Chapter 18. Dubai World Cup Race Day One
In the evening, Shuta An brought Silence Suzuka to the venue on the upper floor of the Burj Khalifa, where the draw results would be announced that night.
Naturally, given the sheer number of races, there would be no single unified live draw. For events other than the Dubai World Cup, the gate assignments had already been determined by computer in advance and were simply awaiting sequential announcement. Only the Dubai World Cup itself would conduct a live draw on stage.
Unlike certain other venues, races aside from the Dubai World Cup did not require participating Uma Musume or their Trainers to step onstage for post-draw remarks. However, that did not mean Shuta An would be idle this evening.
Earlier in the day, he had received an invitation.
Tonight, he would serve as a guest responsible for revealing the draw results of the Dubai Sheema Classic.
"That comes right after the Dubai Turf announcement," Shuta An reminded himself quietly. "I'll need to steady myself quickly by then—"
Led by a waiter, he and Silence Suzuka were seated at a table close to the stage. Shuta An reached for a bottle of sparkling water and turned toward her.
"Would you like something to drink?"
"I already drank water before we left," Silence Suzuka waved her hand lightly. "Ann, you drink."
As she spoke, a faint blush surfaced on her cheeks—clearly recalling their interaction earlier that day at Meydan Racecourse.
"I still have to go on stage later," Shuta An took a small sip before continuing evenly. "The Dubai URA Association really seems to think highly of me."
Then, as if remembering something, he asked, "By the way, Suzuka—what gate position are you hoping for?"
"Me?" Silence Suzuka pointed at herself. "Anything is fine. There are only eleven gates anyway. Even if I draw a wide one, it won't matter." She smiled calmly. "Didn't you analyze the track for me, Ann? With such a long straight at the start, even if I drew gate eighteen, I'd still have enough room to take the lead."
"I'd prefer an inside gate," Shuta An said frankly. "If we can win with less effort, then it's better to do so."
"That's true," Silence Suzuka nodded.
For the Al Quoz Sprint, Taiki Shuttle had drawn gate seven—neither particularly inside nor outside. But for her, it hardly mattered. The race was entirely straight, without a single turn, making the starting position largely irrelevant.
"Strictly speaking, though, an outside gate is slightly better," Shuta An explained. "The turf on the inside will have been trampled repeatedly by earlier races, while the outer turf remains cleaner and more stable."
"But for Taiki, does any of that really matter?" Silence Suzuka murmured. "She's already on a five-race winning streak across short-distance and mile races. She's at her absolute peak."
"I suggested to Miss Tojo that Taiki Shuttle attempt an overseas G1," Shuta An replied, his gaze shifting toward the massive screen above the stage as the next draw approached. "Europe or America—either would suit her. With her current strength, she could compete anywhere."
He paused, then added flatly, "But Miss Tojo is rather perfunctory about it. She doesn't seem particularly interested in overseas campaigns. If the prize money this time hadn't been so generous, I doubt she would've allowed Taiki Shuttle to come to Dubai at all."
Silence Suzuka could only pretend not to hear his complaint. If it had been Mejiro Dober or Tokai Teio, they would have eagerly joined in—but Suzuka could not. Her past made this kind of topic far too delicate.
After the Dubai Gold Cup draw concluded, it was finally time for the Dubai Turf.
As this was the event's inaugural year, there were no historical race PVs to display. Instead, the Dubai URA Association compiled highlight footage from each participating Uma Musume's most prestigious past victories.
On the screen, Silence Suzuka saw herself—her Secretariat Stakes race, where she had fought desperately against relentless pressure from behind.
"Alright," she told herself silently. "I absolutely won't allow such a dangerous situation this time. I must win beautifully."
When the footage ended, the gate assignments for the Dubai Turf appeared on the screen.
Shuta An spotted her name instantly.
"Number seven—gate position is…" He broke into a grin. "Two. Suzuka, gate two!"
"Yes!"
Though she had claimed the gate didn't matter, Silence Suzuka's smile bloomed brightly—how much of it was due to the favorable draw, even she couldn't quite say.
After composing himself, Shuta An stood and walked onto the stage.
Taking the microphone from the host, he introduced the upcoming race in fluent, unhurried English.
Meydan Racecourse's turf track had a circumference of 2400 meters. To prevent the runners from entering a turn immediately after the start, the Dubai Sheema Classic course had been adjusted to 2410 meters. The winner would receive prize money approaching 3.5 million US dollars.
There were no Japanese Uma Musume participating—most entrants hailed from England, France, and the United States.
"What a pity…" Shuta An thought briefly. "If it had been held a year earlier, I could have let Oguri—"
The thought died instantly.
Oguri Cap had spent much of the first half of her senior year recovering from injury. With that realization, he extinguished the delusion himself.
After completing his role, Shuta An stepped down from the stage and returned to his seat.
"That was really cool, Ann," Silence Suzuka said, handing him the sparkling water. "I heard people around me whispering, wondering why a Japanese Trainer speaks English without any accent."
"How could that be?" Shuta An replied dryly. "It would be stranger if something I've spoken since childhood had a Japanese accent, wouldn't it?"
"That's so nice…" Silence Suzuka pouted softly. "My accent is very obvious. When I meet other Uma Musume while shopping, I don't really dare to speak."
"Well," Shuta An teased, "as long as everyone communicates through running, that's enough."
He added lightly, "If English is really necessary, I'll translate for you at critical moments."
"But I want to learn," Silence Suzuka looked straight at him. "Can Ann teach me? Later—after things calm down a bit."
"Of course," Shuta An agreed without hesitation. "You can't expect the academy's English teachers to handle that properly."
He had dealt with them before—and honestly, their level wasn't even comparable to a random high school Uma Musume he could pick from the West Coast.
