Chapter 26: The Classics Have Finally Begun

The New Year's break had ended, and we were now halfway through January. Classes had resumed, and as the chaotic energy of the new year faded, whispers about races began to reach my ears. That’s right—the Classics had already begun.

“Excuse me!!”

“Whoa!? W-what the— Oh, it’s just you, Apollo… Don’t scare me like that.”

“Tomio, show me the footage of the Keisei Cup!!”

“Yeah, yeah, hold on a sec.”

After school, I burst into the trainer’s room with enough force to nearly break the door and immediately confronted him. The reason was simple—Seiun Sky had apparently won the G3 Keisei Cup yesterday with a brilliant front-running performance. This came right after El Condor Pasa’s victory in the Shinzan Memorial.

When I pressed her about it, she just laughed it off, saying something like, “Oh, Sei-chan just got lucky~” I barely managed to stop myself from retorting, “Yeah right, a two-time Classic winner from the strongest generation wouldn’t win by accident.” Instead, I played along, chuckling, “Oh, you’re such a joker~”

Historically, Seiun Sky was the one who won the Satsuki Sho (Japanese 2000 Guineas), overpowering Special Week and King Halo with a relentless front-running strategy. If things go as planned, I’ll be running in that race too—and without a doubt, she’s the one I need to watch out for the most. Personality-wise, she’s also the hardest to predict. Goldship is unpredictable in her own way, but Seiun is different.

“But you’re a runaway front-runner too, right? Can’t you just crush Seiun Sky’s pace from above?”Wrong.I used to think that way, but racing isn’t that simple. Some front-runners deliberately avoid taking the lead, crafting their race without clinging to the front.

I plopped onto the sofa and began scrutinizing the Keisei Cup footage playing on the monitor.

—Keisei Cup, G3, 2000m turf, held in mid-January at Nakayama Racecourse (firm ground).Fifteen horses lined up at the gate, with Seiun Sky in Gate 1-1. Tomio sat beside me, likely having rewatched this race multiple times already.

The footage started with the paddock. Seiun Sky looked oddly unfocused, hands clasped behind her head, occasionally flashing a lazy smile and waving at the crowd. Her odds? Sixth favorite.

Sixth favorite? Unbelievable.Special Week and King Halo would agree—she was clearly sandbagging. I could see the tricks—her deliberately messy hair and tail, the forced gloomy expression. Lowering her odds to avoid being marked. Classic Seiun Sky behavior.

It was so obvious that murmurs rippled through the crowd, but neither she nor her trainer cared. Mentally unshakable, or just shameless?

After the paddock, the horses entered the track. The others trotted briskly, but Seiun Sky lumbered along, doing the bare minimum warm-up.

The fanfare blared, and the gates opened.

A perfect inside draw for a front-runner.For just a moment, a glint of fighting spirit flashed in Seiun Sky’s eyes—she’s coming—and then the race began.

A clean, even break. Three front-runners surged forward, battling for the lead. Seiun Sky was among them, but she didn’t take the front—instead settling into second.

—That’s the thing.Seiun Sky doesn’t need the lead to perform. Horses like me and Silence Suzuka are pure front-runners—if we’re not in front, we lose our edge. But Seiun Sky is flexible. Even if a runaway like me is in the race, she doesn’t panic. She adjusts.

“Around the final corner—Seiun Sky breaks away! She’s accelerating, leaving the others behind!”

Swerving slightly, shifting her pace, she seized the lead in the final stretch and won by ¾ length.

“She’s done it! Seiun Sky by a narrow margin! She’s thrown her hat into the ring for the upcoming Satsuki Sho!”

What struck me most was how calculated her race was.

Deliberately holding back in second.

Manipulating the pace, sometimes slowing, sometimes surging, keeping rivals off-balance.

Forcing the front-runner to push harder, while also disrupting the closers’ rhythm.

…Wait.

A front-runner lured into overextending, while the stalkers bided their time, waiting to strike…Why does that feel familiar?

…No way.Was the Keisei Cup just a rehearsal for her?

“Tomio, there’s something about Seiun Sky’s race tactics that’s bugging me…”

"Oh?"

"Sei-chan's... how should I put it? The way she's deliberately disrupting the pace more than necessary—it feels like she's racing with me, Supe-chan, and King-chan in mind."

If we imagine the leading front-runner as me—Apollo Rainbow—and Seiun Sky is manipulating the chasing pack (Special Week and King Halo) in this race, then it makes sense why she didn’t take the lead despite having the perfect inside gate.

—Suppose, for argument’s sake, that I somehow manage to secure enough earnings to run in the Satsuki Sho. Let’s overlay this Keisei Hai with a hypothetical Satsuki Sho featuring Apollo Rainbow, Special Week, King Halo, and Seiun Sky.

