Charlie Whittingham called out just as Shuta An reached for his hotel room door, ready to end his Dream World journey for the night.
"No joking, Shuta. Do you really plan to have Sunday Silence run as a Leading in the Belmont Stakes?"
His brows creased with rare tension.
"Of course not." Shuta An flashed a grin over his shoulder. "Even if Sunday Silence has recovered as much as possible thanks to the new training method, you should know better than anyone, Charlie—his adaptability to a 2400-meter dirt track isn't exactly ideal compared to Easy Goer."
"That's right" Charlie's frown deepened. "To be honest, even at one hundred percent, I don't have much confidence in him at this distance. He's shown signs of hitting his endurance ceiling in training again and again. If he hadn't already taken the first two Crowns, I might've even considered pulling him out of the Belmont entirely."
"So I'm planning to hold back and make a late charge," Shuta An cut in smoothly. "We'll stay conservative at the start, move forward at the final turn, and launch only in the homestretch."
"That strategy can work," the trainer admitted after a moment of thought. "But this tactic will lean heavily on Easy Goer's choices. If Pat Day decides to take the lead, they'll explode with everything they've got at the finish. In that situation, catching them would be—extremely difficult."
"Then we lose." Shuta An said it casually, as if losing the Triple Crown were nothing more than dropping a coin. "We've already won two legs. Becoming a Triple Crown winner is a feat close to impossible to begin with."
"I'm not as open-minded as you, Shuta" Charlie let out a defeated chuckle. "Only a few days left until the Belmont Stakes. Everything rests on you now."
"For the rewards I can get—I definitely have to go all in," Shuta An muttered under his breath.
—
During the day, he asked Dr. Grace—who was stationed with the Sunday Silence team at Belmont Park—to record both Sunday Silence and Easy Goer's practice sessions.
After reviewing the footage with meticulous attention, his conclusion was—far from encouraging. Easy Goer's stamina reserves were clearly superior. In a 2400-meter dirt race, their chances of victory were higher.
"There's no trickery this time—" He exhaled quietly. "I really have to rely on conserving energy and launching from behind. And I have to hope the others don't force us to cut across the field again and again—or our odds drop by several percent."
The pressure coiled in his chest like a tightening spring. He wanted—no, needed—to see what reward awaited his Dream World self and Sunday Silence after accomplishing the American Triple Crown.
"This is the hardest challenge I've ever faced in the Dream World," he thought.
Even during morning exercises and routine training at Belmont Park, where his form was steady and perfect, no one realized that Shuta An's mind was far away.
"The nature of this track demands patience at the beginning" he whispered internally. "But even if Sunday Silence was calm during the first two Crowns, I still remember the wildfire temper he showed when we first met at the ranch."
After practice, he approached the stablehand caring for Sunday Silence.
"How's his temper lately?"
"He's pretty calm. Seems like he knows just how serious this race is," came the honest reply.
Only then did Shuta An finally relax a little.
—
June 10th.
At breakfast, he warned Oguri Cap and Berno Light in advance not to spoil any Belmont Stakes news for him.
"So when will you watch it, Ann?" Oguri Cap asked, tilting her head. "There's nothing in this race that should worry you, is there?"
"I'll read the news myself tomorrow." Shuta An waved a hand dismissively. "Oguri, don't think too much. There's just something I need to verify for myself."
"Alright~" Hearing that, both the Gray Uma Musume and the chestnut support Uma Musume relaxed.
Since he hadn't been involved in the real Sunday Silence's preparations, they assumed nothing major was weighing on him.
Even so, if they had to pick someone to support, their hearts were set on Sunday Silence.
One more race—just one—stood between that dark bay Uma Musume and the legendary title of American Triple Crown.
Witnessing the birth of such greatness—who wouldn't want to?
Neither of them knew that Shuta An planned to challenge that same greatness in his dream. The entire day, Shuta An shut down every form of communication and stayed close to Oguri Cap and Berno Light—anything to avoid unwanted spoilers.
That evening, after a refreshing shower, he settled comfortably on the bed and let sleep take him.
—
When he opened his eyes again, he was already moments away from mounting his horse. With the staff's assistance, he vaulted lightly onto the saddle. As usual, he reached out to stroke Sunday Silence's neck—
But this time, Sunday Silence shuddered violently, nearly unseating him.
"What's going on?" Shuta An steadied himself instantly, frowning. "A bit too excited today?"
He reached out again—then hesitated, pulling his hand back.
In English, he murmured softly, "I don't know what's gotten into you today, Sunday Silence. But if you're in a mood, please hold it in for now. The Belmont Stakes is coming."
As if understanding him, Sunday Silence gradually settled down—but Shuta An noticed something unusual. His reactions to touch were overly sensitive. Almost unfamiliar.
"It's like he isn't used to being touched—" A cold doubt crept in. "If so, will this affect the pushing in the stretch? If I hit the whip at the critical moment—will he react badly?"
He couldn't test it before the race. A warning whip would waste precious stamina.
"I'll just have to gamble," he sighed, almost soundlessly.
Before entering the starting gate, Pat Day—having learned from the first two Crown races—kept completely silent. Without so much as a glance at Shuta An, he simply guided Easy Goer forward and slipped into the gate.
Shuta An made a few attempts to start a conversation, but after realizing the jockey beside him had no intention of responding, he decided there was no point embarrassing himself any further.
