Chapter 9: The Outcome of the Maiden Race

The weekend of the first week of August arrived after relentless training.

Tokyo Racecourse, Race 3. The second maiden race, a 2000-meter left-handed course, would take place under a scorching sun. Thanks to the previous day’s rain, the air was thick with humidity—an unpleasant kind of clear weather.

For the first time this year, the temperature exceeded 30 degrees. The track condition was declared "firm."

On this stage, eight would enter the starting gate. Naturally, only one among them could take first place. Whether in a debut race or a maiden race, we couldn’t advance to the "one-win" class without at least one victory.

In the junior division, after the maiden class came the one-win class, and winning there would allow a horse girl to reach open-class status. Once in the open class, as long as earnings didn’t exclude her, she could compete in any race.

For horse girls, securing as many wins as possible was crucial. Repeated losses led to all sorts of setbacks—falling behind rivals, narrow defeats from not knowing how to win, loss of motivation, and so on…

Some girls even grew bitter after too many losses. Nice Nature…? No, she’s different. Her talent wasn’t the kind to smolder in the maiden class…

Defeat was painful at any level. Fighting alone would be one thing, but we had families cheering us on and trainers supporting us wholeheartedly.

Some horse girls, unable to bear the pressure of those who believed in them, left Tracen Academy after just one debut loss. Well, if you didn’t even make the board in your debut, barring a miracle, winning a graded race was pretty much impossible… I could understand the feeling.

If I lost today… what would become of me? I’d pushed forward with something close to a gamble. For my trainer’s sake, I couldn’t afford defeat.

After arriving at the venue, we headed straight for the waiting room. Tomio had been restless for a while now, repeatedly turning his phone on and off, slipping it in and out of his pocket. Even if this was his third race, the stakes were different this time. He must’ve been nervous too.

I stood in front of the mirror and lightly slapped my cheeks to shake off the tension.

It’s fine. We’d poured all of July into training and race analysis. We’d pushed our bodies to the absolute limit, and during rest periods, we’d studied race footage until our eyes nearly bled.

The training? Needless to say, it was brutal under our trainer’s Spartan guidance. Endless strength training, treadmill runs, fitness bikes, tire pulls, swimming. To prevent muscle atrophy, he made sure we had a strict rest day every week. But with no morning classes during summer break, it was non-stop training all day.

The result? Even as a middle schooler, my abs were already starting to show six packs. If I flexed hard enough, they’d probably pop out. Honestly, I’d rather not get any more defined—I’m starting to lose my girlish figure. But regardless, I’d grown significantly stronger. A far cry from my debut or the first maiden race.

Of course, our rivals weren’t sitting idle either. The girls I’d unofficially marked as rivals—like Spe-chan—must’ve grown stronger too.

The real question was the race footage we’d studied. We’d picked out races where front-runners dominated from start to finish, sealing victory without letting anyone pass.

Maruzensky’s overwhelming open-class race. Mejiro Palmer’s jaw-dropping wire-to-wire win in the Spring and Autumn Grand Prix. Twin Turbo’s Tanabata Sho and All Comers. Ines Fujin’s crowd-roaring victory in the Japanese Derby. The unstoppable speed of dual-crown winner Mihono Bourbon.

I couldn’t claim I’d absorbed everything from them, but I’d learned a lot—especially from Mejiro Palmer and Twin Turbo. Those two were my mentors. Twin Turbo had an almost primal instinct for pacing in long leads, while Mejiro Palmer’s sheer willpower in the final stretch was monstrous. My current mini-goal was to emulate their strengths (as much as I could from footage).

Just a maiden race, yet not just a maiden race. I’d go all out to seize this one win. Using the secrets of those front-running horse girls was my best shot.

"Trainer, same strategy as always—full-speed from the start, right?"

"...Yeah. You’ve got the inside gate this time. Go all out."

His words lacked conviction. Even though we’d drawn the best possible gate, number one.

…I knew why. Even now, the trauma of the final turn still haunted me. We’d come this far with no real solution or safety net. No wonder Tomio was worried.

"The final turn… You’ll be okay?"

"Hmm… I don’t even know if I can say I’m confident. But… if you’re there with me at the final turn, maybe I’ll be just fine."

