Chapter 21: Fierce Battle! The Hopeful Stakes!

The year's final G1 race—the Hopeful Stakes. The stage was set at Nakayama Racecourse, 2000 meters on turf, right-handed course.

Even as a junior division race, its G1 status meant Nakayama Racecourse was already packed three hours before post time. The newspapers and media hype must have worked. Since the Arima Memorial ended, internet and TV news kept proclaiming: "The decisive battle foretelling next year's classics! The 'Big Three' have already gathered at Nakayama!"

Special Week was hailed as "Future Japanese Representative Uma Musume" and "Earth-Shaking Powerful Strides," receiving the highest media praise. In pure ability, she undoubtedly stood above the rest.

King Halo was called "The Young Lady Charging Down Victory Road" and "Generation's Finest Closing Speed," putting her in contention with me for second. Media opinions varied, with most predicting her to finish second—though some magazines and websites apparently guaranteed her victory.

As for me—Apollo Rainbow—I got flashy titles like "Junior Division 2000-Meter Record Holder," "The Mad Dash Demon Uma Musume," and "Generation's Most Popular Uma Musume." Predictions ranged from first place to dead last. Well, with my explosive dash style being inconsistent, that unpredictability made sense.

Media-wise, Special Week held a slight advantage. But the "Big Three" narrative was already set in stone—everywhere you looked, it was Spec-chan, King-chan, and Apollo Rainbow. What an honor.

Despite being year's end, the venue buzzed with enough energy to make heat waves shimmer as we exited our taxi toward Nakayama's waiting room. Staff surrounded us for protection against the insane crowd density...a good thing too.

My trainer and I exchanged relieved glances, both thinking, "Thank goodness we didn't take the train." The routes from nearby stations—Higashi-Nakayama or Funabashi-Hōten—to here must be pure chaos. Crowds worse than packed rush-hour trains. The thought of me, a G1-contending Uma Musume, getting caught in that crush was terrifying. I could literally get trampled to death—no joke.

Thus I first set foot in Nakayama Racecourse. Passing fans cheered, "Apollo-chaaan!" "We're rooting for you!" so I waved back with a smile. Most reacted with gasps or "So cute!" though some actually fainted from my wave...shocking. According to Tomio, my SNS popularity borders on cult-like.

Thinking "Some people sure are eccentric," we entered the waiting room where tension finally hit.

"Guess I'm nervous after all..."

"Well, it's your first G1. My heart's pounding too."

The Hopeful Stakes—still three hours until Race 9. With these crowds, jogging the outer course was impossible. No choice but to change into my racing uniform with his permission.

"Let me assist you."

"Ah, thank you."

Whether summoned by my trainer or not, staff arrived to help. He'd already vanished, leaving only my snow-white racing outfit behind.

Shedding my uniform, I reached for the racing dress. Still unfamiliar—too elegant for me.

As staff helped me into it, they complimented, "You look lovely." Praise about my beauty always flustered me. Thanking them while adjusting my heels.

—Perfect fit. Snug yet empowering. I'm in peak condition.

Then I locked eyes with my mirror reflection and noticed:...Wow, my stomach shows through way more than I thought. The dim trainer's room had hidden it.

I knew my uniform's midsection used translucent material, but in proper lighting, my toned abdomen was completely visible. The sheer fabric added a provocative touch, showcasing my sculpted abs with their slight vertical definition. Guess URA really does have belly button fetishists.

Could this be why my uniform shipped late? ...Nah, overthinking it.

As I patted my bare midriff, staff approached with makeup tools.

"We're doing makeup too?"

"Yes, it's a G1 race."

Turns out we get light pre-race makeup, then touch-ups before the Winning Live. The staff mentioned I'd handle the latter myself, so I nodded blankly.

Post-makeup, Tomio entered as staff left. He froze momentarily at my appearance before relaxing with a sloppy grin.

"Apollo, you really are beautiful."

"Sh...shut up!"

This guy...spouting such cringeworthy lines with zero shame! I glared while clutching my skirt.

"Don't go saying things that might give girls the wrong idea."

"......? I only say things like that to Apollo, though."

.........

Haaaaaaah~~~~~~~~~...... I hate how that made my heart skip a beat.

I'm such an easy mark...

Shaking it off, I checked the race program on UmaHo.

