Chapter 94. Unshakeable
Teio had no objections to her rating; she was far more concerned with Shuta An's instructions the following morning.
"Teio, I need you to fly back to Japan tomorrow. I have to stay in France for a few extra days to handle some family matters."
Although Tokai Teio understood perfectly well what the young man meant by "family matters." She desperately wanted to stay by his side. Even if she couldn't offer any practical assistance, she felt that standing with him through this would deepen their bond.
But Shuta An was resolute.
She still had the Japan Cup to prepare for, and lingering in France would needlessly disrupt her conditioning.
After seeing her off at the airport, Shuta An relocated to a discreet hotel, essentially living in seclusion for the next few days.
Dominique, despite having verbally agreed to the young man's demand, had not officially brought the matter before the URA Association's executive board.
The Chairman was playing a waiting game, intending to stall until Shuta An returned to the Association to personally persuade the other members.
Three days passed in silence.
Shuta An did not show up.
If Dominique hadn't confirmed through his contacts that the young man was still residing in Paris, he would have assumed Shuta An had abandoned the endeavor entirely.
Sitting in his plush office chair, Dominique adjusted his collar, feeling a creeping sense of irritability and anxiety. Shuta An's total silence kept him constantly on edge, making it impossible to focus on his daily administrative duties.
"The man issues an impossible ultimatum, nothing is settled, the process hasn't even begun, and yet he isn't worried in the slightest?"
Dominique muttered, standing up to pace the length of his office.
"Is he waiting for something specific to happen?"
He paused, a chilling thought crossing his mind.
"Could it be the Arc ratings?" Dominique frowned deeply. "The official IFUA scores are being released today. Is he planning to leverage Tokai Teio—who is practically guaranteed to secure the second-highest score in Arc history—as political capital to force the board into submission?"
"Or... is it something else?"
Dominique shook his head, unable to deduce Shuta An's endgame.
On Thursday, the very day the IFUA published the official Arc ratings, Secretariat quietly touched down in Paris.
"The urban infrastructure here is vastly inferior to Los Angeles."
She pouted, her tone dripping with American disdain for old Europe.
"It doesn't even compare to the district surrounding our West Coast Tracen Academy."
"Alright, that's enough." Miesque sighed, walking a few paces behind her. "We didn't fly all the way to Paris just so you could critique their zoning laws."
"Ann said to meet him directly at the French URA Association headquarters."
Secretariat replied, quickening her pace.
"Miesque, you know exactly what he's trying to do. This is incredibly important to me."
"I know. That's why I'm here to help you control the room."
Miesque said, shaking her head helplessly at her friend's hurried back.
"The new Chairman of the French URA Association hasn't even warmed his seat yet, and now he's about to be publicly humiliated by Secretariat in front of his entire board. Should I pity him for his bad luck, or simply say he deserves it?"
"He brought this upon himself." Secretariat shot back over her shoulder. "Besides, Tokai Teio just delivered what will likely be remembered as the masterpiece of her career. That victory gave Ann the absolute leverage required to directly challenge Dominique."
"That is undeniably true."
Miesque conceded.
At a quiet cafe adjacent to the French URA Association headquarters, Shuta An sat across from Secretariat and Miesque.
"I dropped absolutely everything and caught the first flight out."
Secretariat said, taking a sip of her iced Americano before locking eyes with her beloved junior.
"I had heard vague, unsettling rumors about the state of Elder Sea-Bird's remains, but given my diplomatic position, I couldn't just launch a unilateral investigation. If you hadn't formally requested my assistance, Ann, I wouldn't have had any jurisdiction to intervene."
"I only have one objective: to safely extract my grandmother and transport her to America so she can be buried alongside my parents." Shuta An said quietly, looking down as he stirred his coffee. "You are the only person I trust to execute this."
"That is exactly why I flew across the globe." Secretariat replied, gently smoothing her sideburns. "I will absolutely ensure that a legendary Trainer's final wishes are honored."
Miesque quietly sipped her cappuccino, choosing not to interject, though her suspicions were firmly validated.
Secretariat, she really would do anything for him.
When Dominique saw the two Uma Musumes who followed Shuta An into the executive boardroom, he physically recoiled.
What?!
He widened his eyes, quickly raising a hand to his mouth to stifle a gasp.
Secretariat and Miesque.
Both were global, historic icons of the sport, and both currently wielded immense political and institutional power within the Twinkle Series industry.
If they are backing him—then the board truly has no power to refuse.
Dominique realized with a sinking heart. He looked at Shuta An.
So this is what he was waiting for all week.
The President of the French URA Association swallowed his pride, stood up, and offered a stiff, formal bow to the two legends, providing a brief self-introduction.
"President Dominique, you already know exactly why we are here."