I shrugged my shoulders. Tomio just crossed his arms, his expression unreadable.

After parting ways with him to change, I headed to the paddock for the pre-race presentation. A sparse crowd had gathered, including a pair of men I vaguely remembered—or maybe didn’t—from my debut race.

"The favorite, number one, Apollo Rainbow!"

"Hmm, she’s in splendid form. She’s had some unfortunate luck so far, but today could be her long-awaited first victory."

Waving to the stands, I turned things over in my mind. My top favoritism wasn’t without reason—there were two factors at play.

First, many believed that without the mishap in my debut and my collapse in the previous maiden race, I would’ve won decisively. My performances had shown enough promise that, barring bad luck, I was seen as a solid contender. This was a vote of confidence—next time, fortune will smile, and she’ll deliver.

Second, compared to my misfortune, the other horse girls here were just… weak. Two months had passed since my debut. I was 0-for-2, but some in this field had already raced five times or more. To put it bluntly, some of them simply lacked talent or room to grow.

The longer a horse girl stayed in the maiden class, the more it signaled stagnation. By this point, most still here were the weaker ones. Sure, a few might be held back by bad luck like me, but the majority? They just weren’t good enough.

And their trainers weren’t fools, either. Given the choice between nurturing a potential winner or a perpetual struggler, unless they were some kind of masochist, they’d pick the former. So what happened to the latter?

The answer was simple: they were quietly abandoned. Not officially dropped, but left with little more than a trainer’s name on paper—no real guidance, just hollow support. Left to overwork themselves with pointless training, they only grew weaker.

This was the time of year when that neglect started to show. Harsh as it was, trainers weren’t gods who could infinitely elevate a horse girl’s talent. If no potential budded, resources shifted elsewhere.

By summer’s end, some would leave Tracen Academy—quitting racing for academics, transferring to regional circuits for a taste of victory, or retiring due to injuries. A brutal world.

Honestly, trainers like Tomio—who stubbornly stuck with a maiden-class nobody like me—were rare. Any other trainer might’ve written off my trauma as an unfixable flaw and cut their losses.

That’s why I was so grateful to him.

—Just as the presentations wrapped up, I spotted Tomio in the stands, conspicuously empty seats around him. I gave a small wave to show I was relaxed. He nodded firmly in response.

"This maiden race could make or break Apollo Rainbow."

"Huh? What’s with the sudden—"

"After her injury in the debut race, she suffered that inexplicable slowdown in the next maiden race. And according to my memory, it happened at the exact same spot as her injury—the final turn."

"—! So you’re saying… when Apollo hits that turn, she’s scared of reliving the accident, and that’s why she slows down?"

"Exactly. And her team must know it. But word is, her trauma still isn’t resolved."

"What…!? So if they don’t overcome this today, it might be over for her…!?"

"…………"

"Damn… All we can do is cheer her on, then…!"

The running styles of the eight horse girls broke down like this: One front-runner—me, Apollo Rainbow. One pace-setter. And, surprisingly, six closers. How would this play out?

They’d try to overtake me in the final stretch. If I could time it right, dig deep like in training with Guriko, maybe I could hang on… But that part was up to fate.

Fanfare blared under the blazing sun, sparse applause rising as the race began.

"Under the scorching sun, Tokyo Racecourse’s third race—the maiden showdown—is underway!"

"Let’s hope everyone takes care to avoid heatstroke out there."

"Gate one, number one: Apollo Rainbow. She enters the gate with steely focus, the overwhelming favorite by a wide margin."

"After all her frustrations, a dominant win here would be poetic. Personally, I can’t imagine this is where her story ends."

"Cheers and hopeful gazes pour from the stands. Can she seize victory? Next, gate two, number two: Sunset Gloom—"

Already in the gate, I shut out all sound, sinking into my own world.

"The gates are set. The race begins—now!"

Inside the steel gate, I drew a breath. Any second now. Power coiled in my soles, ready for a rocket start.

Clang— The gates flew open, and I kicked off like a bullet.

"—And they’re off! Straight to the front, gate one, Apollo Rainbow! And sticking close, Torch and Book, who prefers to race near the lead!"