Apollo Rainbow, regardless of gate position, would rocket out at full throttle from the start to seize the lead. Seiun Sky would likely settle into second, right on my tail. While throwing off Special Week and King Halo’s stamina management and wearing down their closing speed, she’d ignore my blistering pace, push into the final turn, then overtake me at the last moment—outlasting King Halo and Special Week’s pursuit to steal a wire-to-wire victory.

—That’s probably Seiun Sky’s ideal scenario, isn’t it?

The more I watch, the clearer it becomes—Seiun Sky is racing with us in mind. The way she unnaturally forces the front-runner’s pace, deliberately creating a grueling early tempo—I should’ve realized sooner.

"...So Apollo thinks so too?"

"Right? It’s totally obvious!"

Tomio nods, arms crossed. So it’s true—Seiun Sky was racing with the Satsuki Sho in mind.

"Still... is Sei-chan really okay pushing and pulling the pace like that? If I tried that, I’d probably lose all sense of rhythm."

When us horse girls race someone, we usually mark our target and apply pressure. But some, like Seiun Sky, disrupt the entire field by making bold moves themselves.

It’s a double-edged sword. Manipulating the pace can disorient opponents, but it also drastically alters your own stamina consumption and positioning. One misstep, and you risk self-destruction—a high-risk, high-reward gamble.

I don’t have the brains to strategize mid-race, so I just go all-out from start to finish in a blazing runaway. If a simpleton like me tried to pull off tricks, I’d definitely bungle it and lose.

"Take a look at this."

Tomio grabs a scrap of paper from the desk and shows it to me. Scribbled on it are a series of numbers: "2:04:1―――26.0―24.4―26.0―24.4―23.3."

"...What’s this?"

"Seiun Sky’s 2000-meter time and her lap splits for every 400 meters. Her internal clock is insanely precise."

I jolt at that and stare at the numbers again. Holding the paper in one hand and the remote in the other, I rewatch the Keisei Hai.

The first 400 meters are slow, letting the front-runner set the pace freely. The next 400 meters, she suddenly accelerates, pressuring those ahead and behind. The leader, fearing Seiun Sky would steal the lead, must’ve panicked and pushed too hard—now stuck in an unsustainable pace.

But from 801 to 1200 meters, she slows down again. The leader, confused but unable to adjust, keeps charging forward. Meanwhile, the horses behind Seiun Sky, seeing her "fade," assume the leader is burning out and ease off—even though the overall pace is still normal.

Unaware of Seiun Sky’s trap, they enter the 1201-1600-meter stretch. The leader, drained from repeated pressure, starts faltering at the final turn. Seiun Sky seizes the moment, surging ahead. The others hesitate—"The runaway leader got passed?" "Was that pace too fast?" "No need to rush, we can outsprint her later." By the time they realize their mistake, Seiun Sky is already tearing into the final 400 meters.

As the finish looms, the chasers finally understand—the distance left is too short. They can’t catch her now.

In the end, Seiun Sky crosses the line first. The favored closers, having held back too much, never reach her.

...I see.

She’s a damn trickster, that Seiun Sky.

"Seiun Sky’s next race is the Yayoi Sho. King Halo’s running there too. Special Week will probably do the Kisaragi Sho first, then the Yayoi."

"Yikes... The trials are brutal this year..."

"Yeah. It’s a nightmare lineup."

As for me, Apollo Rainbow? My season starts this weekend with the Wakakoma Stakes—an open race at Kyoto Racecourse, 2000 meters on right-handed turf. If I don’t win here, I won’t stand a chance against Sei-chan and the others. Plus, my earnings are on thin ice.

The ideal schedule: "Wakakoma Stakes → Yayoi Sho → Satsuki Sho → Japanese Derby → Kobe Shimbun Hai → Kikuka Sho." If I lose the Wakakoma, I might get excluded from the Yayoi Sho. In every sense, this is a must-win.

By the way, El Condor Pasa—who won the Shinzan Kinen in early January—is aiming for "Shinzan Kinen → New Zealand Trophy (G2, mid-April) → NHK Mile Cup." At least she won’t be in the Yayoi or Satsuki Sho.

And Grass Wonder, last year’s Asahi Hai Futurity Stakes champion? Well... she recently failed a routine check—turns out she had a minor fracture. No word on her return, but she definitely won’t make the Satsuki Sho.

"...Alright. Time for training. I’ll worry about countering Seiun Sky after winning the Wakakoma Stakes."

"Okay! I’m gonna go change! Wait for me at the gym!"

"Got it."

I grabbed my change of clothes and dashed out into the hallway, heading for the locker room near the gym. Just as I burst inside, something soft hit me in the face—and I bounced right back from the impact.

“Bweh!”

“Keh!?”

I landed on my butt, holding my nose. No nosebleed. I probably ran into someone—I should apologize. Eyes tearing up a little, I looked up to find a hand reaching out to me.

"Apolo, are you okay-desu?"

"El-chan."

"You're not hurt, right? It didn't hurt-desu ka?"

"I'm totally fine. Thanks."

