Chapter 33. The Japanese Derby in a Dream (Part 1)
That night, upon stepping into the Dream World, Shuta An found himself already seated atop Tokai Teio's saddle.
No lead-up races. No gradual build.
Straight into the Derby.
He narrowed his eyes, a quiet edge entering his thoughts. The Dream World's logic had always been peculiar—its timeline drifting further from reality with each entry—but tonight it had discarded even the illusion of transition.
The sudden shift made his balance waver slightly.
"Shuta-kun, are you alright?" Higashi Ikuo, leading Teio by the reins, glanced back in concern.
"I'm fine." Shuta An steadied himself and looked down. "Just distracted. It's my first time riding a one-times favorite in the Derby."
"It's not just one-times." Higashi replied in a low voice. "It's 1.1. To be honest, I'm nervous too. You must stay composed."
"If falling off wouldn't disqualify us," Shuta An smiled faintly, "Teio could win this even without me."
It was half a joke, half an absolute conviction.
"Trainer Matsumoto and the owner are in the stands today. I'll head over there soon. Is there anything you want me to relay?"
"Relay?" Shuta An paused for several seconds, then answered calmly, "Tell them to prepare their Derby victory speeches."
Higashi's pupils tightened. He gave a small nod. "Understood."
Even amidst the dense crowd and layered noise of the waiting area, Yutaka Take—passing by—caught the tail end of that exchange.
"Ann-san," he called lightly, "your confidence seems even stronger than last week."
Shuta An turned, grin unrestrained. "Compared to last week? I'm overflowing with it."
His fingers tightened on the reins.
"I believe in Teio's ability."
"Even from gate twenty?" Yutaka Take lifted a brow. "Your luck with the draw is almost impressive."
"After I drew it, even the JRA directors looked displeased." Shuta An shrugged. "I suppose they didn't expect me to pull the worst number immediately."
Then his tone sharpened.
"It doesn't matter. Gate twenty, gate twenty-four—it's all the same. Tokai Teio still wins."
Yutaka Take exhaled slowly.
He had broken countless JRA records since debuting, yet the Derby—the highest honor for Central jockeys—remained beyond his grasp. And the horse beneath his friend was undeniably worthy of it.
To watch that victory belong to someone else first—It was not an easy feeling.
He lowered his gaze, stroking Shin Horisky's neck.
"I'm counting on you. I don't intend to lose badly."
—
As the outermost draw, Tokai Teio entered the gate last. Their preparation time was minimal.
But Shuta An had anticipated this. The moment Teio stepped inside, he made no adjustments—only settled into riding posture.
Staff cleared.
Silence tightened.
He counted silently.
One.
Two.
Three.
Click.
Tokai Teio exploded from the gate without instruction.
The opening stretch—over five hundred meters of straight turf—offered ample space to secure position. Originally, Shuta An had intended to hold her back and wait.
But a glance to his left changed everything.
Several runners were deliberately restraining themselves, angling inward, aiming to seize the rail from behind.
No.
He discarded the plan instantly.
If Teio followed that pattern, he risked being marked—boxed in at the critical moment. Instead, he guided him forward into the middle cluster.
Better to stay honest in mid-pack. From there, acceleration lanes would remain viable. No one behind could physically seal every path.
The early pace was unremarkable. After Me claimed the lead cleanly, just as in the Satsuki Sho. Surprisingly, Yutaka Take positioned Shin Horisky two lengths behind in second—shadowing without pressure.
Noted.
When they passed the stands for the first time, Tokai Teio held sixth. Slightly forward of conservative strategy—but correct.
"No one is pressing the leader. The pace won't be fast. If I stay too far back, Teio would need an excessive final burst. He can do it—but it strains his legs unnecessarily. Sixth is safer. More controlled."
He allowed him to cruise into third approaching the first bend.
To his inside ran Leo Durban and One More Live.
Yukio Okabe.
Koichi Tsunoda.
Both were fully aware of who rode to their right.
Okabe, once willing to volunteer for Teio's reins, had conceded when the stable named Shuta An as primary jockey. He knew the difference between them.
Tsunoda, whose Oaks victory had slipped away to Shuta An's push-riding just a week prior, carried quiet frustration—but no intention of underhanded retaliation. He acknowledged the disparity in skill.
Still—
Neither would yield inner ground freely.
"When Tokai Teio moves," Okabe told himself, "Leo Durban moves with him. Protect the rail."
Tsunoda's resolve was sharper still.
"I must anticipate him acceleration. One More Live accelerates before he does."
