Chapter 39: The Decisive Battle! The Satsuki Sho! (Part 1)

After changing into my racing uniform and finishing my makeup, I stood in front of the full-length mirror. Though this would only be my second time racing in this outfit, the wedding dress-style silks already felt like a longtime partner. The comfort was undeniable—despite how it should have restricted movement, my range of motion remained strangely unaffected.

Was this the work of the so-called "Uma Soul" imbued in the silks? I couldn’t say for sure, but their presence filled me with confidence.

As the staff left, my trainer entered the room and began circling me, inspecting every detail. I wagged my tail assertively, and after a moment, he nodded in satisfaction.

"Yeah. Your conditioning is flawless—I’d say you’re in peak form. And the silks suit you."

Before I knew it, we were nearly due in the paddock. Since the Twinkle Series blended sports and entertainment, sloppy presentation was forbidden. These moments would be immortalized in broadcasts and recordings, so the staff meticulously handled my hair, makeup, and silks—the latter of which, apparently, were a nightmare to put on.

Not that I minded. The time-consuming process had earned me my trainer’s praise, and standing in a "T-pose" during fitting had doubled as meditation.

"…Time for the paddock."

"Right. The 9th race, the Keiyo Stakes, is already over. We should head out."

The Satsuki Sho was Race 10 at Nakayama, and the preceding open-class Keiyo Stakes had just concluded. Since that was a dirt sprint, the turf conditions shouldn’t have shifted drastically. The "Green Belt" would still be there.

"Apollo Rainbow, it’s about time—"

A staff member’s voice came from beyond the knocked door. In unison, we rose, exchanged a glance, and nodded. Without another word, we set off for Nakayama’s paddock.

—50 minutes until the race.

Over 100,000 spectators swarmed Nakayama’s paddock, pressing against the fences for a closer look at the Umamusume. Yet not a single fan breached the boundaries—proof of their discipline.

Within the paddock stood 18 girls vying for the title of "Fastest Umamusume." Some studied rivals with their trainers, others meditated with closed eyes, and a few fidgeted restlessly. Beneath the clear sky, each passed the time as they saw fit. I belonged to the first group—my eyes locked on Seiun Sky, Special Week, and King Halo, refusing to miss even a second of their movements.

Then, as if on cue, the first contender—Shadow Stalker in Gate 1—was ushered onto the stage. Familiar commentary echoed from above.

["Gate 1, Shadow Stalker. 11th in odds."]

["Though unpopular, she’s a skilled runner. Watch for a surprise strategy."]

Shadow Stalker stepped forward, her expression tense, then dramatically flung off her jacket. The flamboyant gesture sent the garment spiraling through the air, drawing a roar from the crowd. Nakayama’s energy was already peaking.

["Incredible cheers—it feels like the homestretch, and the race hasn’t even begun!"]

["With today’s record turnout, this reaction’s no surprise."]

When Seiun Sky’s turn came as the third contender, she emerged with an uncharacteristically sharp gaze. This was the true debut of her silks. While I knew the design, the audience and other Umamusume didn’t. As her hand hovered over her draped jacket, audible gulps rippled through the crowd.

The usually aloof Seiun Sky—now radiating dominance—tossed the jacket with regal flair. Spectators briefly fixated on the airborne fabric before their eyes snapped back to her silks, gasps erupting in waves.

Her silver-dappled coat glittered under the sun, and her clear blue eyes shone so brilliantly they nearly erased her mischievous nature. The outfit itself was a frothy white ensemble with green and yellow accents, adorned with cloud motifs on the shorts and ear cap—a perfect reflection of her name.

The design, evoking the day’s boundless skies, captivated the crowd. Every slight wave of her hand sent onlookers into a frenzy.

["—Gate 2, Seiun Sky. 2nd in odds."]

["What a stunning appearance… What will she unleash in this Satsuki Sho? Let’s find out."]

Ah, truly—she was in such perfect form that it almost made me resent her. So much so that she didn’t even hint at hiding it.

Her ears perked energetically at every shout of her name, her tail swaying conspicuously. When her trainer, Kisaragi, whispered something while clasping her shoulder, Seiun’s expression brightened further. Too much.

…Waiting for her to slip up wasn’t an option. How were Special Week and King Halo faring? I tracked Seiun’s exit from the stage, then turned my scrutiny to the others—just as King Halo’s introduction began.

["Gate 6, King Halo. 4th in odds."]

["She looks sharp too! Can her tactical prowess secure a prime position? Keep an eye on that devastating late kick!"]