I took El-chan’s hand and stood up. Since I’d charged into the locker room leaning forward, my face had ended up bouncing off her chest. Whether that was lucky or unlucky, at least neither of us got hurt.

I brushed the dust off my skirt and, still in that flow, started changing clothes while chatting with El Condor Pasa.

Currently, El Condor Pasa is on a roll. It’s hard to tell with her always wearing that mask, but she’s actually… no, definitely stunning. Energetic, cheerful, kind—though she can get a little carried away and earn a scolding from Grass-chan sometimes… but she’s a really good kid. When Grass-chan was down after breaking a bone, it was El who comforted her. She’s the kind of person who really knows how to care for others.

We get along well. I don’t know a thing about pro wrestling, but we both share the same dream—winning a major race overseas someday. For El-chan, her ultimate goal is conquering the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe. As for me, I’ve got my eyes on either the Gold Cup or the Prix du Cadran. Both are G1 races with extreme long-distance courses at 4,000 meters—must-win races if you want to call yourself the ultimate stayer.

Of course, for now, our short-term goals are winning domestic G1s. El-chan’s gunning for the NHK Mile Cup, while I’ve set my sights on the Kikuka-shō—though I’m dead set on winning the Satsuki-shō and the Japanese Derby too. That means our overseas challenges will probably wait until we’re in the senior class.

"I saw the Shinzan Kinen the other day! Congrats!"

"Thank you very much!"

"You ran a perfect race—seriously, I was in awe."

"Mufufu, I’m bursting with pride-desu!"

El Condor Pasa’s race in the 1600-meter G3, the Nikkan Sports Sho Shinzan Kinen, could only be described as flawless. She took a textbook position in fourth, just behind the two front-runners, setting herself up for a clean, unobstructed race.

What really stood out was her incredible acceleration coming out of the fourth corner. She blazed past the two tiring front-runners, leaving the rest of the field in the dust with a final burst that was practically wind-like. Her sense for pacing, her smooth and efficient racecraft, and the decisive push from a front-running position—everything came together as she surged to first place.

During the winner’s interview afterward, she threw out what might just become her catchphrase: “Who’s the strongest in the world? That’s right—El Condor Pasa!” It’s the kind of bold line that’s bound to become her signature. And really, with talent like hers, no one’s in a position to argue. If I had even half that confidence, maybe the world would look different to me too.

"But! The Classics season is just beginning! More training today as always-desu! Well then, Apolo, let’s meet again!"

"Yeah, see you later!"

With a dramatic flourish, El-chan threw both hands into the air and let out a loud laugh as she strode out of the locker room. Once her high-energy presence disappeared, the room suddenly felt almost unnaturally quiet. …I wish I could be as bright and straightforward as El-chan.

After finishing changing, I threw on my jersey and dashed off toward the gym.

Today's training menu was set indoors—side-steps and strength training. But before we could start that, there was something else to be done: breakfall practice.

I ran through several sets of breakfall drills in front of Tomio. This would continue until he gave the go-ahead. Of course, I was dead serious about every rep.

It's not like I was messing around with the breakfalls. For a horse girl, the very first thing we’re drilled on is how to fall properly. Why? Because we run at high speeds—and that alone is dangerous. If you fall during a race and don’t know how to take a proper fall, it could lead to serious, even career-ending injuries. In fact, there are real cases—girls who hit the track before mastering breakfalls, took a tumble mid-race, and were forced to retire due to the injuries they suffered.

Maintaining perfect muscle balance and physical health to minimize the chance of injury—and on top of that, being prepared for the worst-case scenario through breakfall training. It was so obvious to both me and my trainer that we didn’t even need to have a discussion about it. The conclusion was simply: "We’re doing this."

I imagined every worst-case scenario I could think of and practiced falling, over and over. Falling right out of the gate. Being flung off course by centrifugal force while cornering at full speed. Crashing into someone ahead of me if they suddenly lost consciousness in the final stretch and I couldn't dodge in time.

I always tell myself: If this becomes the walking stick that keeps me from falling, then it's worth it. I don’t want to get hurt. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt, either. I wish we could get through it all with just practice.

But even if we wish it, every year, at least one girl has her dreams crushed by an injury mid-race. Injury and horse girls are two things that can never be completely separated. No matter how flawless your breakfall technique is, once you step into a race at blinding speeds, you have to be ready for the risks that come with it.

That’s just the kind of creatures we are.

We look strong on the outside, but we’re fragile and always walking a fine line.

That’s why we have trainers.

When it comes to injury prevention, my trainer is incredibly meticulous. He knows my body down to the smallest detail—my weight, muscle mass, everything. There are some rumors going around about his strict Spartan-style training, but he’s never once crossed a line. He’s never pushed me to do anything reckless or dangerous.

His management is absolute. If I followed his lead and didn’t cut corners on risk management, I’d be fine… or at least, I thought so.

Maybe, deep down in some corner of my heart, I let myself grow just a little too comfortable.

The day of the Wakagoma Stakes.

I felt a faint discomfort in my right leg.