Chapter 37: Cherry Blossoms in Full Bloom

About two weeks before the Satsuki Sho, Tomio and I began special training in preparation for the race. Today marks exactly one week until the big day, meaning we’ve already spent ten grueling days on this intensified regimen.

"Apollo, lift your thighs higher! If you slack off like that, you won’t make it up Nakayama’s slopes!!"

"Ghh—I know that already!"

So, what exactly does this "special training" entail? Well, today, it’s nothing but hill repeats from start to finish.

The reason we’ve been subjected to this brutal routine traces back to my performance in the Wakaba Stakes half a month ago.

On the day of the Wakaba Stakes, I delivered what the public hailed as a "flawless" front-running race. But Tomio didn’t seem to agree. About two weeks ago, when this special training began, he pointed out:

"Apollo. In the final stretch of the Wakaba Stakes… your legs stalled, didn’t they?"

I thought I had pushed myself to the limit all the way to the finish line. Sure, I was on the verge of exhaustion, barely clinging on, but I was still fast enough to narrowly hold off Destinate’s furious charge.

Yet, when I saw the recorded footage and my final 200-meter split, that illusion shattered. My time wasn’t even close to top-tier, and the moment I hit the uphill slope at Hanshin, my sprint faltered as if I’d slammed the brakes. My upper body was starting to rise, barely hanging on by sheer willpower. Of course, these were subtle changes only a trainer or a sharp-eyed horse girl would notice—but they were there.

With flaws like these, I’d stand no chance at Nakayama Racecourse, where a steep slope lies in wait during the final stretch. And the Satsuki Sho? The competition is on another level entirely. Even coming from a trial race with guaranteed standards, moving from open class to G1 is a whole different beast.

Exposed with a weakness that could be fatal in a G1 race, I threw myself into the "Nakayama Racecourse Conquest Special Training" program Tomio devised.

Looking back, this lack of power—this struggle with slopes—was also partly to blame for my loss in last year’s G1 Hopeful Stakes at Nakayama. By the time Special Week and I reached the final slope, we were completely spent. The overpace and the toll on my closing speed allowed King Halo to stage his comeback.

At any rate, I should be glad that after failing to solve my power deficit and lack of explosive closing speed in the junior division, we’ve finally found a way to tackle this weakness. If I could muster even half the late-race surge of Silence Suzuka, I could seize the Satsuki Sho. And if I won that? Then all that’d remain is extending my distance. While course variations exist, longer distances only play to my strengths. If I could handle my 2000-meter debut, then—dare I say it—the unthinkable Triple Crown might just come into view.

Of course, things won’t be that simple. But for the sake of motivation, I’ll let myself believe it.

Now, about this so-called "Nakayama Racecourse Conquest Training." While we’re currently grinding hill repeats, we’re not just running slopes 24/7. Overcoming the uphill battle is priority number one, but Nakayama isn’t only about the final slope.

The 2000-meter course at Nakayama is run on the inner loop, starting from the straight entrance. The long run to the first corner makes positioning fiercely competitive, and the early slope takes its toll on the legs later on.

After navigating the turns and covering 1690 meters, the final straight arrives—a short 310-meter dash with the infamous steep slope waiting between the 180 and 70-meter marks.

Nakayama’s defining traits are tight turns, short straights, and brutal slopes. To conquer the Satsuki Sho’s 2000 meters, you need not just speed but stamina and raw power to last until the end. Since my biggest shortfall is power, our training is split: 10% for tight cornering, 20% for final-stretch form, and a whopping 70% for slope resistance.

And let me tell you—this hill training is murder. I haven’t faced this level of intensity in a long time.

But I can’t afford to break. To steel my wavering resolve, I conjure phantom rivals during training—Special Week, Seiun Sky, King Halo—and push myself to the brink racing against them.

"Alright, one more rep. Come at me full throttle from the other side. Don’t you dare flinch."

"...Tch, I know. You better not buckle when I drop an insane time on you."

"That’s the spirit."

During harsh training, some horse girls inevitably get worked up—the so-called "hot-tempered" types. I technically fall into that category, but thanks to my dreams and my trainer’s skillful handling, I’ve managed to keep it under control.

That said, lately, I’ve been snappier than usual. Can you blame me? I’ve been forced to sprint up this slope—the steepest hill at Tracen Academy: 1085 meters long, 32 meters of elevation change, with gradients of 2.0% for the first 300 meters, 3.5% for the next 570, 4.5% for the following 100, and 1.25% for the final 115—hundreds, thousands of times in this short span.