The commentator’s remark followed Destinate’s strong presence in Gate 6-11. King Halo flicked off her jacket with refined grace, settling into her signature noblewoman’s pose—chin delicately cupped, brows arched, lips curved in a poised smile.

Her condition was undeniably solid. Not quite at her Hopeful Stakes peak, but her dark bay coat gleamed, and her musculature looked sharper than ever since the Yayoi Sho. She was a force to reckon with. At her best, she or Special Week could dominate this field. For a front-runner like me, King Halo was a nightmare. All I could do was pray she’d lose rhythm and never unleash that monstrous closing speed—because once she did, victory became near impossible.

After King Halo withdrew, my turn finally came. I stepped onto the stage, swiped my right hand outward, and flung my jacket aside.

["Gate 8-17, Apollo Rainbow. 3rd in odds."]

["Hmm… She’s in spectacular form herself. The wide gate and front-running style stack the odds against her, but can she deliver the race fans crave? And will she challenge the record? Stay tuned."]

The moment my silks were fully revealed, the crowd’s murmur briefly stilled. Honestly, I got it. This wedding-dress-inspired outfit was too striking. The aqua embroidery, the asymmetrical black-and-white heels—but above all, the stark white fabric demanded attention. Or maybe they were staring at my midriff. Who knew?

"The Satsuki Sho—Classic’s first leg. I’m backing Apollo Rainbow."

"Since when?"

"Can’t you see it? That blue aura blazing off her. Reminds me of Rice Shower’s intensity."

"No aura here, but… she does feel different. Though Seiun Sky, King Halo, and Special Week give me the same vibe…"

"Yeah… Those four are burning brightest. Honestly, Seiun’s aura might be stronger, but—! I’ve cheered for Apollo from the start! Today’s the day she claims her first G1—I believe it!"

"This’ll be the greatest Satsuki Sho yet. Let’s give it everything!!"

Seconds—or minutes—later, I pivoted offstage toward my trainer. Next up: the overwhelming favorite, Special Week.

As I passed her, a bob-cut black mane and white braid flashed in my periphery. We didn’t exchange glances, but the awareness was mutual. In this arena, the four of us—Special Week, King Halo, Seiun Sky, and I—had dissected each other relentlessly: marking threats, weighing data, honing countermeasures. We’d pushed one another to this precipice, each convinced the others were stronger.

Passing Special Week, I sensed something new—an intangible growth beyond what winter and spring training could quantify. Crossing my arms in the paddock, I watched her introduction.

With determined nods, Special Week hurled her jacket skyward, nearly flipping her skirt in the process. The crowd erupted as her idol-esque silks—white, lavender, and blush pink—came into view.

["Gate 8-18, Special Week. Top favorite."]

["My personal pick! That lively jump confirms her condition. Can her Yayoi Sho-winning speed overcome the outer gate? Don’t blink!"]

Her tail’s buoyant sway alone betrayed her peak form. As she passed, Tomio inhaled sharply beside me. I leaned in, and his whisper cut through the noise:

"Seiun Sky remains our mark. No strategy shifts unless she collapses mid-race. As planned."

"...Understood."

With all three rivals in top condition, deviations were pointless. Contingencies existed solely for Seiun’s catastrophic failure—a redundant precaution.

Once introductions ended, we filed onto the track through the dedicated path. Horses from Gate 1 onward galloped onto the turf, electrifying the stands.

I should’ve followed immediately, but—I couldn’t. Instead, I clutched Tomio’s hand.

"…………"

Battle-lust thrummed in my veins, yet facing the roaring turf ahead, a tremor of nerves took hold. Normally, holding hands was a sweet ritual to channel affection. But this was the precipice of the Classics—a once-in-a-lifetime, terrifyingly real moment.

With my girl’s heart laid bare, I froze. Sensing my trembling grip, Tomio brushed his free hand through my hair.

"It’s okay… You’ve got this, Apollo. I’m right here."

"……Really?"

The words slipped out—uncharacteristically fragile, yet undeniably my own. I tightened my grip on his hand. The next moment, his wry smile flashed before I found myself enveloped in his arms.

Warmth. Weightlessness. The scent of him. Tension melted as fire—both competitive and romantic—ignited within that embrace.

"I can't fight on the turf for you. You'll stand alone out there. But I'll always be running beside you."

"...Yeah."

"Trust me, Apollo. Trust yourself—and your trainer."

"—Yeah!"

His voice was the final push. As his arms released me—"Go get 'em."—I launched myself toward the turf.