[Again, again! Mejiro McQueen lifts for a fourth surge! She still hasn't given up—she'll try once more to find a line!]
"Haven't grasped the difference yet?" Caizhigao smiled.
The urgent footfalls behind were back—just as the commentator said, McQueen was charging again.
Caizhigao had no intention of taking this race too seriously.
To her, Central Academy setting a mock battle to snatch a win was hubris.
Their leader was Nobility.
Even if the six did nothing special—just ran their own race—and waited for Nobility to move…
Then her overwhelming stamina would show—and the Japanese runners would be crushed.
So there was no hurry to chase the two up front. She had the leisure to keep the blocker's hip check going.
Especially those two who had broken away—Nobility would destroy them.
Caizhigao kept the gap between herself and her teammate just so—
A slit that looked possible to shoot—but was actually so tight it would force anyone to burn extra to try.
Mejiro McQueen?
Just now, a tilt of the shoulder had spooked her off—
So even if she tried again, there'd be time to shut the door!
And with my muscle, even if we did tangle, I'd be fine—
"Lost your judgment, come to die?"
Caizhigao laughed and set her face, sucking a breath to call back to McQueen—
But a voice hit her ear first:
"Don't—"
Step, step.
"Look—"
Step, step, step.
"Down—on me—"
Step, cross, cross, step.
[Ssst!]
"Don't you dare look down on me!"
The instant she heard McQueen's words, Caizhigao slid to close the slit—
"—Huh?"
A startled sound escaped her.
Her shoulder felt a bump—her balance wobbled.
She recovered—and saw the Mejiro heiress had already blasted through the slit.
The diva of grass was in tatters now.
Rain soaked her; water ran over her face.
She'd forced acceleration while Caizhigao was still reacting, ramming herself through the gap.
She hadn't done it cleanly—her shoulder had scraped the other filly.
Caizhigao staggered; McQueen even more.
She pitched forward, center of gravity collapsing—
Up front, Stardust Mirage seemed to sense something and looked back.
What she saw—was fire in McQueen's eyes!
At the razor instant, McQueen pounded a foot into the mud.
The turf dented under the brutal blow.
A savage jolt ran up through her shoe; McQueen felt her knee take a terrifying shock.
But—she had done it.
Caizhigao's position sense surpassed hers—McQueen had confirmed that earlier,
But she'd inverted it—used that very pride.
She tricked Caizhigao's ironclad feel for space—and broke through before she understood.
"—Bearing the name Mejiro, I cannot lose!"
The elegant runner had no room for poise now.
McQueen straightened, gritting through the pain stabbing her right shoulder and left knee, and charged!
First turn—done.
Up front, the two breakaways had entered turn two.
Their gap on the rest was nearly eight lengths—no need to care about the pack behind, for now.
Which meant—it was a duel between Stardust Mirage and Miho Bourbon, teammates up front.
(Stamina dropping too fast. Heart rate must be checked. Adjust stride frequency in 2 seconds.)
(Adjust in 1.)
(Adjustment complete.)
Miho Bourbon, pinned to Stardust Mirage's tail, micro-tuned her state; data seemed to stream in her cyan eyes.
Her tight lips blanched—keeping this big-escape pace was no small thing.
In the last race, over just 1400 meters, Bourbon had failed to maintain to the wire because she'd led the entire way.
This was worse.
2400 meters on heavy—by her calculation, if she insisted on matching Stardust Mirage, she would blow at 1800–2000.
Of course, that didn't account for Stardust Mirage blowing early—or rather, Bourbon could not model what Stardust would do.
To the computation-minded, the runner ahead was an unmeasurable X.
She didn't know how much Stardust could explode—so she treated it as uncomputable.
She had to take steps to stop Stardust from wasting her own stamina by contesting the same big-escape slot.
Bourbon dipped her head, thinking.
People called her "mechanical" not because her motions were stiff—
But because she always used the "correct" form, the "correct" running, on the "correct" line.
She knew she wasn't like Stardust Mirage—or the others—a blazing talent.
From childhood, she'd been pegged a second-rater with only sprinting potential; even gentle critics said she might shine at short trips.
Then she met this trainer: Huyama Hihong.
For the first time, someone asked what she wanted—to sprint, or to try other possibilities?
From then on, she took Huyama's devil training. No matter how brutal, she endured.
Because Bourbon knew: with ordinary talent, there was one thing to do.
Use the most correct form to minimize any waste—and use that accumulation to fight geniuses.
"Correctness"—that was Miho Bourbon's only, and strongest, weapon!
(Sorry, Stardust Mirage…)
(I'm going to use my "correctness" to steer you into "error"!)
Her short red-brown hair was soaked.
Under the dripping tips, Miho Bourbon's cyber-bright blue eyes shone.
Her emotions didn't swing wildly; but now she had decided—to break the foe ahead!
Tap.
Tap-tap, tap.
Tap-tap-tap-tap, tap, tap-tap, tap.
At full speed, Bourbon's footfalls suddenly lost all regularity.
If a runner's stride went this ragged, it would usually signal imminent blowout—she'd lost control of cadence and would burn extra.
But this was intentional.
She kept shifting cadence—yet with command over every muscle fiber, her body didn't pay the price.
Why do it?
To scramble the runner ahead.
————————
Maruzensky, cheek propped on her hand, watched lazily through the rain.
For her, the race was fierce, but not enough to sharpen focus.
Half her gaze stayed on Nobility, still dangling at the back, seemingly not engaged.
It didn't stop her chatting with the emperor beside her. She asked:
"That runner—Miho Bourbon? She must be very confident to take on a breakaway like that."
"…" Symboli Rudolf's eyes were deep. She studied the situation, thought a moment, then answered:
"Yes. Miho Bourbon is Stardust Mirage's teammate. In the last race she cut wind for Stardust, letting her save for a final explosion."
Knowing both up front well, her tone weighed heavy.
"Oh?" Maruzensky caught the note, turned with interest:
"So what's the story—how's this Miho Bourbon's talent?"
"Her talent is—far inferior to Stardust Mirage's," Rudolf sighed, honest.
"…" Maruzensky went quiet.
As an 8-for-8 G2/G1 legend, she knew about talent—
But she also knew how much work it took for those without it to share a track with her.
The world of Uma Musume was cruel; "victory" sounded simple but hid a mountain of tears.
Was Miho Bourbon… challenging her own teammate?
"If so, she's in danger," Maruzensky judged.
"Not necessarily." Rudolf smiled, light in her eyes for the duel up front.
"Because Bourbon works. Her training volume is number one in all of Tracen."
"Number one?!" Maruzensky's eyes widened. She knew how heavy those words were.
People thought training volume was all stamina; "I'll outwork the prodigy."
Reality: stamina prodigies crushed ordinary runners even on volume.
But Rudolf said Bourbon's was top?
"Is her stamina incredible?" Maruzensky asked.
Rudolf shook her head. "No—she often trains to collapse. I know what you're asking—but in trainability, Stardust Mirage is even scarier. That one's fatigue never carries over a day."
"Then how does Bourbon do it?"
"She does what she can. Legs gone? Train arms. Body shot? Study theory. All per Huyama's plan."
"Bourbon understands: the skill forged day by day won't betray you."
Rudolf watched the red-brown figure as she shifted tactics to settle the second turn's score with Stardust ahead.
"Now—anyone would be shocked. I can say this: Miho Bourbon is already G1 capable."
"Stardust Mirage… don't you dare take her lightly!"
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