With the sharp crack of the gates opening, all eight racehorses burst forward like released arrows.
Starting from the outside, Shuta An immediately chose a conservative approach—he held back, slipped inward, and cut cleanly into the rail, letting Sunday Silence settle into a smooth, steady rhythm.
"Sunday Silence is once again choosing to trail Easy Goer from behind!" the commentator called out, excitement rising.
"Is he really marking Easy Goer?" Claudio McGaughey III frowned. Something didn't sit right. He didn't believe for a second that Charlie Whittingham would allow simple shadowing tactics.
"I just hope Pat Day doesn't fall for it again" he muttered, half to himself.
On the other side, Whittingham himself wore a puzzled expression. He had given Shuta full command of the race, but this wasn't like him at all. Shuta An's riding had never been passive. Dropping back this decisively—it wasn't his typical style.
Yoshida Zenya, however, seemed unbothered. "Shuta-kun improvises often. He's taken the rear before and it has always turned out well. Right now, all we can do is trust him."
Pat Day, meanwhile, was no fool. After the humiliation at the Derby, he had learned his lesson. On the first straight, he looked over his shoulder during the curve—this time prepared. Seeing Shuta An obediently cutting into the innermost lane, Pat Day exhaled in relief, almost laughing.
"Good. If he's not pulling any tricks, my chances of winning skyrocket. Easy Goer's overall ability is definitely superior to Sunday Silence."
Relaxed, he shifted his full focus onto his own mount. There was no need to worry about being boxed in—Easy Goer wasn't stuck in a pack; he was stalking the runaway leader, Northern Wolf, perfectly positioned to pull out whenever needed.
Everything unfolded exactly as Pat Day imagined. Before the final straight, the pace was calm, controlled. The moment they entered the stretch, Easy Goer changed leads, ready to explode forward at Pat Day's signal.
"Accelerate the moment you enter the straight! This is our opening!" Claude III's eyes glittered. "Losing the Derby is fine! Winning the Preakness and Belmont will still secure the Triple Crown!"
By contrast, Charlie Whittingham scowled. "Why isn't Shuta-kun moving yet? If he waits any longer, it'll be too late—Does he really think Sunday Silence's burst can cover all that distance?"
Though whispered, his doubts reached Yoshida Zenya and the others. None of them stepped in to defend Shuta. Deep down, they all shared the same concern—if Shuta was going to strike from behind, he should have launched earlier.
But Shuta An wasn't thinking about any of that. Every fiber of his concentration locked onto Pat Day and Easy Goer ahead.
"Pat Day is definitely going to angle outward to the right," he predicted. "So what I need to do right now is—"
Just as Sunday Silence reached the approach to the final straight—Shuta's whip cracked sharply onto the colt's hindquarters. In an instant, Sunday Silence surged forward, devouring the gap with terrifying speed.
Unlike the Kentucky Derby, Shuta launched his counterattack from the innermost rail.
"An incredible inside attack!" the commentator screamed. "The Kentucky Derby-winning jockey from Japan and his partner are storming through like lightning!"
In only fifty meters, Shuta and Sunday Silence caught Easy Goer. But their positions were reversed—Easy Goer outside. Sunday Silence inside.
Pat Day's relaxed confidence evaporated.
"What the—?! Sunday Silence's burst is this insane?! They closed the gap instantly!"
Determined not to let the momentum slip, Pat Day raised his whip. Normally, with Sunday Silence inside, he would use a left-hand whip to send Easy Goer outward and avoid contact.
But the tension, the urgency—He threw aside proper procedure and used his right-hand whip, forcing Easy Goer inward.
Shuta saw everything.
His temper flared. "Oh? You want to fight, do you?! Then I'll give you one!"
He switched his whip to his left, shoved forward with his right, and cracked a fierce strike. Sunday Silence angled outward—right into Easy Goer's path.
Their knees collided.
A shock of pain shot through both jockeys like a bolt of electricity. Both men grimaced—Neither gave an inch.
They struck again, refusing to switch hands or yield a single centimeter. Both horses, sensing the danger of a collision, stopped angling, locking into parallel lines. But their riders remained pressed tightly together, shoulder to shoulder, eyes burning.
"Hmph!" They could hear each other's sharp snorts.
"I'm not losing to you here!" Shuta twisted his head, glaring violently at Pat Day.
Pat Day snarled back. "This victory won't escape me again! Asian!"
Their voices collided just as fiercely as their knees, and their arms whipped with near-desperation—
a whirlwind of motion, every ounce of strength poured in.
In the VIP box, everyone froze. Claudio III, Ogden Phipps, Charlie Whittingham, Yoshida Zenya—they all held their breath.
"Sunday Silence and Easy Goer have broken away from the entire field!" The commentator was shouting hoarsely. "It's a one-on-one showdown! Will the Kentucky Derby winner claim a second Crown? Or will the favorite Easy Goer get his long-awaited revenge?!"
"Easy Goer! Sunday Silence! Easy Goer! Sunday Silence!" The names echoed across the racecourse.
"I want to win!" Shuta was burning through every last drop of stamina, whipping like a hurricane.
"I won't lose again!" Pat Day gritted his teeth, pushing Easy Goer with everything he had.
Under the roar of the crowd, under the frenzy of the announcer—The two surged across the finish line almost simultaneously.
Almost—
but only almost. The big screen replay made it clear:
At the line, the dark, powerful silhouette that had shocked the world at the Derby—
crossed first.
"Sunday Silence—second Crown achieved!"