—
Saturday, the 27th. Dubai World Cup Race Day.
The day's first race, the Godolphin Mile, was scheduled to begin at three o'clock in the afternoon local time. A 1600-meter dirt race named after one of the three goddesses, it had received G3 accreditation in its inaugural year.
Shuta An, however, paid it little mind.
A dirt mile—there was no need for analysis. Without thinking, he already knew the answer. This stage would inevitably belong to Uma Musume from the United States.
And reality unfolded exactly as expected.
Lost Soldier, representing the United States, cleanly separated herself from the field, opening more than a horse-length gap over the runner-up to claim victory in the first Godolphin Mile.
"She's really strong…" Standing by the floor-to-ceiling window of the private box, Kitahara couldn't help but exclaim. "She feels even stronger than Japan's best dirt milers. Hayate Fubuki wouldn't stand a chance against her."
"Even so, Lost Soldier has never won a G1—or even a G2—in the United States," Shuta An shrugged lightly. "Don't overthink it, Mr. Kitahara."
"Eh?!" Kitahara's eyes widened. "Someone this strong still can't win a G1 dirt race in America?!"
"That's American dirt," Shuta An rolled his eyes. "Just like European turf. To win there, you need overwhelming strength and absurd luck. Without both, your chances are slim."
"Would Ann-san ever consider challenging American dirt races?" Kitahara asked suddenly, curiosity flickering in his eyes.
"Me?" Shuta An pointed to himself, then glanced at Tokai Teio and Mejiro Dober seated on the sofa watching the broadcast. "At present, none of Sadalsuud's three Uma Musume are suited for dirt. Unless a genuinely talented dirt runner joins the team someday, it's not realistic."
"I really hope to see Ann-san win a G1 dirt race in America one day," Kitahara said with a wry smile, spreading his hands. "A Trainer like me wouldn't even dare dream of it."
"Don't think like that," Shuta An patted his shoulder. "Improve yourself. Train your Uma Musume properly. Who knows—maybe that opportunity will truly appear right in front of you someday."
"Indeed," Tojo Hana added quietly.
The second race of the day was the Dubai Gold Cup, a 3200-meter Turf Classic rated G3.
"No Japanese Uma Musume were invited for the long-distance race again," Kitahara said with regret.
"After all, last year's Tenno Sho (Spring) winner has already retired," Tojo Hana replied, her tone weary. "As for Japan's long-distance runners now…it's hard to say who truly stands out. We'll have to see who wins this year's Tenno Sho."
The result of the Dubai Gold Cup stunned everyone.
Victory went to Veracity—an Uma Musume representing the UAE.
"Something's off," Shuta An frowned, quickly checking the information. He soon discovered the truth: Veracity had been a British Uma Musume the previous year, finishing third in the Royal Oaks, the final leg of the French Triple Crown.
"To save face, the UAE flexed its 'financial strength,'" Tojo Hana commented flatly after realizing the situation. "Naturalized Uma Musume—other regions wouldn't even dare attempt that."
"How so?" Shuta An countered calmly. "El Condor Pasa? Grass Wonder?"
"They're repatriated citizens," Tojo Hana replied immediately. "You can't lump them together with naturalized ones."
"Fair point," Shuta An's mouth twitched. "At least the UAE allows naturalized Uma Musume to compete in major races. Japan's URA Association, on the other hand, won't even allow repatriated citizens into the Classic Race."
Those words struck home.
Tojo Hana fell silent. In her heart, she agreed. Grass Wonder and El Condor Pasa were both capable of making waves in the Classic Races—yet URA regulations had barred them outright. She had been forced to seek an entirely different path for them, one she herself had never truly walked.
The atmosphere in the private box sharpened as the next race approached.
The Al Quoz Sprint.
Taiki Shuttle's race.
Brimming with confidence, Taiki Shuttle entered the gate wearing a dazzling smile.
"El Condor Pasa, Grass Wonder, and I—we're all repatriated citizens," she murmured inwardly. "I just happen to be unsuited for Classic distances, so I wasn't affected. But I understand how they feel."
"I'll prove it. We didn't come to Japan because we lacked opportunities where we were born. We deserve to stand on the same stage as everyone else."
"If they won't give us a chance, then we'll carve out our own path. The URA Association has been mocked for years over just one Oguri Cap—if more appear one after another, even the most stubborn will feel shame eventually, right?"
The gates flew open.
Taiki Shuttle burst forward without the slightest hesitation.
Having been instructed to run from the front, she immediately fought for position. Unfazed by physical contact, she muscled past opponents on both sides, forcing her way into a prime forward position.
"Incredible power," Shuta An murmured. "That level of aggression is rare among Japanese Uma Musume."
"In mile races, pace and positioning decide everything," Tojo Hana said, watching intently. "No hesitation is allowed. That's what Taiki Shuttle told me."
"She's right," Shuta An nodded after a brief silence. "You need toughness—resolve. Otherwise, you'll be swallowed whole."
Taiki Shuttle moved into third as they entered the final stretch. The two leaders sensed her presence and desperately tried to flee—but with just over three hundred meters remaining, she denied them any illusion of escape.
She sliced cleanly between them.
Then she tore away.
A chestnut whirlwind exploded across the turf, leaving her rivals behind.
"Watch closely—this is how you win a sprint!" Taiki Shuttle raised her right hand toward the stands, index finger extended, as she crossed the finish line.
"Congratulations!" Shuta An and Kitahara said in unison, turning to Tojo Hana.
She didn't respond.
Her eyes remained fixed on Taiki Shuttle, standing beneath roaring cheers, radiant and unrestrained.
"Was bringing her back to Japan," Tojo Hana murmured softly, "just to defeat opponents she had already conquered…truly the best choice for her?"
For the first time, the conviction she had held for so long wavered.