Chapter 87: The Dubai Expedition Team Assembles!!

The URA Awards ceremony had concluded, and it was now late January. Just as Japan's winter chill was reaching its peak, I found myself summoned to Tracen Academy's meeting room for a certain reason. The heater hadn't kicked in yet, and as I huddled close to El-chan—who had also been called—chattering my teeth, Hana Tojo, her trainer, appeared.

The idle chatter between Meek-chan and Guriko died down, and even the chestnut-haired horse girl who had been spacing out straightened her posture. That chestnut-haired horse girl was Silence Suzuka—she had been away on an American expedition since last autumn to acclimate to U.S. turf but had only just returned to Japan. The three of them had also been gathered in this meeting room for the same reason.

When Trainer Tojo cleared her throat, binder in hand, tension rippled through the room. As the leader of the strongest team, Rigil, her presence carried an almost intimidating authority.

"Starting today, I, Hana Tojo, will be your provisional team's acting trainer. My goal is for every one of you to achieve victory at the Dubai World Cup Meeting. Though the races you'll compete in are different, from now on, you’ll train together as teammates representing Japan. Let’s work hard toward our shared goal."

Following Tojo’s words, Okino-san (Suzuka’s trainer), Momozawa Tomio, Kirishima-san, and Serizawa-san (Guriko’s trainer) each introduced themselves and shared their aspirations for the Dubai expedition.

—But why had rivals like us been forced into a team together? The answer lay in events from three days prior.

—Three days ago. While we were training for Dubai, El Condor Pasa suddenly barged into our weightlifting session. "Apollo-chan, have you heard?! El gets to team up with you, desu yo!" I couldn’t process El-chan’s hyperactive words at first, but when Tomio muttered, "I was going to bring it up in today’s meeting," I finally grasped the situation.

A provisional team—the Dubai Expedition Squad—was being formed, uniting the horse girls and trainers scheduled to compete in the Dubai World Cup Meeting at the end of March. The goal? To make the overseas campaign as advantageous as possible.

The team members were as follows:

First, yours truly, Apollo Rainbow. Target race: G2 Dubai Gold Cup (3200m, long-distance stakes). My aim was to conquer an overseas race while also using it as a stepping stone for the Stayers’ Million and a future European campaign.

Next, the original all-rounder, El Condor Pasa. Target race: G1 Dubai Sheema Classic (2400m, classic distance). She wanted to test herself against Dubai’s high-level G1 competition to build confidence for the Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe.

Then, Japan’s premier sprinter, Green Teatan (Guriko). She deemed Dubai’s 1800m turf too long and instead set her sights on the G1 Al Quoz Sprint (1200m). Like El-chan and me, Guriko planned to jet around the world, dominating sprint stakes races.

Next, the ultra-versatile Happy Meek. Target race: Dirt 2000m, Dubai World Cup. With a staggering ¥800 million prize purse, this was the G1 where the world’s elite gathered. That said, Meek-chan’s racing plans for the year remained unannounced. Given her ability to compete in any discipline, her "problem" was a luxurious one.

Finally, Silence Suzuka, indisputably Japan’s strongest middle-distance runner (1800m–2000m). Her target? The G1 Dubai Turf (1800m). While some argued 1800m was her ideal distance, this race seemed tailor-made for her.

And so, five specialists—from ultra-long distance to classic, middle, sprint, and dirt—had come together as a provisional team. Their credentials were impeccable, and when the team’s formation was announced, the media went wild.

Some worried that domestic races—namely the Takamatsunomiya Kinen and Osaka Hai—would be left understaffed, but it wasn’t a real concern. After all, the Osaka Hai still had Special Week, Seiun Sky, Grass Wonder, and Machikane Fukukitaru, while the Takamatsunomiya Kinen would feature Seeking the Pearl and King Halo. If that lineup was called weak, something was seriously off.

The Twinkle Series had entered a golden age. The long-to-classic distance ranks were packed with Special Week’s and Silence Suzuka’s generations, while the sprint division—once ruled by the invincible Taiki Shuttle—now seethed with underdogs gunning for Seeking the Pearl and Green Teatan.