By my third race, starts were second nature. I surged ahead instantly, widening the gap with every stride. Using the turn’s momentum, I hit the backstretch seven lengths clear of second place.

"Through the second turn and into the straight! Apollo Rainbow runs solo—will this strategy pay off?"

"Hmm, her style is the runaway type. Hard to say if she’s overextending yet."

The others scrambled to chase, but the lead I’d built from the start was insurmountable. A full second ahead, I entered the third turn alone.

So far, so good. The real test was next—

"Here comes Apollo Rainbow into the fourth turn! The trial of her nightmares—can she conquer it this time!?"

I pushed into the turn, stretching my stride for a long, accelerating drive. The win was mine to lose at this point—the gap was that big. But neither the commentators nor I relaxed. I took the turn at full throttle.

And then—just before the final straight, it happened.

"—!!"

From the inside of the innermost path—a space no one should’ve been able to breach—a clattering phantom flickered into view.

"Like hell—!"

My vision twisted—warped. Even now, after all this, it still sought to shackle me.

I didn’t want to make Tomio cry again. That crushing weight of responsibility, that hollow ache like grief—I never wanted to taste it a second time. I can’t lose. Move. This is my path. Disappear, phantom.

I gritted my teeth and pressed hard against the inner rail. But the translucent, clattering specter showed no sign of fading.

Damn it—it’s coming—

"Oh no! Is Apollo Rainbow staggering—slowing down again!?"

My body flinched on reflex, veering toward the outer track. Just as my balance faltered, the clattering arm reared back to strike—

"APOLLO-CHAN, GOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!""APOLLO, YOU’VE GOT THISSSSSSSSS!!"

The voices erupted from the stands near the final turn—clattering voices. Not just them. I heard his voice too. In the periphery of my vision, I saw them.

—Jara jara-chan is right there.

Of course. This was the illusion.

The real Jarajarachan couldn’t possibly be beside me right now.

"—!!"

The moment I realized it, the centrifugal force pulling me outward vanished.

It wasn’t just Tomio and Jarajarachan. Countless voices were calling out to me now.

"Apollo-chan, fight, FIGHT!!""You can WIN—!! KEEP GOING—!!"

The two men who’d watched me since my debut.The clear, unwavering cheers from the crowd, all pushing me forward.

Had… this many people been supporting me all along—?

"—!?"

The clattering hallucination dissolved into black mist. The chains binding me shattered. My body, which had been drifting wide, snapped straight ahead.

I didn’t understand. But one thing was certain—I’d overcome it.

Now, all that remained was to sprint toward my first victory.

"U—RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!"

I slammed my hooves into the turf, driving forward with everything I had. My arms pumped wildly, my body leaned into the wind. My lungs burned, oxygen starving—but it didn’t matter. This was my first all-out sprint in battle for two months.

The feeling came rushing back. The euphoria of running at full speed, truly free, reignited in my chest.

"Apollo Rainbow holds firm!! No drifting wide this time!!"

My form hugged the ground as I tore across the grass, hitting the 200-meter mark.

"200 meters to go, and Apollo Rainbow leads!! The first win is within reach!! GO, APOLLO RAINBOW!! GO, APOLLO RAINBOW!! ALMOST THERE!!"

My debut, robbed by misfortune and accidents.The maiden race in late June, where trauma from the crash had forced my first defeat.

Tomio had cried that day. I’d been pathetic. Useless. There were nights I couldn’t sleep from the frustration.

But he never gave up on me.Because you were there—

I turned my gaze toward him.

Trainer…—I feel it. Your heart reaching me.

So watch. Watch me cross this line.

"SHE’S DONE IT!! AT LAST—APOLLO RAINBOW HAS DONE IT!! SHE’S OVERCOME THE TRIALS AND CLAIMED HER FIRST VICTORY!!"

The roar of the crowd.

With everything inside me, I thrust my fist into the air.

"—HAAAAAAAA, YESSSSSS!!"

Emotion overflowed. My vision blurred, my legs wobbled. When I wiped my eyes, my fingers came away wet.

Slowing past the finish line, I turned to the tote board.

—1st Place. #1, Apollo Rainbow.