Post 1, Gate 1: #1 Favorite - Special WeekPost 1, Gate 2: #4 Favorite - Wicked LadyPost 2, Gate 3: #17 Favorite - Lime ShushuPost 2, Gate 4: #10 Favorite - Nautical ToolPost 3, Gate 5: #14 Favorite - Contest RivalPost 3, Gate 6: #2 Favorite - Apollo RainbowPost 4, Gate 7: #15 Favorite - Tsuka'aPost 4, Gate 8: #5 Favorite - WistcraftPost 5, Gate 9: #16 Favorite - Luminous ExudePost 5, Gate 10: #8 Favorite - Classic ComedyPost 6, Gate 11: #9 Favorite - Clarinet RhythmPost 6, Gate 12: #13 Favorite - Musha MushaPost 7, Gate 13: #3 Favorite - King HaloPost 7, Gate 14: #12 Favorite - Moon PopPost 7, Gate 15: #18 Favorite - Rural LeisurePost 8, Gate 16: #6 Favorite - OverdrainPost 8, Gate 17: #11 Favorite - Noir GrimoirePost 8, Gate 18: #7 Favorite - Oboe Rhythm

A full gate of 18 runners—our first time at this scale. The top three favorites (us) stood far above the rest. As repeated endlessly, this race centered on the "Big Three" of Special Week, King Halo, and Apollo Rainbow.

My mark was Special Week. I wasn't skilled enough to watch both her and King Halo simultaneously. Today's ultimate rival was Special Week—King Halo would have to wait. Victory requires both skill and luck.

Tomio and I had prepared thoroughly. Special Week's closing speed, timing, quirks—every detail was burned into my mind. Now, all that remained was to run without regrets, giving my all across the turf.

With mere hours until the Hopeful Stakes began, I steadied my breathing and sharpened my focus.

---

The Hopeful Stakes commenced at last. Forty minutes before post time, we arrived at Nakayama's paddock. Before tens of thousands of spectators, eighteen junior-class middle-distance G1 contenders stood poised. As the Uma Musume gathered, the crowd hushed under the weight of their razor-sharp fighting spirit. Someone murmured, "Is this the aura of junior-class elites...?"

(......Junior, classic—labels don't matter. We're here to seize victory.)

Among all Uma Musume nationwide, only the most exceptional—those who withstood the torrent of talent at Tracen Academy—earned this stage.

Just eighteen. Out of thousands, perhaps tens of thousands. Warriors who conquered the brutal racing world through skill and fortune—facing them made my skin prickle.

And among them, two stood out. I couldn't—wouldn't—look away, glaring at them with unrelenting pressure.

One of them, Special Week, stepped onto the presentation stand, her racing silks still hidden under a jacket. In major races, they'd dramatically toss the jacket aside—a performance tradition of unclear origin.

"Gate 1, #1—Special Week!"

"Our top favorite! That explosive closing speed justifies her position!"

As the commentary rang out, Special Week—instead of tossing her jacket skyward—slammed it onto the ground. The commentators faltered. The remaining seventeen of us nearly faceplanted in disbelief.

"Ahem... my apologies. Special Week appears in excellent condition."

"Indeed! Glossy coat, solid build—peak form. She's my personal pick."

Spec-chan waved bashfully at the crowd, revealing her protagonist-like purple-and-white silks. Seeing her up close, her raw strength was terrifying. That airheaded demeanor might lull us into complacency... not that she'd ever scheme like that.

"Next, Gate 1, #2—Wicked Lady—"

Special Week, having moved aside, got a light chop from a lollipop-sucking man (likely her trainer). Apparently, tossing jackets was common knowledge—no one thought to clarify the direction.

"Gate 3, #6—Apollo Rainbow! Our #2 favorite!"

"All eyes on her! The junior-class 2000-meter record holder!"

At my name, I stepped forward. Mounting the stand, I gripped the jacket draped over my shoulders—and hurled it with all my might.

For a split second, the paddock fell dead silent. Every gaze locked onto me, wide-eyed and unblinking.

(......Huh? Did I mess up?)

Even the commentators froze. After an eerie pause, murmurs returned as they recovered.

"Apologies... we were spellbound by Apollo Rainbow's silks."

"Exquisite design—truly eye-catching!"

......So my wedding-dress-like racing uniform stunned them. Well, can't blame them. Ahaha...

"You're the first Uma Musume to leave me speechless."

"What's gotten into you?"

