Chapter 50: Before the Crossing

On the last day of June, with the Takarazuka Kinen just a day away, I returned to the trainer’s room ahead of schedule after finishing my training and spotted scattered documents on the floor.

They’d probably fallen from Tomio’s desk. I shouldn’t snoop… But despite the thought, I picked them up and skimmed through them.

The contents were about overseas expeditions. Alongside names like Taiki Shuttle and Seeking the Pearl, there it was—Apollo Rainbow’s name. The destination? Europe, home of the Twinkle Series.

The listed races included the Prix Maurice de Gheest, the Prix Jacques Le Marois… A whole lineup of prestigious international events. The idea of "Apollo Rainbow + overseas" felt so incongruous that I muttered, What the hell…? Just then, the trainer walked in.

“…Hm. Those documents—”

“Ah, sorry. They were on the floor, so I took a peek.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I was about to bring it up anyway, so stay seated. It’s nothing major, so don’t worry.”

Urged by Tomio, I sat back on the couch while he settled into his desk chair and began explaining.

“Taiki Shuttle’s and Seeking the Pearl’s trainers approached me about an overseas campaign.”

“Overseas…?”

“Well, I turned them down—figured it was too soon. But if things go smoothly, we might draft a plan like this someday, so I kept the materials just in case.”

Following his words, I looked back at the papers in my hand. I’d known Taiki Shuttle and Seeking the Pearl were aiming for races abroad next, but I never expected I’d be invited too.

“When I told them we’d focus domestically for the rest of the year, both trainers understood. They weren’t pushy—seemed ready to back off if the plan didn’t align with our goals.”

The proposed schedule was this: travel to Europe in mid-July to acclimate to the turf, take time to adjust, then compete in the late-August "featured race week." The prime venue during this season? The Deauville Racecourse in France, as noted in the documents.

Deauville, a coastal city about 200 kilometers from Paris, had flourished as a resort for the elite since the modern era. Races had been held there for over a century, cementing its status as the summer hub of Europe’s Twinkle Series.

While races ran year-round, August was its peak—half the month was dedicated to events, including five G1 races held exclusively at Deauville. France’s summer burned in Deauville.

Historically, Seeking the Pearl won the Prix Maurice de Gheest in 1998, while Taiki Shuttle triumphed in the Prix Jacques Le Marois—a landmark achievement.

According to the plan, Taiki Shuttle’s target was the G1 Prix Jacques Le Marois in the third week of August, Seeking the Pearl’s the G1 Prix Maurice de Gheest the same week, and Apollo Rainbow’s the G2 Prix Guillaume d'Ornano in the fourth week.

A right-handed, 2000-meter turf race—in other words, the middle distance, my weak point. There was also the G2 Prix Kergolay (3000m), a long-distance race that week… But Tomio must’ve deemed it too ambitious for me, especially without a Kikuka-shō (Japanese St. Leger) win under my belt.

Realistically, Deauville’s training school was the largest in France. It even had exchange programs with elite institutions like Ireland’s Curragh, Kentucky’s Lexington… The competition there would be fierce, no question.

Joining Taiki Shuttle and the others—mooching off them, to put it bluntly—was tempting. But overseas? Honestly, I wasn’t feeling it.

“What, you wanted to go to France?”
“It’s not that I don’t… Just not now.”

My goal was the Kikuka-shō. Going abroad before that felt… unfocused. Winning the Kikuka-shō first—that’s the mindset I needed to train with, or rivals like Special Week and Seiun Sky would leave me behind.

Tomio nodded, seemingly satisfied, and reached for his laptop. The overseas discussion was over. Not that I wanted to dwell on it anyway.

“Enough chit-chat. June is ending—let’s reassess Apollo’s condition.”

He hit Enter, then handed me freshly printed sheets from the nearby printer. I grabbed a pen, ready for the meeting. As Tomio spoke while glancing at his screen, I jotted down key points and nodded along.

“Our next race is the Kikuka-shō, as discussed.”

My return would be after a nearly five-month gap, straight into the Kikuka-shō without prep races like the Asahi Hai St. Lite or Kobe Shimbun Hai. The reasoning? Keep rival teams guessing between “Kikuka-shō or Tennō-shō (Autumn)?” to deny them time to strategize against me. Plus, Tomio had mapped out an autumn rotation: Kikuka-shō → Stayers Stakes → Arima Kinen.

The former was almost a prank—most assumed, *“Apollo Rainbow’s limit is 2400m,” “He’s fatigued, so he might skip prep races,” “He’ll probably choose the Tennō-shō.”* We’d exploit that.

But the latter mattered more. The proposed rotation—*Kikuka-shō (3000m) → Stayers Stakes (3600m) → Arima Kinen (2500m)*—was brutal. Running 3000m and 3600m back-to-back before a grand prix at 2500m was insanity. The Stayers → Arima combo in December alone was sadistic, recovery-wise. Hence, skipping a pre-Kikuka race to avoid injury risk.

Still, surviving this gauntlet could pave the way for overseas campaigns next year. Jokingly, I’d asked, “What about Kikuka-shō → Melbourne Cup (G1, 3200m) → Stayers → Arima?” Tomio shot it down instantly. Yeah, a one-week turnaround from Kikuka to Melbourne? Obviously impossible.

