. As you know, Sirius Symboli will be giving a mini-lecture on Europe’s Twinkle Series. Symboli Rudolf has volunteered to assist. Let’s proceed.”

“Yeah. Can we just get started already?”

“Sure, feel free to take the lead.”

“Great.”

At Tomeo’s nod, Sirius stepped forward. She scanned us quickly, all business, then opened a battered notebook marked Europe and picked up a marker. She wrote on the whiteboard.

The notebook itself radiated intensity—heavy with the weight of blood, sweat, and hard-earned knowledge.

Sirius Symboli. After winning the Japan Derby, she’d spent two years racing in Europe. King George VI & Queen Elizabeth Stakes. Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe. Ten graded races at Longchamp alone.

She’d raced in the same Arc that Dancing Brave—the so-called World’s Strongest—won. Back home, she’d clashed with Oguri Cap and Tamamo Cross. She wasn’t just experienced. She was a walking history book.

We scrambled to take notes as she spoke.

First: Europe’s racing culture. The Twinkle Series there has no dirt races. Instead, there are flat races, jump races, and trotting races (competitive walking, basically). Jump racing dominates. The G3 Grand National—a jump race—tops Europe’s betting charts every year. In fact, jump races regularly claim 15 of the top 20 earning spots. One year, 19 of 20. That’s how big they are.

The shortest jump race? A brutal 3200 meters. Running 5000 to 6000 meters is normal. With deadly obstacles and grueling stamina demands, jump racing eclipses flat races to the point that some call the latter boring. Flat racing didn’t fall—it got overshadowed.

L’Ombre and Double Trigger are working through Europe’s URA to change that.

L’Ombre says there’s a plan to boost flat racing’s appeal. For context: the Grand National draws 10 million TV viewers in the UK alone. That’s one in six people. If jump racing gets that kind of attention, why can’t flat racing?

But culture matters. In Japan, turf flat racing reigns. In Europe, jump racing is ingrained—woven into history.

Europe favors adrenaline: rugby, soccer, F1. Fast. Intense. Flat racing, to them, lacks that edge. Meanwhile, Japan leans toward calm precision. No risks. No injuries. Fans are fine with waiting. Flat racing fits that mold.

Still, L’Ombre wants to overturn the norm. Can she? Hard to say. But this might be the best shot to revive flat racing and fulfill the dreams of the world’s best stayers. We’ll do our part.

“Alright, let’s get into race specifics—but I’ll have the trainer here handle some details. Not that I’m clueless, but he’s the expert.”

“…The main reason we called Sirius was for her firsthand experience. Don’t worry about it.”

Even Tracen Academy trainers are expected to know global racing. But this lecture was about lived experience, and Sirius had it in spades.

The difference between Japan and Europe boils down to one thing: artificial vs. natural. Japan’s racecourses are manicured, modeled after American tracks. Europe’s? They are nature. The grass is long. The terrain is wild. Courses wind through forests and over hills. Steep elevation changes—unthinkable in Japan—are standard. Turns are gentle. Straights are long.

The G1 Prix Jacques Le Marois, which Taiki-san won, had a 1600-meter straight. Some races under a mile are run entirely in straight lines. There are even 2000-meter straights.

Under these conditions, regional styles evolved. European Umamusume excel on long straights. American ones dominate twisty tracks. Japan, built on the American model, favors Umamusume who are masters of curves—and lethal in a slow-paced sprint to the finish.

Once that surface-level breakdown ended, Sirius stepped up again. Her next topic: European racing styles and how to counter them—drawn from her own hard-won experience.

"—As I just explained, you should now understand Europe’s style. To put it bluntly, it’s a win at all costs in the end approach. Fewer Umamusume focus on the start compared to Japan. It’s common for ‘rabbits’—front-runners—to be entered just to set the pace for the real threats."

So, how do you adapt to European courses and deal with rabbits? Sirius-san raised a finger.

"Epsom Downs has 40 meters of elevation change. Even Ascot has 20. That’s unheard of in Japan. So obviously, running like you always have won’t cut it. If you’re racing middle distances or longer, you’ve gotta change your style. That’s my answer."

Her grip on her notebook tightened.

Then came the flood of advice. What to change. What to keep. How to manage brutal elevation shifts. It wasn’t theory—it was lived experience.

European soil is soft, bleeding stamina with every step. Deep in forested stretches, deer and wild rabbits might leap out. Mole holes dot the ground. Her details came fast and sharp.

At one point, she pointed at me.

"You don’t need to change your running style—not if your trainer says so. That’d just ruin what makes you good. But fix those damn habits? That’ll decide your results."

The precision of it made me flinch.

Tomio gave a shallow nod. When I glanced at President Rudolf for backup, she only offered a helpless shake of her head. Sirius-san scoffed.

"—Hah. So the silent Student Council President has nothing to say about Apollo’s running? No advice for your adorable junior?"

"...Very well. I’ll say this: Don’t get injured. If you’re hurt, you can’t race. Ending things before you even get to fight—that’s a regret you’ll never shake."

"...Tch. Can’t argue with that. Thanks for nothing."

After that, Sirius-san taught Jarra Jarra stamina-saving tricks and told Guriko to prep for heavy ground.

Then, standing tall, she left us with one last order.

"I’ve taught you this much. All three of you—deliver results."

"Yes!"
"Of course!"
"I’ll do my best!"