On the dirt, Happy Meek, Meisho Opera, and Abu Kumaporo formed a triumvirate, and fierce power struggles raged beneath the surface, both in the central and regional circuits.

Horse girls who had climbed from the open class on winning streaks, those who had proven themselves in stakes races—their numbers kept growing.

Late-blooming heavyweights like Tsurumaru Tsuyoshi, the fan-favorite kamikaze frontrunner Silent Hunter, and that jangling menace currently steamrolling long-distance races were perfect examples. Tracen Academy was in the midst of an unprecedented boom.

The top-tier horse girls felt the pressure from below, while the lower-ranked ones saw rising stars and thought, "I’ll do it too!" And the fans? They couldn’t look away from the ever-shifting power dynamics, their expectations mounting with each coming G1. A true positive feedback loop.

Against this backdrop, the announcement of top horse girls challenging overseas only heightened public excitement. Frankly, Japan’s Twinkle Series had reached a point where anything would generate hype—short of a major blunder.

Horse girl-themed newspapers and magazines flew off the shelves, and online, you couldn’t scroll once without seeing their names. The streets were plastered with horse girl ads—it was a full-blown horse girl bubble.

Even Lumos-san, visiting Japan as a tourist, was left speechless by the racing scene’s popularity. "Awesome!! Amazing!! Maybe I should live here ♡♡♡" Her Umasta feed was flooded with photos and exclamation-filled English captions.

Now, though we had once been fierce rivals, overseas campaigns had a way of uniting Japanese competitors. Perhaps because the media framed it as "Japan vs. the World" rather than individual rivalries. And honestly, that was probably how fans saw it too.

But beyond media narratives and sentiment, teaming up with rivals had tangible benefits. The biggest? Training side by side meant seeing facets of them we never had before. That alone would spur us to greater heights, creating a virtuous cycle. Plus, receiving guidance from a different trainer would undoubtedly boost our training efficiency.

Today’s session was under Hanazono Tojo—Hana-san—the trainer who had led Taiki Shuttle to overseas victory. Her expertise was highly regarded among trainers, and we began with a lecture incorporating her firsthand experience.

Apollo, El-chan, Meek-chan, Guriko, and Suzuka sat in the front row, with our respective trainers behind us. Since Tojo was the only one with overseas experience, this lecture would be invaluable even for them.

"—Now that introductions are over, let’s start with the fundamental differences between Japanese and overseas races."

Since this was a lecture, we naturally pulled out notebooks and pens, listening intently. Only El-chan looked ready to doze off—if she started nodding, I’d give her a poke. Spinning my pen, I focused on Tojo’s voice.

"First, while all Twinkle Series races fall under the same umbrella, each region has its own distinct characteristics."

With that preface, Tojo began writing on the whiteboard with a marker. Starting with the basics—turf.

Japanese racecourses were manufactured, built from scratch on barren land with artificial grass. American tracks, especially, followed uniform designs. Dubai’s courses fell into the same category—monotonous, some might say, or lacking personality. But that very simplicity made them pure tests of skill.

In contrast, European courses were unique. Carved out of vast, preexisting grasslands, their layouts often defied logic—some were downright unsettling.

European courses were born from nature; American, Japanese, and Dubai courses were artificial. This, along with climate differences, shaped the turf. The grass’s length and density varied wildly, with the heart of the Twinkle Series—Britain and France—featuring long, dense turf, unlike Japan’s short, sparse grass.

Simply put, Japanese turf was firm and easy to run on. European turf, however, was deep, clinging to the legs. Europe’s frequent rains also meant races often took place on muddy tracks.

As a result, Japanese turf prioritized speed and sharpness, while European turf demanded stamina and power.

Different requirements meant different races.

"—Now, Dubai’s turf is said to be midway between Japan and Europe in weight. If you’re planning a European campaign, performing well in Dubai is crucial. Fail here, and you’ll struggle to adapt to Europe’s heavier turf."

As she spoke, Tojo began writing what looked like incantations on the board.