But a new issue had emerged for races beyond 2400m. Underlining parts of the documents, I listened closely as Tomio continued.

“What Apollo needs to focus on this summer—above all—is stamina. To win the Kikuka-shō, you’ll need enough to sprint 3,000 meters nonstop at full throttle.

Funny—I’d always called stamina my only strength. Yet here we were, facing a shortage. My improved speed and power had likely worsened efficiency, increasing consumption. Becoming semi-competent at middle distances had backfired.

The root of my struggles under 2400m was simple: in shorter races, I’d neglect subtle cornering techniques, hesitate momentarily—something always went wrong. Sure, being inherently bad at middle distances was a given, but lacking the high speed and power suited for them made my racing clumsy and sluggish.

Winning the Derby had required Tomio’s brutal training to patch my speed/power gaps, plus a last-second “Zone” awakening to surpass limits. The race devolving into a stamina war was luck. The way I’d tricked my body with a late surge also tipped the scales.

---In short, my previous fuel-efficient running style had been compromised by increased horsepower, which now guzzled stamina like gas. On top of that, I’d barely done any stamina training since entering the Classics, leaving my once-proud endurance reserves looking… shaky. That was the gist of it.

Fortunately, my stamina growth rate apparently far exceeded the average. At this pace, I’d reclaim my title as the top stamina powerhouse of my generation. You could argue my stamina had been neglected precisely because it improved so easily… but whatever.

I flipped through the pages, reviewing today’s training. To rebuild my stamina, we’d recently become obsessed with pool workouts. And of course, Tomio had me doing butterfly—the most grueling stroke—like some kind of demon. Even worse, his pool-adapted Spartan training was making a comeback, citing "reduced joint stress thanks to buoyancy." Brutal, but effective. The numbers didn’t lie—my stamina was skyrocketing despite the lighter physical toll.

“—So, this roughly covers Apollo’s physical development, stamina included. Some metrics are rough estimates, but cut me some slack.”

The next page displayed results from the academy’s regular fitness tests alongside Tomio’s own measurements. Graphs charted my sprint speeds, grip strength, leg power, and lung capacity.

The lung capacity line shot up like a rocket. Post-Derby, I’d blown past my peers’ averages. Other metrics? Just slightly above par. As Tomio put it: “Even if stamina stops being a concern, it’ll remain our focus. A dominant specialty is easier to work with—and a sharper weapon.”

Stamina—cardiorespiratory endurance, full-body durability—was the engine that let stayers like me sustain peak output. With absurd reserves, even a slower horse could unleash a lethal late kick. I couldn’t argue with that logic.

“Once tomorrow’s Takarazuka Kinen wraps up… summer break finally begins. This year, we’re going all-out with a training camp. Details are still pending, but expect relentless stamina work alongside speed and power drills. Oh, and it’ll be a joint camp with others—something to look forward to.”

With that, Tomio slid over a sheet titled "Joint Training Camp Draft (Tentative)." Its contents were—pure hell. Below, his cramped handwriting spelled doom:

"Optimal cardio endurance requires prolonged, low-intensity aerobic exercise—walking, jogging, swimming, cycling. Swimming is ideal: balanced muscle engagement, water resistance for breath training, low-impact yet systemic load.
Do NOT brainlessly slog through laps. THINK about what each stroke trains. Ocean-based drills may—" (30 more lines of fine print followed. I gave up reading.)

…………Frankly, it was terrifying. But it also reminded me of Tomio’s old stayer fanaticism, which felt weirdly nostalgic. Almost heartwarming. Books on stayer training—rarely seen pre-Derby—now piled up in his office. Clearly, the Kikuka-shō wasn’t just my chance to shine.

After finalizing plans for tomorrow’s Takarazuka Kinen, Tomio exhaled and wrapped up the meeting.

“—Good work today, Apollo. Let’s keep pushing toward the Kikuka-shō!”

“Yeah! Later, boss~!”

I skipped back to my dorm, then belly-flopped onto bed and pulled up UmaHo on my phone, legs kicking excitedly as I checked the official site.

—Fan Vote #1: Silence Suzuka (Gate 8, No. 13). With overwhelming support, she stood poised to take her first G1 crown. But the Takarazuka Kinen field was stacked: reigning Horsegirl of the Year Air Groove, plus Mejiro Bright and Mejiro Dober from the Mejiro clan. This spring’s grand prix would be unpredictable.

Of course, I cared about Suzuka’s race—but more importantly, Tomio and I had plans to attend together. The thought of it feeling like a date had me giddy already. What should I wear…?

Switching to Suzuka’s UmaSta, I saw her brief update: "Racing in tomorrow’s Takarazuka Kinen. Thank you for your support!" Tens of thousands of "Uma-iine!" and cheers flooded the replies—including ones from Special Week and Machikane Fukukitaru, who’d left fiery encouragements.

I smashed the "Uma-iine!" button, then typed out a long message, pouring in gratitude for the push she’d given me before the Derby.