After Sunday Silence's triumph in the Preakness Stakes, the same question loomed over his/her camp in both the real world and the Dream World:
How do we erase the accumulated fatigue from the Kentucky Derby and Preakness so he/she can face the Belmont Stakes in peak condition?
This was the dilemma clouding Secretariat's thoughts in the real world—and Charlie Whittingham's in the Dream World.
As for Shuta An, whose mind was occupied with Oguri Cap's recovery, he had no reason to interfere so long as Secretariat remained silent. Sunday Silence had her own Trainer, after all. And the "reward" Secretariat had once offered was something Shuta needed to take initiative for; there was no need to seek her out unnecessarily.
But Dr. Grace intervened. After hearing the concerns of both Secretariat and Mrs. Whittingham, she presented a plan—the same high-speed recovery program tested on Oguri Cap the previous year.
"It may only treat the symptoms, not the root," Dr. Grace warned. "And it may increase the risk of injury. But at this moment, it is the only method capable of meeting the needs of the Student Council President and Mrs. Whittingham."
"This is the program that caused Oguri Cap's suspensory ligamentitis?" Secretariat's mouth twitched as she skimmed through it. "No matter how you look at it, this seems too much—"
Mrs. Whittingham frowned. "That incident with Oguri Cap was likely an accident. But we still have to ask Sunday Silence for her opinion."
The moment Sunday Silence heard the proposal, she answered without hesitation.
"I want to do it. As long as it lets me run in the Belmont Stakes at my best, even if I get injured after, it doesn't matter."
"You might not have Oguri Cap's luck," Secretariat warned. "She only got suspensory ligamentitis, and even then, she nearly lost her career. If your injury is worse, you may never run again. Think carefully. Is it truly worth the risk?"
"It's worth it," Sunday Silence declared. "How could it not be? To win the American Triple Crown—against an opponent like Easy Goer—what higher meaning could there be? Even if I can never run again, I will have carved my name into history. Everyone will remember that I won the Triple Crown by defeating the horse proclaimed to be your successor."
"You don't need to consider me," Secretariat bit her lip. "Just think about your future. If you win the Triple Crown but lose your racing ability, you won't even be able to enter the Dream Trophy Series— staying in the academy will become extremely difficult."
"It's fine. I've already steeled myself."
Sunday Silence turned, meeting her Trainer's eyes. Her voice softened.
"Without the Trainer's guidance, there would be no 'Two-Crown Sunday Silence.' I would still be an unknown Uma Musume wandering like a stray ghost."
She let out a brilliant smile—brighter than when she won the Derby or the Preakness.
"My Trainer told me once, when she was drunk—that her greatest dream was to raise a Triple Crown winner. And now the door to that dream is in front of me. I'm willing to pay any price."
Then she faced Dr. Grace, resolute.
"I'm entrusting myself to you."
Even without Secretariat's explicit approval, Dr. Grace could feel Sunday Silence's determination. "Understood. I will use the improved version that Shuta An and I developed."
—
Meanwhile, in the Dream World, Shuta An presented the very same proposal to Charlie Whittingham. For Whittingham—who had never heard of such a method—it sounded almost unbelievable.
"Is this truly possible?" he asked, distrust heavy in his voice.
"If we rely on the usual methods, Sunday Silence definitely won't recover in time," Shuta said helplessly. "By the Belmont Stakes, it'll become nothing more than a pure test of stamina—no strategy, no flexibility."
"And—even though we've beaten Easy Goer twice, we both understand how strong it really is."
Charlie Whittingham fell silent for a long moment.
"You're right. Without something extraordinary, Sunday Silence will almost have no chance in the Belmont."
"But you also said this method may cause extreme fatigue after the race?" He pressed his lips into a thin line. "Originally, I planned to run Sunday Silence in the 'Midsummer Derby'—the Travers Stakes—after the Belmont. But since you've said this, then after her Triple Crown campaign, his next race will be the Super Derby in Louisiana this September."
He looked at Shuta with subdued heaviness. "You know what that means. That will be your last race together."
Shuta didn't argue. He already knew he couldn't remain in America until September. Setoguchi Tsutomu had been updating him constantly on Oguri Cap's recovery.
Even if he had once feared losing Oguri Cap's mount, after guiding Sunday Silence to the Two Crowns, that worry had vanished. Neither Setoguchi nor Oguri Cap's owner would ever dare replace him now—not when the public, the media, and racing fans would erupt if they did.
However—one week before the Belmont Stakes, Shuta An applied for leave and returned to Japan.
"There's only a week left!" Charlie Whittingham and Yoshida Zenya both tried to stop him. "Isn't training with Sunday Silence the most important thing right now?"
But Shuta stood firm.
"I have something I must do in Japan."
"What is it?" Yoshida pressed.
"The 5th—the day after tomorrow—is the Tokai Derby," Shuta answered solemnly. "I promised my teacher that I would win the Tokai Derby once. Last year, his stable had no horse participating. But this year, it does."
He bowed his head slightly, speaking with unwavering sincerity.
"This is a promise I made a long time ago. I must keep it."
After hearing the translation, Charlie Whittingham let out a deep, weary sigh.
"Very well, Shuta. Your reason is one that cannot be dismissed. A jockey repaying the master who raised him should never be stopped. I will ensure Sunday Silence maintains his condition here. You return as soon as you can."
"Of course!" Shuta flashed a confident thumbs-up. "I will win the Tokai Derby—and the Belmont Stakes!"