Secretariat said, cutting him off with a sharp wave of her hand.
"I believe it is in everyone's best interest if we skip the pleasantries and get straight to the point."
Within half an hour, the entire executive board of the French URA Association had been summoned to face Secretariat and Miesque, and they were bluntly informed of the reason for the sudden visit.
Although the board members were privately seething at the sheer arrogance of the demand, the combined, immovable weight of Shuta An and Secretariat left them completely outgunned. Holding their noses, they unanimously voted to approve the exhumation and transfer.
However, in a petty act of bureaucratic retaliation, they informed Shuta An that the Association would provide zero logistical support or funding for the transportation phase.
He was entirely on his own.
To the board's profound disappointment, this didn't inconvenience Shuta An and Secretariat in the slightest.
After transferring Sea-Bird's remains into a secure, transport-ready casket, they bypassed commercial logistics entirely.
The casket was transported to Charles de Gaulle Airport and loaded directly onto a private jet Shuta An had chartered days in advance. He and Secretariat boarded the aircraft, and within hours, they were airborne, heading straight for Los Angeles.
"Is Bob Baffert still aggressively recruiting new Uma Musumes?"
Shuta An asked Secretariat as they settled into the private cabin.
"Yes. He has the backing of several massive, entrenched syndicates. I cannot politically touch him."
Secretariat sighed, shaking her head.
"And regardless of his methods, his stable is currently producing the most dominant results on the West Coast. In short, my hands are tied."
"His methodology of 'pulling up seedlings to help them grow'—forcibly accelerating their physical development—is completely unsustainable. The entire industry must know that by now, right?"
Shuta An frowned deeply.
Miesque, sitting across the aisle, chimed in.
"Everyone knows it. But there is nothing that can be done. For a terrifying number of Uma Musumes, securing immediate, explosive results is the only thing that matters. As for what will happen to their bodies five or ten years down the line—they refuse to think about it."
It was a grim reality.
The young man suspected that more than a few Uma Musumes at the Japanese Tracen Academy probably harbored similar, self-destructive ambitions. However, the primary reason a man like Baffert could operate with such impunity on the West Coast, while being virtually extinct in Japan, was the stark difference in regulatory oversight and strictness of doping controls.
"It seems my decision to leave the West Coast back then was the right one."
Shuta An murmured softly.
Hearing his quiet confirmation, Secretariat turned her head toward the window, biting her lip.
—
After arriving in Los Angeles and finalizing the burial arrangements, an exhausted Shuta An fell into bed. But there was no rest waiting for him; the moment his eyes closed, he was pulled into the Dream World.
Tonight, his task was to ride Fuji Kiseki in the Momiji Stakes, a 1,600-meter Listed turf race at Hanshin Racecourse. If they secured the victory here, Shuta was guaranteed the mount for Fuji Kiseki in the upcoming Grade 1 Asahi Hai Futurity Stakes.
Coincidentally, Tasan Tsuyoshi—whose debut race Shuta An had also won—was entered in the same race. As expected, Tasan Tsuyoshi's trainer, Akio Tsurudome, had booked Sadahiro Kojima for the ride. Both trainers hailed from the prestigious Tameo Toyama stable lineage.
Shuta An had known about this matchup for a while. He also knew that Tsurudome had deliberately targeted this specific race. According to gossip relayed by Groom Ike—who had previously worked in the Tsutomu Setoguchi stable—Tsurudome had an ulterior motive.
Rumor has it Trainer Tsurudome wants to prove to his junior that as long as the horse's specs are high enough, you don't need a generational genius in the saddle to win.
The young man was intensely annoyed at being non-consensually drafted into someone else's petty internal stable feud. Being used as a measuring stick without even being offered an appearance fee was insulting.
"Well, I'm just going to have to make sure Fuji Kiseki crushes them in the Momiji Stakes."
Shuta An muttered to himself, crossing his legs and leaning back on a bench in the jockey's room.
"I have nine rides scheduled at Hanshin today."
Out of a 12-race card, his agent had worked tirelessly to secure him the eight highest-quality mounts available, with Fuji Kiseki serving as the crown jewel of the day.
Trainer Sakae Watanabe was also present at Hanshin Racecourse, accompanying the horse's owner in the VIP section. However, the man standing next to the owner wasn't Watanabe, but Katsumi Yoshida, who had recently branched out from the Shadai empire to establish Northern Farm.
"It is merely a Listed race, yet Yoshida-san traveled all the way from Hokkaido to watch it with me. I am truly honored."
Owner Shikyo Saito said with a warm smile.
Yoshida shook his head.
"The jockey riding your horse today is a very, very close and important friend of mine. I didn't come solely to watch Fuji Kiseki."
