By the time Shuta An and Sunday Silence swept into the final turn, the situation up front was already unraveling. Mr. Bolg and Houston, who had been leading the pack, were visibly struggling—each stride more chaotic than the last.
While Flying Continental and Valentino kept their eyes glued to Sunday Silence, Shuta An was calmly observing the front-runners instead. Their stamina had clearly hit the limit; neither could maintain the pace under the constant pressure.
"Both Mr. Bolg and Houston's strides are falling apart." The instant he noticed, Shuta An stopped holding back. He kept pushing with his right hand and delivered a sharp warning whip.
"Your stamina's gone—then hand over the lead!"
Sunday Silence reacted immediately. Though he couldn't unleash full speed mid-turn, his surge was enough to glide past both exhausted leaders, slipping confidently into first place. Shuta An used the arc of the turn to glance back. Valentino and Flying Continental were still frozen in place, refusing to accelerate.
"Still not moving?" He clicked his tongue inwardly. "If you don't go now, then you won't be able to go at all."
From that moment onward, Shuta An didn't whip even once. Sunday Silence ran on pure spirit, steadily stretching the gap behind him.
"Sunday Silence! Entering the home stretch with a four-length lead!" The commentator's voice trembled with urgency. "Is Flying Continental really not going to accelerate?!"
In the owner's box, Yoshida Zenya shot to his feet. With decades of experience behind him, he needed only one glance to see it—
Sunday Silence wasn't just winning. He was dominating.
"It seems Shuta-kun really wasn't lying—Sunday Silence can become a great racehorse." He pressed a trembling hand over his heart, as if restraining it.
Valentino's face remained calm, but inside he was panicking. Sunday Silence was blazing forward without hesitation, and his acceleration looked far from over.
"NO—we have to go now! If we don't close the gap here, the race is done!"
He raised his whip and drove Flying Continental forward.
But Shuta An no longer cared. The moment he entered the home stretch, a strange déjà vu washed over him—he felt as though he were back in Kasamatsu, sprinting atop Oguri Cap, leaving all challengers behind.
"Shaking off every opponent…leading the final straight with no one able to follow…"
The thought flickered across his mind. Instinct took over. He whipped again, tightening his two-handed push.
"Don't let anyone catch us!"
Understanding Shuta An's intent, Sunday Silence quickened his stride. His legs blurred; the gap stretched.
"Sunday Silence is running alone! Five lengths—six lengths! Can anyone still catch up?!" The commentator's voice cracked.
In the owner's box, Yoshida Zenya raised both hands skyward. "Go!"
His wish was simple: let them cross the line—now.
With 100 meters remaining, Shuta An realized the only sound in the world was the thunder of Sunday Silence's hooves. He tightened his grip, twisting back to look. The field behind him… had shrunk to tiny dots.
"So strong, Sunday Silence." Biting his lip, he leaned forward again. "Let's widen it even more! Let's secure a high popularity rating for the Kentucky Derby!"
Behind them, Valentino had already given up. Even though Flying Continental had taken second and could still theoretically reduce the margin—
"There's no point struggling. We can't win." He simply stopped pushing.
"Sunday Silence! He washes away the humiliation of the San Felipe Stakes! Was it truly the jockey difference?!" The commentator shouted as Shuta An and Sunday Silence blasted through the finish.
Yoshida Zenya nearly leapt out of his seat. "Yes! Now we have our ticket to the Kentucky Derby!"
"Good, good, good, good, good!" The experts behind him erupted as well. "With this, bringing him to Japan for breeding will be easy! Much cheaper than buying retired G1 stallions!"
"If he wins a few more races—maybe he could really follow Northern Taste's footsteps."
Sunday Silence had been purchased without a single stakes win. And now—he was a G1 winner under Shuta An. Already, the investment was paying off.
"If he wins the Kentucky Derby—" Zenya froze at his own thought, shaking his head hard. "No, that's too big a dream. This is only the prep race. There's still a long, long road before thinking about the Kentucky Derby."
After finishing his interview, Shuta An approached Trainer Charlie E. Wittingham's assistant, who stepped forward to help him dismount. But Shuta An, still riding the high of victory, waved him off. He tightened his legs—and jumped cleanly off Sunday Silence.
"Oh!" The assistant startled at the unexpected motion.
Shuta An landed steadily, raised his fists skyward, and flashed a confident grin.
"You're something else." The assistant chuckled, patting his shoulder.
When Shuta An woke, he rubbed his eyes—heart still pounding.
"This is ridiculous—" He groaned softly, shaking his head. "It's just the Kentucky Derby prep race. And I wake up this excited? If I actually win the Kentucky Derby in the Dream World, I might need ages to calm down"
Logically speaking, Shuta An shouldn't have had anything to do today. His plan was simple: drop Oguri Cap and Berno off at the research institute, head back home, relax with some coffee, and let the day drift by with whatever happened to be on TV. But just as he returned to his apartment, brewed a fresh pot, and reached for the remote—
A message popped up on his phone.
