"I've been watching the Uma Musume you're training, Hachiman!" the Professor boomed, his voice reverberating like a gong across the tension-filled lounge. "As expected of my grand-disciple! Your eye for talent, your timing, your training methods—nothing short of extraordinary!"
Despite the praise, Hachiman's smile was humble, even self-deprecating. "I'm still far from your level, Professor."
His words were modest, but his heart thumped harder in his chest. There was pride there, yes, but also fear. Fear of falling short. Of one day waking up to realize it was all just a fluke. He didn't show it, but the weight of expectation, of legacy, rested heavily on his shoulders.
"Don't be so stiff!" the Professor laughed, waving off the humility. "We're close, aren't we? My other disciples have the skills but lack… heart. You, Hachiman, have the right balance. You make people want to believe."
"Haha…" Hachiman scratched his head, eyes averted, feeling the heat rise in his ears. The Professor's words, while boisterous, never failed to reach him. They struck a place deeper than encouragement. They ignited his determination.
Even though I can hear him, that man always speaks so openly, like there's no need for pretenses. That's what makes him so real.
"Trainer Hikawa was mentored by an incredible person," Dyna said softly, almost to herself. There was awe in her voice, but also a hint of something more complicated. Regret. Longing.
"To think you were guided by both her and America's strongest Uma Musume..."
"Not many trainers are this blessed," the Professor added, turning serious for a moment. "Tressen Academy was wise not to place Hachiman under someone else. It would've been a disservice to both him and the team. He would've outshone the head trainer in no time."
Dyna's lips parted slightly. Her gaze flicked toward Hachiman, and for the first time, there was something like uncertainty in her expression. "Is he… really that good?"
"Absolutely," the Professor replied with conviction. "Hachiman's not just good. He's destined."
Destined. The word echoed in Hachiman's mind like a drumbeat. It both thrilled and terrified him.
Then, the voice of the announcer thundered through the stadium speakers.
"After the Cherry Blossom Award at Hanshin, we now arrive at the legendary Tokyo Racecourse! The Oaks, where dreams rise, fall, or are reborn! The distance extends from 1600 meters to a brutal 2400! Will we witness the Tiara Double Crown today? It's time for the Oaks fanfare!"
As the brass fanfare exploded, so too did the stadium, alive with the roar of thousands. The ground seemed to shake beneath them, like the very earth knew history was about to be made.
"The Uma Musume are entering the gates!" the announcer called, excitement crackling in every syllable. "Fight Gulliver settles into her stall. Ranked 10th last time, but she seized 2nd! A dark horse with teeth. What will she show us today?"
Hachiman watched in silence. His arms were crossed, but inside, his heart raced. Every second ticked by like thunder. He could feel it, the fire of competition, not just in the runners, but in the very air itself.
"Now Air Groove, eyes closed, utterly composed. She breathes slowly, opens her eyes. Sharp. Focused. She's visualizing every turn, every burst of acceleration. She knows exactly what she must do."
Dyna drew in a slow breath. Her fingers trembled slightly, though she quickly clenched them into a fist to hide it. She'd been there once, in that gate, heart pounding, legs shaking not from fear, but from the weight of all the people she refused to let down.
"Last is Little Audrey in gate 18. Will today be redemption or domination? The gates are locked… it's time!"
A moment of absolute silence followed.
Then the gates flung open.
"They're off! The 57th Oaks has begun!" the announcer roared. "But No. 12 Rose Color stumbles! A terrible start!"
The pack surged forward like a crashing wave. Turf flew. Thunderous hooves tore into the earth.
"Eighteen Uma Musume now charge down the 2400-meter Virgin Road!" the announcer shouted. "Air Groove positions herself mid-pack, slightly forward, keeping her options open!"
Every movement, every stride, was a chess piece. Hachiman's eyes darted from one runner to another, calculating, predicting.
"She's not rushing," he murmured. "She's watching."
"They're approaching the first corner! Kanetoshi Shaver leads with North Sunday just behind! Western Scan and Kihaku move up on the outside!"
Dyna's breathing grew faster. She wasn't running, but her body remembered the heat in her muscles, the ache of lungs stretched to their limits. She could almost feel her heart syncing with the runners'.
"What do you think?" the Professor asked, his tone now low, serious.
Dyna didn't take her eyes off the track. "Most of them are burning too hot, too early. They want it so badly… they're forgetting their pace. Their own heartbeat. They're thinking only of the finish line, not the road in between."
"Only a few truly understand," the Professor said.
"Yes," Dyna whispered. "And Air Groove is one of them."
Then the tide shifted.
"Approaching the third corner! The pack tightens!" the announcer cried. "North Sunday still leads, but look! Air Groove begins her move! She glides forward like a shadow, now level with the leaders!"
It was beautiful. Ruthless. Precision in motion.
"She's not just running," Hachiman said quietly. "She's commanding. Everyone else is reacting to her now."
His chest tightened, not from anxiety, but from awe. Air Groove wasn't simply fast. She was poetry in motion. She wasn't running to win, she was running to dominate.
Dyna swallowed hard. She didn't want to admit it, but part of her, deep inside, felt envy. Not of Air Groove's speed, but of her clarity. The confidence. The peace in her stride.
"She takes the lead!" the announcer yelled. "Tokyo's long 526-meter straight lies ahead! Air Groove surges. Her pace untouched. The others scramble to keep up!"
"It's over," the Professor said, softly but firmly.
Hachiman nodded. "She's not looking back. And there's no one in front. This is hers."
"Air Groove pulls away!" the announcer shouted, nearly breathless. "Three lengths! Four! North Sunday gives chase, but it's no use! Western Scan, Kihaku, Max Rose, they all chase, but they chase a ghost!"
Then, from the outer lanes, "Fight Gulliver explodes from the flank! She's flying! But even she can't touch Air Groove! The queen of today's track is untouchable!"
Dyna gripped the railing tightly. Not in fear. In reverence. This was no ordinary race. This was a coronation.
"And the winner is No. 15, Air Groove!"
The crowd went berserk. Hachiman let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He raised a fist. "Yes!"
The Professor nodded, the faintest smile of satisfaction on his lips. "Superb."
Dyna said nothing. Her lips parted slightly, her eyes still fixed on the track. Her fingers trembled again, but this time, not from memory. From witnessing something greater than herself.
The announcer's voice returned, this time trembling with emotion.
"After 42 years, the daughter reclaims the mother's crown! A historic mother-daughter Oaks victory. And an undefeated Tiara Double Crown. A feat not seen in 40 years! The legend of Air Groove begins today!"
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