The Derby had not yet reached its decisive phase. But already— The silent contest of judgment had begun.
After entering the first bend, Shuta An made no attempt to steal ground.
He did not ask Tokai Teio for a brief burst to carve inward and secure the rail. He did not gamble on a narrow window. Instead, he allowed him to remain in third, holding him rhythm, even if that meant covering slightly more distance around the curve.
To Yukio Okabe and Koichi Tsunoda, it was wholly unexpected.
Both had been prepared to react the instant Tokai Teio moved—ready to accelerate in unison and seal the inside lane. Yet no move came. Their carefully prepared countermeasures dissolved into nothing.
"So restrained? Even with such a partner?" Tsunoda couldn't hide his confusion.
Okabe, however, felt something else.
Pressure.
This young man—why does he ride like this?
Okabe had once been the principal jockey of Symboli Rudolf. In this exact scenario, his choice would have been identical. When your mount is the strongest in the field, you do not force the race. You let it unfold. You remove yourself from the equation and allow the Racehorse to decide.
That understanding had come to him only after years atop Rudolf. Yet Shuta An—so young—was already riding with that clarity.
Since Rudolf's retirement, Okabe had never again encountered a partner strong enough to justify that philosophy. But here, before him, Shuta An possessed such a partner in Tokai Teio—and was calmly allowing the race to breathe.
In the stands, Trainer Matsumoto Shoichi nodded with visible satisfaction.
"It's proceeding exactly as Shuta-kun envisioned. He has no intention of interfering. He's letting Teio flow with the race."
"Is that really alright?" the owner asked, tension plain in his voice. He knew Shuta An had captured the Oaks here just last week—but when it was his own Racehorse on the track, reason offered little comfort.
"No problem," Matsumoto replied with quiet certainty. "For the current Tokai Teio, running this naturally is ideal. And it means Shuta-kun doesn't need to exert himself. That's a decisive advantage."
He added, "If he moves, it will be on the final straight. As long as the pace holds, he won't do anything unnecessary."
—
Down the long backstretch opposite the stands, Shuta An maintained position to the outside of One More Live and Leo Durban. He neither advanced nor drifted inward for wind protection. He simply held tempo.
Okabe frowned.
That posture… even his pushing looks relaxed.
Does he truly regard the Derby as significant?
If he could ask after the race, he would.
And if Shuta An could answer honestly, he would say—
It is important.
But it is not the most important thing.
He had not forgotten Tokai Teio's hidden danger in the real world. In the absence of a fixed timeline, he could not know whether injury would come here—or when. That uncertainty alone had shaped his strategy. He had already chosen a lighter campaign for him.
If injury were to come, he believed it would be after the Derby.
So he would not allow him to overextend today.
He intended to win this Derby in the most economical manner possible.
A controlled, moderate pace from the front was ideal. That was why he resisted altering his rhythm for marginal gains—no rail-saving maneuvers, no wind-breaking gambits. Just disciplined, royal pacing.
It was not something he could explain to anyone.
Even Matsumoto, who trusted him most, would never accept the premise that Teio required such guarded handling.
At the 1000-meter marker, Shuta An estimated the split at roughly sixty-two seconds.
Slow.
He allowed himself a faint smile.
"Thank you, Yutaka-san, for not pressing. And thank you for setting such a comfortable rhythm."
The spacing ahead was manageable. That meant he could begin a gradual increase rather than demand an explosive final sprint.
A prolonged acceleration imposed less concentrated stress on the ankles than a sudden burst.
That alone justified everything.
As they neared the end of the backstretch, Shuta An subtly increased rein pressure.
Tokai Teio responded instantly.
Within strides, he edged forward, threatening to overtake Leo Durban.
Okabe sensed it and reacted immediately.
"I won't let you move here!"
He drove Leo Durban on.
Tsunoda hesitated. If he accelerated now, he would compromise the final straight. Forced into calculation, he could only watch as Okabe and Shuta An advanced in tandem, their movement momentarily sealing his path.
"Tokai Teio is moving early!" the commentator exclaimed. "Is he dissatisfied with the slow tempo?"
In the stands, the owner stiffened—until he saw clearly on the screen that Shuta An had not drawn the whip.
Relief returned.
If the whip had appeared, it would signal urgency. This was not urgency. It was design.
Matsumoto Shoichi narrowed his eyes, tracking Teio's measured advance, then cast a glance toward Tokyo's long final straight.
A quiet breath escaped him.
"Shuta-kun must have already seen the ending before this race even began…"
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