"There's no way to read Pat Day's mood like this," the young man murmured with mild regret. "But it doesn't matter. Sunday Silence and I are already standing before the toughest challenge of this Belmont Stakes."
With that thought firm in his mind, Shuta An steered Sunday Silence toward Gate 6.
The moment they entered, Sunday Silence let out a sharp snort, instantly drawing Easy Goer's attention. The rival colt had not forgotten—this horse to his left had defeated him twice in a row. The defiant blaze in Easy Goer's eyes made that very clear.
"Tsk, tsk," Shuta An clicked his tongue inwardly. "Even after losing twice, his fighting spirit is still that fierce?"
That was not exactly encouraging news for the young man.
With a clean, uniform click, all starting gates burst open. Ten racehorses lunged forward—some stumbling, some surging. It was at this moment that the gap between champions and ordinary horses became painfully obvious. The top contenders—Sunday Silence, Easy Goer, and Absorb—quickly corrected their postures and began accelerating.
Absorb pushed aggressively to seize the lead, while Easy Goer naturally settled into the second position. Meanwhile, Shuta An and Sunday Silence hung back, adopting an unusually passive stance.
"See? Shuta An said that on purpose—just to mislead us." Claude III sighed with relief. "Good thing we didn't waste time designing countermeasures for his early positioning. That would've been pointless."
Charlie Whittingham simply narrowed his eyes. He was not surprised in the slightest. After all, he and the young jockey had already discussed this strategy. On the other hand, the experts in Yoshida Zenya's team were frowning deeply.
"Isn't this too conservative? If Easy Goer settles into his rhythm, the gap will be impossible to close later."
"We absolutely cannot underestimate Easy Goer. The first two Crowns were decided almost entirely by Shuta-kun's riding. But in this race, Easy Goer's advantage is greater. Shuta-kun hasn't reached a skill level where he can completely overpower Pat Day…right?"
Yoshida Zenya listened to the experts' murmurs, his brows gradually knitting tighter. Whether Sunday Silence succeeded in becoming a Triple Crown winner would directly influence Shadai Farm's future profits. If Sunday Silence returned to Japan as an American Triple Crown champion, the promotional work for his stud career would proceed far more smoothly than if he returned as merely a two-time Crown winner.
But Yoshida Zenya also understood very well: Sunday Silence being a "two-time Crown winner" was already the result of Shuta An pushing himself to the absolute limit.
"If it doesn't work out—then it just doesn't work out. You can't force these things." He braced himself mentally. "Pulling off two upsets in a row is already miraculous."
Belmont Park's dirt track stretched 2400 meters—the longest in America. Which meant the starting line was also the finish line. After the initial 300 meters, Sunday Silence and Shuta An had fallen to fifth place: four lengths behind the leading Absorb, and three and a half lengths behind Easy Goer, who held second.
Contrary to expectations from Charlie Whittingham, Claude R. McGaughey III, and the others, Sunday Silence—executing a hold-back-and-strike-late tactic for the first time—showed no impatience, no resistance, no signs of fighting her jockey's decisions.
"His obedience is even stronger than in the first two Triple Crown races. Does he…understand? That enduring now is his best chance at tasting victory?" Even Shuta An was shocked. He had mentally prepared himself for a fierce internal struggle during the early stages.
But this—this was beyond ideal. Being able to conserve his strength without wasting stamina due to conflicting intentions—this was the best opening he could have hoped for.
"Hold five lengths behind Easy Goer…endure for 1600 meters…and at the final 800, we fight them head-on!" With this decision, Shuta An guided Sunday Silence into a smooth cruising rhythm.
What he failed to notice was that his partner was not behaving like his usual self at all.
Sunday Silence, unusually lethargic today, had fallen asleep in an instant. But upon opening her eyes, she found herself in a lucid dream.
"What—is this?!" Something felt wrong—not with her consciousness, but with her body. A sudden jolt of pain surged through her, and in that moment she understood exactly what this dream represented.
"A version of me—from another world?" Sunday Silence blinked in shock. "Don't joke around. There's no way—"
Before she could finish the thought, a middle-aged man approached the body she inhabited and called her name. That was when she fully grasped the situation. And the surprises only piled on from there.
Because within this lucid dream, she found herself looking at a certain young man—the very one who had gathered mountains of data on Easy Goer for her only to abruptly declare a break and refuse to watch her race today, cutting off all channels of communication. (Or so Secretariat-senpai had said.)
"Why am I dreaming of him of all people?!" Sunday Silence could not comprehend it. It would be far more reasonable if she dreamt of that Gray Uma Musume always at Shuta An's side—after all, they were both two-time Crown winners. The difference was simply that the other girl had given up on the Triple Crown, while she herself had failed at the third stage. But as that thought crossed her mind, something clicked.
This dream-body…was standing at Belmont Park Racecourse.
"Don't tell me—"
Just as her thoughts spiraled, she felt a hand stroking her neck—an unfamiliar yet sensitive touch that made her shiver reflexively. A voice sounded from behind.
"I don't know what's gotten into you today, Sunday Silence. But if you're in a mood, please hold it in. The Belmont Stakes is starting soon."
She knew that voice.
"It really is him" She frowned, exhaling a quiet, resigned sigh. "Never mind. No point thinking too deeply about this."
"Since I lost the Belmont Stakes in the real world…" Her golden eyes sharpened. "then I'll win it—right here—inside this dream."
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