Watanabe raised an eyebrow at the comment. Everyone in the industry knew Katsumi Yoshida and Shuta An were close, but he hadn't expected the powerful breeder to publicly declare his allegiance to the young jockey so openly.
Tsurudome, you are going to land yourself in massive trouble with Yoshida over this stunt.
Watanabe thought. Considering the rumors swirling among Kansai insiders, Watanabe felt Tsurudome's attempt to 'prove a point' was incredibly reckless.
Shuta An had never spoken ill of Tsurudome, yet the man's petty dispute with his junior had dragged the young prodigy into the crossfire.
However, Tsurudome picked the wrong opponent.
Watanabe thought, brimming with confidence as he recalled Fuji Kiseki's recent training times.
Even if Shuta-kun completely misjudges the pace and forces Fuji Kiseki into a massive, suicidal escape, he's still going to win effortlessly!
For the Momiji Stakes, Fuji Kiseki drew the outside Gate 7.
Meisho Kiro, whose camp had publicly declared their intent to lead, was drawn inside in Gate 5.
The strategy is simple: just tuck in and follow him.
Shuta An decided as they loaded into the gates.
Because he had no intention of contesting the early lead, Shuta An slightly loosened his grip on the reins, intending to let Fuji Kiseki break from the gate in a relaxed manner. It was perfectly fine if they dropped slightly behind the main pack early on.
However, perhaps due to Fuji Kiseki's relative immaturity, the moment the young man loosened the reins and the gates flew open, the dark bay colt hesitated for a fraction of a second before lunging forward.
In racing terms, Fuji Kiseki was slow out of the gate.
"FUJI KISEKI MISSES THE BREAK!"
The track commentator shouted, his voice cutting through a collective groan from the grandstands.
"BUT JOCKEY SHUTA AN DOES NOT LOOK PANICKED!"
Although the delay was annoying, Shuta An deemed the error entirely manageable. It just required a minor tactical adjustment.
Without hesitation, Shuta An dramatically increased his physical pushing.
If the pushing technique of jockey Yoshiyuki Muramoto—currently riding Big Hero in Gate 6—was like a gentle spring drizzle, Shuta An's pushing was a Category 5 hurricane. The sheer physical intensity was on a completely different dimension; the young man looked incredibly aggressive in the saddle.
Responding to the ferocious urging, Fuji Kiseki continuously powered forward, rapidly chewing through the lost ground caused by the slow start.
By the time they swept into the first bend, Fuji Kiseki had already recovered to sit in sixth place.
"Is that positioning alright?" Owner Saito asked, a deep frown creasing his forehead. "You can't afford to get trapped at the back of the pack in a 1,600-meter race at Hanshin, can you?"
"Generally speaking, that is correct. However, the vast majority of Sunday Silence's progeny inherit his terrifying explosive power and sheer fighting spirit. Fuji Kiseki is arguably one of his finest creations, so please, do not worry."
Yoshida reassured him with an easy smile.
"Exactly. Fuji Kiseki possesses elite acceleration. The incline at Hanshin will not pose a problem for him. Even if Shuta-kun decides to initiate his move late, sitting slightly off the pace is a perfectly viable strategy."
Watanabe interjected, having waited for a chance to contribute to the conversation.
"I suppose we can only trust Shuta-kun."
Saito sighed. Even if he harbored lingering doubts, there was nothing he could do now. He stood rigidly by the grandstand railing, watching the field gradually approach the final straight.
However, Shuta had absolutely no intention of passively sitting at the back of the pack, waiting to mount a dramatic, wide run down the final straight.
As they banked into the second bend, Shuta An drew his whip and snapped it sharply near Fuji Kiseki's head—a pre-calculated signal urging the colt to aggressively accelerate while still navigating the turn.
The pace for the first 600 meters was roughly in the 36-second range. That is undeniably slow for a mile race. There is absolutely no reason to hesitate.
The young man muttered to himself as he guided Fuji Kiseki past opponent after opponent on the outside of the bend.
By the time they straightened out for the run to the wire, only Tasan Tsuyoshi and Sadahiro Kojima remained ahead of them.
Hearing the thunderous, rapidly approaching hoofbeats behind him, Kojima didn't even need to look over his shoulder to know exactly who was coming.
Only that monster rides with a cadence like that.
Kojima gritted his teeth.
To him, Shuta An was a demon. He was the enemy—an absolute "archenemy" whom Kojima could never forgive, someone who fueled his constant, burning resentment.
He tightened his grip on the reins and drew his whip.
"I WILL ABSOLUTELY NOT LOSE TO YOU HERE TODAY!"
Kojima roared, forcefully cracking his whip against his mount.
Responding to the strike, Tasan Tsuyoshi's speed violently surged.