Chapter 112: The Umamusumes' First Experience
Nighttime, the Winner's Stage.
As the spotlight poured down like a galaxy spilling from the heavens, Kitasan Black's lashes trembled faintly beneath the glare.
Cold smoke from the stage machines rolled over her ankles like drifting fog. To her left, Duramente's quiet, controlled breathing brushed against her ears. To her right, the clear metallic chime of REAL STEEL's anklet rang as it struck against the stage's metal floor.
The giant screen that had, by day, replayed fierce races now stretched across the stage's rear wall and dome above. Suspended in the center, glowing digits began their countdown.
When the "3" flared neon-bright, cutting into the darkness, reflecting against the countless multicolored glow sticks raised high in the stands, Kitasan Black suddenly recalled the sensation of the finish line—the fierce gust trailing behind Duramente's last desperate charge brushing the fine fur at her nape, grass and dirt splattering against her calves as the rival's hooves struck the turf.
"Stand by."
The director's voice came sharp through the earpiece. Kitasan Black shifted her weight forward and raised her arm.
To her left, Bright Emblem's radiant crest swept upward in perfect unison. To her right, the clear-sky-blue sleeves of Clear Sky lifted into place. The rest of the Umamusumes fanned out, their arms spreading into staggered formation.
The opening notes of Winning the Soul flooded across the stage like water. The crowd's glow sticks swung in rhythm, the cheers swelling, mounting into frenzy.
As the verse began, Kitasan spun, her eyes locking with Satono Crown's. In her friend's gaze she caught not only congratulations, but also the lingering spark of the fighting spirit that had clashed with hers on the turf.
Another spin, and she saw him—Makoto, in the very front row.
Right beside him, her senpai clapping with easy smiles, some even raising a thumbs-up toward the stage.
Until the finale's climax, when rainbow-colored rain showered from the dome, her sight—whether directly or just out of the corner of her eye—remained fixed in that direction.
Catching Kitasan Black's gaze, the applause surged like a tide across the hall. Smiling softly as she clapped, Tokai Teio chuckled,
"Kita-chan… she's looking at us."
"Indeed," Mejiro McQueen nodded, her eyes sliding briefly toward Teio. "Does it remind you of your own debut, Teio?"
"Heh… funny, I hadn't thought of that until you mentioned it."
Nodding too, Teio's smile deepened. "Back then, Kita-chan must've been the one standing down there, looking up at us."
Their reminiscence drew fond laughter from the Umamusumes around them.
Meanwhile, Makoto's gaze lingered on the black-haired girl at center stage, bowing gracefully beneath the spotlight. Yet in his mind, what surfaced unbidden was the instant the result screen revealed itself.
The moment he confirmed Kitasan Black had seized the Satsuki Sho crown, joy had erupted through him—wild, unrestrained.
But when he saw the number representing the winning margin, a strange déjà vu struck him.
Six centimeters.
That was the distance of her victory at the wire.
Just like the Spring Stakes, the gap was so narrow that the smallest misstep would have rewritten the outcome entirely.
The thought left him with a dull ache of unease pressing against his chest.
Kitasan Black's performance in the Satsuki Sho had been flawless. By every measure, the training plans they had followed were correct.
Even so—victory was never certain.
Racing was never the effort of one person alone. Just as he and Kitasan Black strove, learned, and grew—so too did their rivals.
He hadn't yet broken down the numbers in detail, but by instinct alone he could feel it: the competition in this race had been far stronger than past data had ever hinted.
And most critical of all—Duramente, who had nearly overtaken Kitasan Black, had already touched the threshold of the "Zone," despite only just entering her Classic year.
He'd overheard Teio and the others discussing it before, and knew well enough what the "Zone" meant.
In the world of sports, the zone was an area of study in itself.
Extreme stunt performers were athletes too, and in some ways emphasized that special state even more.
The theory's foundation lay in psychology's concept of flow.
When fully immersed in a single act, an individual could touch upon an experience known as the "Optimal State."
Specifically, this state manifested as razor-sharp concentration, the vanishing of self-awareness, a distorted sense of time, and a perfect unity between thought and action.
Physiology offered its own foundation as well.
In the flow state, the prefrontal cortex underwent what was called "temporary inhibition." At that time, activity in the brain's default mode network dropped, while dopamine and norepinephrine surged. Certain brainwave frequencies even began to synchronize.
With such a state, one's perception and control—whether over the self or the environment—became astonishingly keen and precise.
In the world of extreme stunt performance, where danger lurked in nearly every discipline, flow—or the Zone, as athletes sometimes called it—undoubtedly heightened both safety and success rates.
However, entering or mastering the Zone demanded tremendous talent, training, and experience. Only the most renowned stunt athletes in the world ever reached that level. Makoto himself had only brushed against the state a handful of times, never at will.
The Umamusumes' world was no different.
Legends like Tokai Teio and Mejiro McQueen had all touched the Zone. Yet their first encounters came not during their Classic years, but after.
For example, the two of them had discovered it during their clash in the Tenno Sho (Spring) of their older racing year—more precisely, McQueen experienced it for the first time then, while Teio's own moment had come later, on the stage of the Japan Cup.
Special Week had felt it in the Japan Cup as well. Silence Suzuka, in the Mainichi Okan. Gold Ship, in the Takarazuka Kinen.
Daiwa Scarlet and Vodka managed earlier than most, but even they had to wait until their older seasons.
Only a handful had brushed the Zone during their Classic years.
Oguri Cap was one such rare case.
In her three fated duels with Tamamo Cross, she touched the Zone multiple times—and in their final showdown at the Arima Kinen, she fully crossed the threshold, becoming a true Zone-level champion.
That was why Duramente's case—brushing the Zone as early as the Satsuki Sho—was extraordinary. Almost unheard of.
Which meant… with the Derby and Kikuka Sho still ahead, not to mention countless clashes in the older racing years, should he be trying to find a way to help Kita experience the Zone too?
Makoto rubbed his temple, feeling a headache creep in.
Research into the Zone was far from complete, in any world. The existing studies offered no unified theory, let alone a practical training regimen.
And that left him with a thorny question—how could anyone design a training program for something so elusive?
After wrestling with it for a while, he finally eased his grip on the thought.
No clear theory or method didn't mean there were no hints to follow. Nor did it mean it was strictly necessary.
The Zone was, at its heart, the convergence of talent, training, and experience. Duramente might indeed be blessed with remarkable gifts, but Kitasan Black's were by no means lesser.
What's more, he already knew her development would come a little later than average. In other words, her ceiling was even higher. The chance would come. She would touch it in her own time.
If that was the case, then there was no need to rush.
More important was that her performance in the Satsuki Sho proved their training path was sound. The results spoke for themselves. There was no need to lose sleep over what-ifs.
As his thoughts untangled, Makoto's mood lightened as well.
He was just about to join the crowd's chorus of "Encore!" when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.
Pulling it out, he blinked at the message, surprise flashing across his eyes. Frowning in puzzlement, he slipped away toward a quieter corner beyond the seats.
Moments later—
"Wait, what do you mean, snuck inside?"
"She says she'll only talk if she see me in person?"
"…Fine. The admin hall, right? I'll be there soon."
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