"The Meydan Racecourse’s turf—host of the Dubai World Cup Meeting—is a Bermuda grass base overlaid with perennial ryegrass."

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"????????"

"I just wanna run fast..."

“Grass...??”

The five of us, collectively sprouting question marks above our heads, looked to Trainer Tojo with confusion as she let out a sigh and began her explanation.

Apparently, Bermuda grass is widely used in Japan, while perennial ryegrass—a type of Western grass—is more common across Europe. And at Dubai’s Meydan Racecourse, Bermuda grass is the standard. That makes its turf conditions closer to Japan’s than Europe’s, resulting in a generally lighter track.

It makes sense, then, that Japanese Uma Musume tend to favor races in Dubai or Hong Kong—the turf there tends to resemble what they’re used to. That said, the formation of a full team like ours for this event is a first. Still, Meydan seems to be a popular course among Japanese Uma Musume.

But even if the turf is lighter than in Europe, Meydan attracts elite Uma Musume from around the world thanks to its generous prize money. And there are things about the place that can’t be measured by turf alone. Long-shot underdogs make surprising charges, while top-ranked favorites fall apart. In the end, the beasts that dwell within every race remain very much alive.

“Green Titan here probably already knows this, but Hong Kong’s Sha Tin Racecourse uses the same format as Meydan. One reason Hong Kong is so popular among Japanese Uma Musume is its physical proximity—and, again, the turf similarity.”

“…………”

Suddenly called out, Guriko’s ears perked up stiffly—and then twitched nervously from side to side. The rest of us quickly caught on: “Ah, she didn’t know that, huh.”

Trainer Tojo moved on, not just sticking to turf but also touching on dirt tracks.

As for Meydan’s dirt course, some say it resembles the one at Japan’s Oi Racecourse. I have zero compatibility with dirt, so I wouldn’t know, but Meek-chan seemed to understand—she nodded enthusiastically and took detailed notes.

“Dubai’s classified as having a subtropical or desert climate, so it rarely sees rain. The average temperature in March and April hovers around 20 degrees Celsius. Ideal running weather.”

Because Dubai is so dry, Meydan’s turf doesn’t prioritize drainage. As a result, most races there take place under good track conditions. On top of that, the dirt track doesn’t seem to kick up much sand, so visibility issues are almost nonexistent.

“…Alright, so now that we’ve gone over the turf conditions, I’d like to move on to talking about the Uma Musume themselves—their strategies, expectations, and so on. But before that, I want to share a quick story. It’s about a German Uma Musume who once won the Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe.”

Having wrapped up her explanation on turf conditions, Trainer Tojo began a tale about a certain German Uma Musume.

—Because of the long and dense turf, European races tend to be grueling, with slower finish times than Japan. But one year, the Arc was different. A string of unusually sunny days left Longchamp Racecourse scorched under a blazing sun. The turf dried out completely.

The ground became so firm and parched that it stopped resembling European turf altogether. It transformed into a fast track—very much like those found in Japan. Under those conditions, the German Uma Musume claimed victory in the fastest time in Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe history.

Riding that momentum, she entered the Japan Cup immediately after. The reason was obvious: if she’d crushed the competition on a fast turf like that, surely she could handle Japan’s hard ground too.

And so, she came to Japan as the German representative. But the result? Sixth place. Her fans back in Germany and across Europe were left puzzled. But she, herself, understood why.

“The turf alone wasn’t the only reason she lost—at least, that’s what she said.”

There were two key reasons. One: the difference in turf speed and hardness. And the other—was how the race was paced, especially in the first half.

In European races, the pace starts slow. The first half is run gently to conserve energy, and then they accelerate from the middle to the end—that’s the typical strategy. Long, heavy turf makes sudden sprints wasteful and exhausting.

In contrast, Japanese races start fast. The turf doesn’t wear horses out as much, so the pace is high right from the beginning. People often joke that Japanese races are all “slow jogs until the final straight,” but compared to European standards, Japanese races are fast from start to finish. That’s the established style.

This difference completely threw off the German Uma Musume.

