Chapter 110: Pause
The commentator's sudden roar ignited the entire grandstand. Thousands of palms hammered against the metal railings, creating a rolling tremor that fused with the cheers and shouts, echoing high above Nakayama Racecourse.
In the dazzling afternoon sun, the track shone like a corridor of molten gold. Fifteen shooting stars lit their afterburners all at once.
At stormlike speed, Kitasan Black's short black hair and long ponytail stretched taut in the wind.
Each strike of her racing shoes sent up sprays of turf, turning the grass into rippling emerald waves that trailed behind her form.
But before those ripples could fade, they were shattered into fragments by the hooves of the pursuing Umamusumes.
"The final corner is almost over!"
"The most popular runner, Satono Crown, is launching her charge!"
"She's locked on Kitasan Black—yes, locked on Kitasan Black—sweeping wide from the outside, beginning her surge past her rivals!"
"After so many years, will we finally see another undefeated Umamusume claim the Satsuki Sho?!"
"Will the Satono family's long-cherished dream come true in such perfect form?!"
Eyes locked on the back in front of her, Satono Crown drove her body into a desperate sprint, her teeth clenched with the faint taste of regret.
She had not expected it. After the early scramble for position, the first slope, and the first burst on the corner—she had never imagined that the friend she had grown up with, her rival of this very moment, would still have such terrifying stamina left.
She didn't hear the commentator's electrifying words. Her mind held only one thought.
Catch her.
Catch Kita-chan!
To fulfill her family's long-held dream, she had to catch up—pass her—and win the Satsuki Sho!
But then her field of vision suddenly opened wide, and at the instant the final stretch came into sight, her heart gave a violent jolt.
Just ahead, two silhouettes appeared, one in front, one behind.
"Into the homestretch!"
The commentator's voice cracked with excitement:
"The trailing pack has rushed forward!"
"But the leading group on the inside refuses to yield!"
"Nakayama's straight is short! Coming into the final slope, REAL STEEL is accelerating from the outside!"
"Her target is Kitasan Black! The same target as Satono Crown—Kitasan Black! And the gap between her and Kitasan Black is shrinking!"
"But Satono Crown is still in mid-pack! Can she possibly take the crown?!"
"In front of her is Duramente! Her target is also Kitasan Black!"
"But—but! Kitasan Black is still in the lead!"
"Kitasan Black holds six— no, five lengths ahead!"
"Two hundred meters to go!"
"Kitasan Black still leads! She's still driving hard!"
"On the inside it's Kitasan Black! On the outside, REAL STEEL surging fast! The gap is down to four lengths!"
"Can she pass Kitasan Black?!"
"But—but! Duramente is coming!"
"Duramente is charging from the outside!"
"She's overtaken! She's overtaken REAL STEEL!"
"Now it's Duramente chasing Kitasan Black!"
"The gap is closing fast, closing fast!"
"Four lengths… three lengths…"
"Only two lengths remain!"
"Just 100 meters left!!"
This string of frantic commentary, chasing the wind-swift figures down the track, sent a wave of frenzy through the hundred-thousand-strong crowd—the loudest roar of the entire day.
Yet in her azure eyes, reflecting the black-and-gold figure ahead, Duramente heard nothing.
She never liked noise.
And she had never told anyone this, but every time she stepped onto the track, the barrage of gazes and the endless clamor always stirred irritation in her heart.
Now, it was as if someone had pressed the pause button on the world. The maddening racket vanished.
Or perhaps not vanished, but muted into silence—just like the sight of Kitasan Black's flowing hair, frozen midair before her.
Sweat clung to the strands, catching the sun's rays, each droplet refracting a strange amber glow.
And with that, fragments of memories from the past month suddenly surged into her mind.
After a rainy-day practice, Kitasan Black had been caked in mud, yet she still laughed as she broke her energy bar in half with clean hands, handing one piece to her. In the end, she even wiped away the chocolate crumbs lingering at the corner of her lips.
The bittersweet taste, the dampness of rain, the softness of her fingertips—those sensations all surfaced together with the memory, curling naturally at the corners of her mouth.
The scene in her mind shifted again.
Kitasan Black's figure began to blur, transforming into the arched relief at the finish line of the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe. That relief twisted further, becoming her father's stern visage, her mother's gentle smile, the exasperation etched on Groove-nee's face.
And finally, it shifted back into the form of the friend she had known for only a month.
This time, that figure was standing before a vending machine, waving with a bright grin.
"Hey, Duramente-chan, want to try this new lemon soda? Teio-senpai's endorsing it you know, I think it tastes amazing!"
Her lips curved upward once more.
The pull-tab of the can swayed in her memory, gradually overlapping with the shimmering marker of the finish line up ahead.
'Right…'
'I'm… running the Satsuki Sho right now.'
'To be the strongest…'
'But maybe a race isn't only about that thing.'
'It's about you too, Kita-chan…'
The realization struck her: she was in the middle of the race, less than a hundred meters from the finish line. And yet she had been daydreaming. But Duramente felt no trace of panic or tension.
Her pumping arms radiated with a strange heat; her fingers flexed unconsciously.
The air split to the sides in visible ripples, the racetrack morphing into a dense, viscous sea.
Every muscle fiber, every bone in her legs resonated with an uncanny clarity. She knew—beyond doubt—that she was threading the exact seam of the airflow.
Blades of grass shattered beneath her strides, their juices unfurling into a mist of green in the air.
She heard sounds—but not the irritating roar of the crowd.
The contraction and expansion of her alveoli.
The faltering breaths of the runner behind her.
The faint crumple of a soda can gripped too tightly by someone in the stands.
And clearest of all—the pounding heartbeat ahead of her, accompanied by footsteps that were starting to lose their drive.
The moment she realized this, she heard the soft pop of a bursting bubble.
The frozen world lurched back into motion, the noise of the stadium crashing down again.
But this time, none of it disturbed her.
Eyes fixed on the finish line mere steps away, with the black-haired girl in her periphery, Duramente hurled herself forward, unshaken.
"She's catching up—she's catching up?!"
"Can Duramente really be this strong?!"
"Kitasan Black's lead is vanishing—her six-length advantage is almost gone!"
"Fifty meters left!"
"Can Duramente overtake her, capture Kitasan Black at the wire?!"
"Or can Kitasan Black hold on, endure Duramente's final assault?!"
"Right here, right now—"
"It's a photo finish!!"
The announcer's cry nearly split the heavens. Duramente's ears flicked instinctively at the sound, snapping her back to reality—it was over. The race had ended.
She meant to ease into a jog, as usual after a race, but to her shock found her body utterly drained. Her legs buckled, unable to support her, and she collapsed toward the ground.
"Duramente-chan, are you… are you alright…?"
That familiar voice—tinged with a rare breathlessness—reached her ears, and Duramente couldn't help but smile.
She turned toward the sound, ready to thank her, but her gaze instead followed the supporting arm of Kitasan Black toward the distance.
"…Photo finish?"
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