And then—
from the pack behind, Hatsushiba Ace moved.
Like a leopard that had lain in wait, she burst out of line!
She didn't go straight for the leader Fujimasa March; instead, she knifed into a tiny opening in the queue and hit the throttle—
slinging wide to pass several blocking rivals from the outside, aiming to seize second and cut the gap to the head of the spear.
Her surge lit the crowd on fire!
"Hatsushiba Ace starts accelerating! Perfectly timed!"
The commentator's voice cracked with excitement.
That sudden kick churned the previously stagnant follow-line; a few who were passed were caught flat-footed and lost rhythm.
Hatsushiba Ace raced like a violet bolt, her famed late speed biting deep divots into the Kyoto turf—
and in a flash she had taken second, arrowing toward Fujimasa March at the point!
Not only Ace—
several more in the rear seized the moment to launch,
shapes peeling off the group and driving forward.
"So fast—so fast! Can Hatsushiba Ace shake March's grip on the Front Runner seat!?"
"It's here…"
At the very peak of Ace's momentum, with only two lengths left to March—
as she readied to torch her reserves for the final charge—
Bang!
Iron bit deep into the sod.
Fujimasa March—moved.
It wasn't a mere acceleration. It was… release.
Like a storm bank long suppressed above the clouds finally cracking open—
no thunderous flourish, no grand gesture—only a silver smear that suddenly blurred.
For an instant her body seemed half unreal.
Her step frequency vaulted to a suffocating register, every footfall landing on the precise, optimal power point.
No miracle powers beyond reason—
just a body forged a thousand times, married to top-shelf running craft—
and from that silver frame, an unfathomable force erupted.
A brutal core whipped the whole body forward—like a shell from the barrel!
The rise in speed was so abrupt, so domineering, so unapologetically unfair—
as if to tell every pursuer behind: that earlier tempo was only a warm-up—now the race begins.
"Wha—?!"
Ace's pupils pin-pricked.
A tidal wind-pressure burst from the back in front—
and the sprint cadence she held with everything she had went pale and powerless before this air-ripping velocity!
In a blink.
In a breath.
The silver figure, freed of every shackle, streaked like a comet—
and the gap between them opened again, mercilessly, to the naked eye.
One length… two… three…
On Kyoto's sun-splashed home stretch, Fujimasa March's back cast a shadow heavy with dominion,
draping Hatsushiba Ace—and every desperate chaser behind—in its span.
"Hoo—!"
Silver glinted in March's eyes.
She felt the firm answer of turf beneath her soles, the wind screaming as it tore past her ears, the faint breath of futile pursuit behind.
At last her gaze settled on the finish line ahead.
Accelerate? Chase?
No.
It was never a pursuit.
"First to the wire—Fujimasa March!!!"
The announcer's call landed the moment the silver streak knifed through the tape.
"A crushing victory! Another gray king is born!
In the Kyoto Kinen, she announces her arrival with a margin of over five lengths!"
…
At the line, Fujimasa March eased to a stop.
Behind her, those who had chased to the end were bent at the waist, hands on knees, chests heaving—faces a mix of bedraggled and unwilling.
"Central…"
The girl looked back at opponents who'd had almost no answer today, speaking softly.
After a brief pause, just as she had back on the regional circuits, she clenched a single fist—
and thrust it high.
"OOOOOOHHHHHH—!!!"
A physical tsunami of sound swallowed Kyoto Racecourse whole.
In the stands, Fumino slowly uncurled the fist she hadn't realized she'd been gripping.
Her eyes slipped past the boiling crowd to the silver figure radiant amid the acclaim—
then slid back to her own charge, who'd spent everything yet now stood past the wire in defeat, even her back a little forlorn.
All that tangled feeling condensed into a thin, powerless sigh.
"Another… Oguri Cap, is it?"
"Another?"
Kuroha's clapping stilled. He turned to his colleague, the light smile gone—
in its place, a calm like steel.
He shook his head and corrected her:
"Not another—beyond.
March… will surpass Oguri."
Fumino looked at Kuroha's serious face, then turned away a touch awkwardly.
"Confident, aren't you. You said the same before the race."
Kuroha chuckled. "This isn't the same."
"That's different!"
Like a cat with its tail stepped on, Fumino's voice jumped.
"Spring can be yours—we'll settle things in autumn!"
With that, she turned and strode off, as if to hide the tremor in her heart.
Kuroha watched her go, the smile at his lip deepening.
An autumn showdown, huh…
He drew his gaze back to the newborn star on the track—
and to the faces of every member on his team rising in his mind.
No—before autumn—
I'll make the whole Uma Musume world remember the name Chasing Light.
(End of Chapter)
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