In Europe’s Twinkle Series, she was a “stalker” runner—someone who’d stay just behind the leaders and make her move in the home stretch. But in the Japan Cup, the Japanese Uma Musume set such a high pace from the get-go that she fell behind and got stuck running in the rear.

Forced into a strategy she wasn’t used to, she couldn’t adapt and never found her rhythm. She finished the race unable to perform as she normally would—and was forced to acknowledge just how vast the world was, and how different its cultures could be.

“Incidentally, the race times for that year’s Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe and Japan Cup were nearly identical. Which means she lost purely due to differences in pacing.”

Trainer Tojo continued. With enough experience in that region’s racing style, a horse might grow accustomed to the turf and pacing, and eventually produce results. But when it’s a one-shot deal, those pacing differences can be decisive.

On a related note, the reverse often happens when Japanese Uma Musume enter European races. While some, like Taiki Shuttle and Seeking the Pearl, adjusted well even on their first overseas trip, many struggle—especially in events like the Arc—for exactly the same reasons.

“Now, this may not be a big issue for Apollo or Suzuka, but the other three of you—this is something to watch out for. Most of the Uma Musume competing in the Dubai World Cup meeting are coming from Europe or America. Learning how their races work and adapting to them—that’s part of our challenge too.”

With that, Trainer Tojo turned to the whiteboard and wrote the words “America” and “Europe” in bold letters, then began a quick rundown of their racing styles.

In the American Twinkle Series, aggressive, high-octane tactics are the norm. Races start at breakneck speed, with Uma Musume fighting for position as they accelerate hard from the very beginning.

The rules around interference are looser than in Japan, and with the national mindset being what it is, American races tend to be downright brawny. It’s apparently common to see fierce jostling for position, even shoulder-to-shoulder battles near the finish line.

Meanwhile, in Europe’s Twinkle Series, as mentioned earlier, the early pace is slow. That means the battle for position tends to happen in tight, packed clusters. But make no mistake—the fierce elbowing and close-quarters clashes are just as routine there.

“When race day draws near, each of you needs to research the nationalities and proportions of the participating Uma Musume. Since Meek will be running in a dirt race, she’ll probably be surrounded by American racers… but the rest of you four need to be extra careful.

Keep an eye on the ratio of European to American Uma Musume, and how they typically run. Evaluate them based on past data and race footage to predict how the race is likely to unfold. Only after you’ve thought it all through will you finally start to see a path to victory.”

Tōjō Trainer cast a glance toward the trainers behind us. Most likely, that look was her way of saying, “This is your job to handle, so do it well.” When it comes to international expeditions, the workload on trainers naturally gets heavier. I couldn’t help but wonder—will the youngest ones like Kiryuin-san and Tomio be okay? I hope they don’t end up overworking themselves...

“Well, that just about wraps up the intro for our Dubai expedition. To go over it again, we have two main challenges to focus on: adapting to the turf at Meydan Racecourse, and predicting and responding to our rivals’ racing styles.”

As she checked the time, Tōjō Trainer began erasing the writing on the whiteboard. We put away our pens and notebooks, getting ready to move over to the track course.

Once the board was wiped clean, Tōjō Trainer raised a finger, as if to add one final comment, but her expression turned a little uneasy—almost like she was about to say something difficult. I tilted my head, waiting for her to speak—and when she finally did, the words that came out were so unexpected, I almost couldn’t believe they came from the same trainer who leads Team Rigil.

“…I might be a failure of a trainer for saying this before we even take on Dubai, but I’m going to say it anyway. Do. Not. Let. It. Get. To. You. If. You. Lose. There are always debates about which country in the Twinkle Series has the strongest racers, but the truth is—each one has its own strengths.

It’s perfectly normal for a horse girl to be dominant at home but struggle on foreign turf. So if you lose, it’s not because you were weak—it’s just that you didn’t match the environment overseas. …That’s all. So don’t be afraid to take on the challenge.”

With those final words, the trainers behind us rose to their feet. With sharp, professional movements, they filed out of the conference room. Still caught off guard by what we’d just heard, we followed after our trainers, heading off to begin training.