Returning to the 0-meter mark—the lowest point—I spoke into the pin mic attached to my horse-ear headphones. This piece of equipment, procured by Chairwoman Akikawa, ensures clear communication between trainer and horse girl even during long-distance training. Given how often we use this 1085-meter slope, Tomio and I rely on these devices heavily.

"Back at the starting point."

"Good work. Get ready."

"...Mm."

"Here we go. On your marks—GO!"

The moment his voice rang through the headphones, I launched myself up the grueling 32-meter ascent. From the very first step, the oppressive incline—2.0% right off the bat—made itself known. And this kept going for over a kilometer, all while demanding all-out effort. Some days, we’re made to do a hundred reps of this torture. It’d be weird not to be stressed.

—But. The fear of defeat and the thirst for victory drive my legs forward. The weight of this once-in-a-lifetime classic season pushes me toward a path without regrets. My heart burns fiercer than ever.

"Hah—hah—!"

Nakayama Racecourse has a total elevation change of 5.3 meters—meaning, over the course of the Satsuki Sho, I’ll have to climb and descend the equivalent of a two-story building. And the final stretch’s max gradient? 2.24%. Compared to any other track, Nakayama’s 2.2-meter slope is the cruelest—several times worse than the hill I’m training on now. The difference between practice and the real thing is staggering.

"Like hell I’ll lose—!"

Clenching my teeth, I charged up the endless slope at full speed. It was grueling—yet exhilarating. The thought of facing off against legendary racehorses gathered in this fabled year of 1998 sent my heart pounding like nothing else. I couldn’t wait. I was itching for it.

The brutal hill that felt eternal finally dipped under the 400-meter mark. Gasping for air, on the verge of collapse, I pictured the Satsuki Sho’s final stretch—and the rivals closing in. My vision narrowed. Three shadows loomed behind me. The moment I sensed their presence, my fighting spirit ignited.

The closest was Seiun Sky, practically at my flank. The original Satsuki Sho winner, a two-crown champion who dominated with sheer front-running prowess. Would she steal the lead in the actual race and force a slow pace? Or would she mark me relentlessly and challenge me head-on? Well, too bad for her—I’d been practicing countermeasures against marking tactics with help from Grass Wonder and McQueen. Not perfect yet, but I was improving.

Then came Special Week, surging past me with terrifying momentum. The only Derby winner of our generation, a blend of Japan’s legendary Shiraoki line and the great Sunday Silence. In the original timeline, she finished third in the Satsuki Sho due to various setbacks—but what about this world?

And charging from the far outside—King Halo. A freakishly versatile mare who excelled from 1200 to 3000 meters in her career. In this world, she seemed to have shed her aversion to distances beyond 2000 meters. Maybe awakening to her "Territory Zone" in the Hopeful Stakes had something to do with it. Whatever the reason, she couldn’t be ignored.

The more I fought these phantoms, the clearer it became—all three were charging for the win. Their strength was evenly matched; predicting a victor was impossible. And if I couldn’t surpass them, the Satsuki Sho would slip through my fingers. Yet, I still couldn’t gauge the gap between us.

But after experiencing the Yayoi Sho firsthand, I knew. I was still one step short of matching Special Week and Seiun Sky—

200 meters left. The end of the slope came into view. The demonic 3.5% incline carved into my legs. The phantoms climbed fearlessly, overtaking me and battling for the lead. A sight I’d seen countless times. Even as the slope eased to 1.25%, their positions didn’t change—I crossed the line in fourth.

"Hah… hahh…!"

Again. I’d lost again. What was my record now? 0 wins, 1000 losses?

Even if they were illusions, losing this relentlessly made me question myself. Were my phantoms too fast compared to the real ones? …No, that couldn’t be. The greatest horse girls in history should outclass a nobody like me effortlessly.

…Or maybe I should praise myself for keeping up this much? For chasing the shadows of legends?

Even so, I refused to celebrate until I had results. Complacency was my greatest enemy. So whether I won or lost against these phantoms, the answer was the same—keep grinding.

…No, never mind the accuracy of the illusions. What mattered was this: seeing my rivals’ backs, losing over and over, yet never giving up—just relentlessly pushing forward. That was enough. That was my way.

"…Yeah. Good work, Apollo. You just set a new personal best."

Tomio, typing on his laptop and scribbling in his binder, sounded oddly cheerful as I heaved for breath. Wiping sweat from my brow with my sleeve, I tested the waters:

"Can I… hahh… go again?"