"Her growth since the last race, that fighting spirit, those silks... My #1 pick is Apollo Rainbow alone."

"What the hell's wrong with you..."

After the presentations, we proceeded to the track. I caught Tomio's hand before he could head to the outer fence—our last words before the race.

His warmth fueled my competitive fire. My heart chilled, flooding with terrifying clarity.

"...I'm going, Trainer."

"Yeah. Stick to the plan. ...Leave it all out there."

Propelled by his words, I finally stepped onto the turf.

Other Uma Musume were already warming up ("return gallops"—checking track conditions and their own rhythm). I, however, blasted down the homestretch at full speed, drawing cheers and commentary.

"Whoa! Apollo Rainbow going all out! The crowd's roaring!"

2000 meters was too damn short for me. By burning stamina early, I'd trick my body into treating it like 2500 meters—a desperate gambit. But to fight them at my best, this was our only option. Tomio's last resort, deployed now or never.

After warm-ups, we assembled at our gates. The G1 fanfare swelled, drowned by deafening cheers.

"A staggering 100,000 spectators at year-end Nakayama! Rivaling the Arima Memorial crowd for this junior-class G1!"

One by one, the Uma Musume entered their gates. Special Week, King Halo... and me.

Ah... It's really time. A G1 race is about to begin—for real.

"Gate 3, #6—Apollo Rainbow has entered her stall!"

"Her front-running strategy will be key to this race! In that sense, she's the one to watch most closely!"

I dug my hooves into the turf, testing the ground. A firm squish—good feedback. ...Yeah, thanks to my trainer's adjustments, I'm in perfect condition.

A few deep breaths, then I furrowed my brow. The crowd's noise faded into the distance. My mind sharpened. Nervousness vanished, leaving only burning determination.

"All gates are now closed! Who will claim the title of junior-class champion? Nakayama Racecourse, 2000 meters on turf—the Hopeful Stakes is about to begin!"

Silence fell over the track. The two-minute battle was upon us. Only one out of eighteen would win. Only one would take the throne. The rest? Meaningless. Second place and below didn't matter.

I will win. I won't let anyone else take the lead. Grinding my teeth, I stoked a fury-like fighting spirit.

The air was still. Temperature: 5°C. Heavy turf from recent snowfall. A wind that could freeze you to the bone—

—CLANG! The gates flew open.

"And they're off! A clean start! As expected, Apollo Rainbow bursts forward, taking the lead with her explosive dash!"

"Right on script! With her, this will be a blistering pace!"

The race of destiny had begun. Instinctively, I lunged forward, leaning into the acceleration as if propelled. Cutting through the wind, I checked my surroundings as we approached the first turn.

—No one. No one was challenging me early. Of course—trying to match me meant instant defeat. No one wanted to waste stamina dueling a front-runner at suicidal speeds.

They'd all yield, letting me burn myself out. That was exactly what we wanted.

Maybe my record-setting front-running last race had left an impression—unexpectedly, my "mad dash" style had seared itself into their minds. No one was reckless enough to chase me down. So far, so good.

I faced forward, heading into the second turn.

An unmarked front-runner has an easier time. Well, "easy" isn't the word—but compared to being pressured, it's far more manageable. As we entered the backstretch, I glanced back to locate Special Week.

—"I'm winning this."

Those were the eyes staring back at me—Special Week, right on my tail.

A chill ran down my spine. What? Was my pace slipping? No—impossible. I'd been pushing full throttle the entire time. Why was she here?

"Through the second turn and onto the backstretch! Unbelievable—Special Week, who usually prefers a late charge, is sitting in second! Apollo Rainbow panics and kicks up the pace!""Even for a front-runner like her, this is clearly overkill. It seems... yes. Special Week is hunting Apollo Rainbow!"

Then it hit me. I was the only front-runner in this race. Meaning—Special Week had switched to a pressuring lead strategy, shadowing me to drain my stamina.

A blind spot. I'd assumed she'd always rely on her closing speed. Damn it—she was exploiting her inside post advantage. I never imagined we'd end up marking each other—

I surged forward, pushing my legs to the limit to shake her off. But Special Week gritted her teeth and clung on.

"—Ghh!!"

(Special Week—damn you, get out of my way!!)

(No!! I’m going to be Japan’s number one Uma Musume!!)