The results flashed—margin, final time. Then, the word [CONFIRMED] appeared.

This was real.

I’m… so happy.

I had to tell him. Now.

"TRAINER!! I WON—!! I FINALLY WON!!"

I scrambled toward the spectator stands, stopping at the railing where Tomio stood waiting on the other side.

"You… you really did it… Apollo…!"

Tomio was crying.Not from frustration or pity—but from pure, overwhelming joy.

"Tomio, you’re a mess!""Like you’re one to talk—you’re crying too!"

Laughing through his tears, he wiped his face and stepped closer.

Then—gently, over the railing—he pulled me into a hug.

The faint scent of his cologne wafted over me as his broad frame enveloped mine. His arms wrapped around me so completely, my smaller body nearly disappeared into the embrace.

Warmth seeped into my exhausted, triumphant limbs. Despite my sweat-drenched state, he held me tight. Our heartbeats synced, melting into one.

"You’re not hurt, are you?""N-No…"

Suddenly, his presence felt larger—more vivid. My heart thudded wildly against my ribs, but not from exertion. This was different. Lighter. Brighter.

When Tomio heard I was unharmed, his arms tightened further. My breath hitched, chest aching—not just from the pounding rhythm, but something else entirely.

"Ah… Really… I’m so glad…""...It’s because of you, Trainer. If you hadn’t called my name back there… I wouldn’t have made it. And—"

I wriggled free and turned to Jarajarachan, who’d been waiting quietly beside us.

"Jarajarachan… thank you. Really.""...I didn’t… do anything. But… I’m so relieved. If I’d ruined your racing forever… I’d never… uguu… I’m just… so glad you won—"

Tears pooled in her eyes before spilling over. I hugged her fiercely, my own cheeks wet. Ah… of course. These two months must’ve been agony for her too. She’d carried that guilt all this time.

When we finally parted, I whispered:

"Jara jara-chan. Next time… let’s race on a bigger stage, okay?""A bigger stage…?""...And when we do… let’s settle who’s stronger."

I winked at her tear-streaked face. Her dam broke all over again.

"…! Y-Yeah—yeah! It’s a promise…! We’ll definitely race again—Apollo-chan!"

---

And so, the tear-soaked maiden race came to a dramatic close—ushering in the long-awaited Winning Live. This wasn’t sports anymore; it was showbiz.

Some horse girls raced just for the chance to stand center stage in these post-victory concerts—prioritizing the spotlight over the win itself.

I’d always been the opposite: racing for victory, with zero interest in the Live. Who cares about singing when you can cross the finish line first?

But that was the old me.

This was my first time as the main act—even if just for a maiden race. I burned for everyone to see me. The horse girl Tomio had nurtured. The one who’d won thanks to their support. I’d pour every ounce of pride and gratitude into this performance.

Dressed in a crimson vest, short pants, and a blue-and-white jacket, I fastened the skirt’s unique design. Boots laced, socks smoothed, I tapped my toes against the floor.

The Winning Live was about to begin.

No nerves. Only pride thrummed through me now.

Standing in the wings, I took a quiet breath.

Time to shine.

The muffled chatter from beyond the curtain vanished the instant the intro music began.

With a swift pull, the stage curtains parted, and blazing lights flooded the platform.

As I moved through the choreography ingrained in muscle memory, lyrics flowing effortlessly, my gaze locked onto the figure standing among the audience—my trainer.

—Momozawa Tomio. Apollo Rainbow's trainer.

Our eyes met. His intense stare burned into me. While showering the crowd with bright smiles, I reserved a single, deliberate wink just for him.

"————"

His pearly whites flashed. I could read his lips forming the words: "Quit winking, you little shit."

Seeing that grin sent my heart into a frenzy.

We'd only known each other for a handful of months. Yet his presence within me kept growing—expanding.

Because he'd been there, unwavering. Pushing through every grueling training session with me. Thinking about my future more than anyone else.

How could I not see him as special?

I wanted him to watch only me. No—I’d make him watch.

And in that moment, it hit me.

Ah—

I’d wanted to become someone irreplaceable to him.

The moment I understood that emotion, my face erupted in flames.

But surely—surely—it was just the stage lights' heat.

That’s what I decided to believe.