There were still questions. Dozens of them. But she’d made time for us. That was enough.

President Rudolf, still catching the tail-end of Sirius’ glare, stepped forward.

"Sirius Symboli has covered everything in her notes. If you have questions, ask me. I’ll do my best to answer. Though, my expertise lies in America, not Europe."

And just like that, the baton passed. The Q&A lasted nearly an hour—

"Every Umamusume has weaknesses. Even the unmatched ones. Once you see your own clearly, your rivals’ will stand out too. I wish you the best of luck."

And with that, the mini-lecture ended.

Back in our room, I started packing for tomorrow’s journey. Behind me, Guriko’s ears drooped.

I caught the look in my periphery and tried to lift the mood.

"C’mon, it’s just a month! Why so glum?"

"...W-well..."

"Well what?"

"We’ve spent two whole years sharing this room, y’know? Celebrating wins with little parties—getting yelled at for being too loud, oversleeping, blaming each other... Even if it’s just a month, my noisy roommate’s gonna be gone. Of course I’ll miss you."

Her voice barely made it to my ears. But it hit like a ton of bricks.

She’d follow after the Yasuda Kinen—join me at Chantilly’s training center. But even a month apart felt like a gap too wide. We’d lived so close there were no secrets left. Without her, the quiet would be too loud.

Still—I wasn’t worried.

"...We’ll be fine. We’re connected here, right?"

I poked her chest. Guriko snorted. The line was stupid, even to me—but getting laughed at still stung.

"Hey, why’re you laughing? Rude."

"N-no! Not laughing at you! It’s just... it’s reassuring. Yeah, that’s so you, Apollo-chan."

"What’s that supposed to mean? Lights out."

"Wait, don’t sulk—"

"Lights. Out."

"Eek—!"

I huffed and dove under the covers. Guriko, still giggling, headed to her own bed. We had an early start. Sleep came quick.

Eyes closed, I murmured a quiet "Thank you." Barely above a whisper. No reply.

For a while, I fidgeted under the blanket. Drowsiness finally took over.

Then, just before I slipped away, Guriko’s voice broke the silence.

"—Apollo-chan."

"……Mmm, what……?"

"I... think... I understand... your pain, A-po-ro-chan..."

"…………"

"That’s... why... your dream... will definitely——"

I didn’t catch the end. Drowsiness won. Her voice faded. That rallying cry—something I hadn’t even told my trainer or senpai—vanished in the dark.

And then, deep inside, the other me stirred.

—We’re still incomplete. That’s why the cracks show. You’re impatient, and that impatience toward your dream... that’s what makes you charge.

He stood there, arms crossed, eyes locked on me.

My tendency to charge—it’s not just a bad habit. It comes from something deeper. A dream that feels distant. A purpose I can’t quite name. And the unrest that builds in that emptiness—that’s what pushes me forward.

The bottomless anxiety that surfaced after the Kikuka-shō is poison now, eating away at me. The Twinkle Series demands a body and technique sharpened to the brink. At a stage like the G1, the physical gap between rivals all but disappears. What matters then is unwavering will. But this impatience—this frantic urge—is a contaminant, corroding true mental strength.

The "me" continues:
We’re still incomplete. That’s why the cracks show. Why we can’t deliver a run that satisfies.
To reach the next stage—to become the ideal Uma Musume—you have to race inside the dream you’ve envisioned, clearly and fully. Only then will the ultimate hurdle, the charge, be overcome. The gnawing impatience will dissolve, and Apollo Rainbow will finally show her true running.

The "me" watches me.

—Right.
What I’d forgotten lies at the core of the dream. At Kikuka-shō, I pushed my body beyond its limits, completed every preparation I could. I was ready to chase it—but beyond that goal, a haze waited. Thick and vague. I don’t know what it is. When it formed. Where it started. That shadow... I have no idea. But if I had to guess—its origin might trace back to the day I resolved to become the strongest stayer.

I was watching a race with my parents. It should’ve been long-distance, but I can’t remember where, or who was running. Everything’s blurred. The race still lingers faintly, but the winner’s name is gone.

Still—that’s the core.
What I saw the day I made my vow: a snow crystal. A geometric flake, sharp and brilliant on the TV screen. That fragment of snow—it shaped my foundation.

So, what does it mean?
What does that snow crystal—and the voice of the Uma Musume on-screen—signify?

"In this ⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎, fighting ⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎, I—"

A sharp pain slices through my temple.
Stop here, my instincts say.
Not yet, I feel.

But then—something flickers.
The snow crystal I saw in Dubai.
A grotesque shimmer in the searing desert.
Unforgettable.

Snow, drifting faintly in impossible heat. A remnant. Likely... from Kayf Tara.

If that’s true—then maybe she holds my dream.
Maybe Kayf Tara is like the Uma Musume on TV—someone who gives dreams to others.
Far-fetched? Maybe.
But I couldn’t help believing it.

Lumos’ voice runs through me:
Save Kayf Tara’s heart.
Her heart is tied to my dream.

...Save Kayf Tara?

No.
I’m the one who needs saving from her, too.

It should be just intuition.
But with near-certainty, I know:

We’re drawn to each other. Even across the sea, we ache.
This thirst—this impulse, anxiety, hope, envy, jealousy, frenzy, defeat, fighting spirit—
Only one person can take it all in.

Kayf Tara. Bearer of the snow crystal.

No one else.
Only you.