Dr. Grace:"The Student Council President wants you to come to her office."
Shuta An blinked. This was the first time the Secretariat had summoned him since their brief greeting last time.
"What could she want now?" He wondered the entire walk there.
But the moment he pushed open the door to the West Coast Tracen Academy Student Council office, he understood instantly. Sunday Silence sat primly on the sofa—legs together, hands neatly on her knees, unable to hide her tension.
"Good morning, Miss Secretariat," he greeted calmly, choosing the seat farthest from Sunday Silence. He didn't greet her—acting as if they were strangers who had never crossed paths.
Sunday Silence's eyes lingered on his face. Why does this man look so…familiar?
The Secretariat lightly tapped her toe against the floor, spinning her swivel chair around to face them.
"Good morning, Ann," she said.
"So familiar," Sunday Silence spoke up before Shuta An could reply, pouting. "You two seem very close. I feel like an outsider here—even though I'm the Uma Musume from this Academy."
"Don't you recognize me?" Shuta An arched a brow. "I only resigned and left the Academy a few years ago."
"Nope," Sunday Silence shook her head without hesitation. "I've always focused on training. I didn't pay attention to Academy affairs."
"She's not lying," the Secretariat confirmed. "And your…incident back then wasn't known to most middle schoolers. Anyway, I called the two of you here for a reason."
"Please go ahead," Shuta An replied, leaning back with practiced ease.
"Sunday Silence won the Santa Anita Derby yesterday. She's officially qualified for the Kentucky Derby," the Secretariat said, shooting him a knowing glance. "I'm sure you already knew."
"I've heard." Shuta An smirked. "Didn't your Academy not think much of her before? Now that you've called her in, are you going to give her Kentucky Derby pointers? After all, Miss Secretariat is an American Triple Crown Uma Musume. But what does this have to do with me?"
"It seems you've done your homework on this year's Triple Crown contenders," the Secretariat replied calmly. "Then you must already know who the East Coast is expecting to take the crown."
"Easy Goer," he answered without pause.
"Exactly. She's been bragging nonstop. 'Easy Goer this,' 'Easy Goer that.' She's convinced Easy Goer will be the next American Triple Crown Uma Musume." The Secretariat puffed her cheeks. "I absolutely refuse to let the East Coast take the title this year."
"Then what's the plan?" Shuta An raised a brow. "You're not asking me to sabotage her, are you?"
"Of course not!" the Secretariat glared. "I want your help with something else."
"Help?" Shuta An genuinely didn't get it. "You're not expecting me to train Sunday Silence, right? She already has her own Trainer."
"No," she waved her hand. "I want you to research Easy Goer. Then compile a targeted report."
"Is this a commission—or a personal request?" Shuta An sat up straighter, expression sharp.
The Secretariat hesitated. She knew full well that if she said "request," Shuta An would work for free. But she didn't want that.
"This is for the West Coast," she reminded herself. "We shouldn't use our personal favors for Academy work."
"This is a commission," she said firmly. "We'll discuss compensation later."
"OK~," Shuta An replied, gesturing casually.
The Secretariat turned to Sunday Silence.
"As for you, the reason I called you is simple. Until the Kentucky Derby, the Academy will fully support your preparation. Any approved research outcomes from the Institute will be applied to your training."
"Just like how the East Coast supports Easy Goer?" Sunday Silence challenged.
"Exactly." The Secretariat stood. "So I hope you can achieve better results in the Triple Crown than Easy Goer."
"Even without you telling me that, I'd aim for it," Sunday Silence said with a shrug. "It's the American Triple Crown. Who doesn't want to do well?"
"Exactly, exactly," Shuta An chimed in. "Miss Secretariat, you really didn't need to summon her for that. You could've just contacted her Trainer."
"I heard rumors," the Secretariat sniffed, narrowing her eyes. "Rumors that you've been secretly observing Sunday Silence's training. So I thought I'd call her in and watch your reaction."
"So?" Shuta An grinned. "You think I want to take her back to Japan?"
"I didn't say that. You did," she shot back. "Tell the truth."
"No such intention." He shook his head firmly. "You know I won't ruin another Uma Musume's career. Sunday Silence is clearly a dirt specialist. What would she do in Japan? Run local dirt races? What's even the point?"
"…" The Secretariat fell silent.
Sunday Silence raised a hand. "Don't talk like I'm some prize someone can just snatch away."
"Anyway," the Secretariat sighed, relieved. "This year's classic generation—the West Coast is basically relying on her."
"Don't worry," Shuta An reassured her. "I've observed Sunday Silence for a while. She's strong. I'm certain she can perform well in the Triple Crown."
"Really?" Sunday Silence blinked. She didn't expect such praise.
"He was the French Two Crowns Trainer last year," the Secretariat added. "If he says so, you should have confidence."
Sunday Silence let out a wide grin. "Then I'll take that as a good omen."