"Huh? Oh, sure, but… let’s take a 15-minute break first."

"…Fiiine."

Gently rebuffed, I went to grab a sports drink and towel. On the other side of the slope course, I spotted Grass Wonder—apparently also on break.

"Hey, isn’t that Guri-chan?"

"That voice—Apollo-chan? You resting too?"

"Yeah, kinda."

Guriko was prepping for the Oka Sho (Japanese 1000 Guineas) this weekend, so her training had been light—just enough to break a sweat.

Her spring schedule was packed: the G2 Hochi Hai Fillies’ Revue → Oka Sho → NHK Mile Cup. A back-and-forth between the classics and the filly route, with sprints in between. She’d already dominated the G2 Fillies’ Revue (1400m) in March by 3/4 lengths, cementing her status as the Oka Sho favorite.

I studied her from head to hoof. Even at a glance, she radiated readiness—glowing, perfectly toned calves, everything in ideal balance. Her trainer’s work was impeccable.

"You’re in crazy good shape."

"Thanks to my senpai and trainer. But even like this, I’m not sure I can beat Meek-chan…"

Happy Meek won the dirt G1 Zen-Nippon Junior Yushun (1600 meters) last December, then followed it up with a thrilling outside charge to victory in the turf G2 Tulip Sho (1600 meters). The world buzzed at her unprecedented feat of conquering a dirt G1 and a turf G2 in succession, and alongside Gourmet Frontier—who had recently claimed both the turf G3 Nakayama Gold Cup and the dirt G1 February Stakes in the senior division—she became a sensation. Surely, these two would pave the way for dual-surface dominance.

Yet, the junior sprint queen wasn’t about to let Happy Meek snatch a turf G1 so easily. When I spoke to Meek-chan recently, she didn’t seem too worked up, but according to Kirishima-san, she’s actually quite nervous beneath the surface. Apparently, she’s very conscious of Guriko.

They’ve never raced against each other, but when you’re walking the same path, it’s only natural to be aware of one another. In terms of reputation, the Tiara division is seen as a two-horse race between Guriko and Meek-chan, so it’s impossible not to think about each other.

"The Oka Sho… the day after tomorrow, huh? Time flies."

"It really does. When I won the Hanshin Juvenile Fillies, I thought, ‘I’ve still got a little over three months to prepare!’ But… spring came faster than I expected."

Guriko gazed into the distance before letting out a quiet sigh. She couldn’t contain her excitement, but there was a hint of unease, too.

...Is it selfish of me to wish they could both win? Guriko and Meek-chan are both my friends, after all. As someone in this world, is it wrong to hope for victory for both of them?

Reality rarely works out that way, but this feeling of mine can’t be mistaken. I gave Guriko’s back a firm pat as she sipped her sports drink, then turned to head back to the uphill track. She coughed loudly and started fussing about something, but I just waved her off with a grin.

In the middle of the woodchip course, our trainer sat hunched over his laptop. I walked up and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Tomio, I’m back."

"Yeah. Alright, let’s get back to hill training."

Tomio rose to his feet, and just like that, we threw ourselves into another grueling session, working until sweat poured from our bodies.

And then—April, second week. The G1 Oka Sho arrived.

"Under 200 meters to go—Green Tear Turn is surging! Happy Meek is closing in! But she’s just a hair too late!"

Clad in her signature green racing silks—a sharp contrast to King Halo’s usual colors—Grass Wonder blazed across the finish line in first.

"GOOOOALLLL!!! Green Titan Turn does it!! Not only does she gift her trainer his first classic G1 title—she secures her third straight graded stakes win!! With a breathtaking rally from 300 meters out, she proved her dominance!! Happy Meek, the second favorite, falls just short in second!"

It was a dramatic victory. Jostled in the pack right out of the gate, Green Titan aka Guriko-chan Turn had fought tooth and nail for position—her body battered, her silks streaked with mud and sweat. Yet she never stopped believing in her closing speed, and with one explosive burst, she split the heavy, rain-soaked track wide open.

Glittering sweat. Flashing green silks. Her deep-green mantle billowed as she carved through the wind—a mud-splattered queen, crowned at last. I threw up a triumphant fist at the TV, startling everyone in the cafeteria… but that was beside the point.

"Apollo-chan… I did it!!"

Watching Guriko flash a tearful "V" sign in her winner’s interview, I choked up alongside her—and felt the fire for the Satsuki Sho burn even hotter inside me.

And in that moment——something deep, deep within my heart snapped into place.