Was this a battle of wills, or part of Special Week’s strategy? An unbearable surge of fighting spirit and heat pressed against my back—like a blade. The pressure was so overwhelming, I felt like I’d be torn apart if this kept up. The terror of being hunted for the first time was breaking my stride.

——I was used to being the one marking others, not being marked. And certainly not by one of the strongest in our generation. My faltering pace wasn’t just exhaustion—it was sheer, primal panic.

"Th—the first 1000 meters cleared in—56.1 seconds!? The two leaders can’t possibly hold this pace!!"

"Forget the time—I’m worried they’ll injure themselves at this rate!"

This wasn’t just an overpace—it was suicidal. The crowd’s murmurs weren’t cheers, but shock.

——But.

Who cares about the time? I didn’t know, didn’t need to know. The first one past the finish line wins—maybe that’s what desperation sounds like in my head.

Locked in this brutal duel with Special Week, we tore into the final turn. A battle of pure stubbornness, a grudge match drenched in sweat and fury. My heart should’ve burst by now, yet we charged into the homestretch at this murderous pace.

"They’ve cleared the final turn—it’s a two-horse race!! The rest are three lengths behind!!"

Special Week, while pressing me relentlessly, kept her posture low, minimizing drag. She clung to my slipstream like a shadow—infuriatingly skilled.

But so what? Don’t underestimate my grit—!

(Move!! I’ll bury you!! I’M TAKING FIRST!!)(No, no, NO!! It’s MINE!!)

"400 meters left—they’re neck and neck!! Special Week and Apollo Rainbow, stride for stride!! Can Special Week break free!? Apollo’s clinging on—unbelievable tenacity!! She WON’T let her pass—no, she’s PULLING AWAY!?"

Special Week lunged from my slipstream, going for the kill—but I revved my speed at the exact moment she tried to pass. Her face twisted in shock, lips forming a silent "No way—"

If you surge just as they try to overtake, it psychs them out. Then, you ease off a hair—just enough to bait them again—before hammering the pace once more. That’s my mind game. My refusal to lose.

My legs might shatter. My lungs might explode. But compared to the agony of defeat? This pain is nothing.

(See that, Special Week!? THIS is my resolve!!)(Not yet—I’m NOT giving up!!)(You’re relentless—!!)

"200 meters left—Apollo Rainbow by a nose!! But Special Week’s legendary closing speed is kicking in!! She’s pushed hard from the start—can she hold on!?"

(Special Week, I swore I’d NEVER lose to you again!! TODAY IS MINE!!)(——!)

Our eyes locked, side by side. Her breathing was ragged, on the verge of collapse. I had just a sliver of stamina left.

——But then.

"U—RAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

Special Week's roar of defiance pierced my eardrums. With a sudden burst, she surged forward—no time to process the shock. She'd revived. Revived, damn it all! So this was the pride of a champion...!

"Ghh—OAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHH!!!"

Drooling, drenched in sweat—no dignity left, just pure desperation—I clawed back at Special Week's narrowing lead. Her eyes widened in disbelief.

"100 meters left!! They're neck and neck!! Special Week and Apollo Rainbow!! Will it come down to a photo finish!?"

We threw everything into our final strides—chests heaving, bodies tilting dangerously forward.

The moment of glory approached. Who would seize it?

The crowd held its breath—

"Wait—someone's charging from behind! Is that—"

"I won't give up—NEVER!!"

——A flash.

The King's Radiance ignited.

From the tightest gap along the rail—where not even a sliver of space should exist—she unleashed her legendary closing speed.

——An emerald lightning strike.

Everyone froze. How? She'd been three lengths back at the 200-meter mark!

But such questions were irrelevant. She erased them. That was her power.

"K-King Halo!? KING HALO IS FLYING UP!! Special Week, Apollo Rainbow, King Halo—!! This is now a THREE-WAY BATTLE FOR THE AGES—!!"

A new contender erupted into our duel: King Halo. While we'd burned ourselves raw, she'd bided her time—and now, with fresher legs, the advantage was hers.

We fought. We scrapped. We clawed for every centimeter—

——But by a hair's breadth, King Halo's will outstretched ours.

The impossible was possible—because she was King Halo.

"——AND THEY'VE HIT THE WIIIIRE!! What a finish!! The victor of the year's final race—KING HALO!! She conquers the 'Big Three' showdown, claiming the title of JUNIOR-CHAMPION—!!"