That speed defied common sense—defied imagination!
Wrapped in a current of silver-white light, Fujimasa March seemed to slip free of gravity itself. Every step split the airflow with a tearing shriek.
The air twisted in her wake, a burning vacuum trail like silver flame.
This wasn't mere Front Runner.
From the very first second, she burned everything—tactics, reserves, all of it—only to chase ultimate speed and distance: the craziest, most extreme, and most gorgeous plan of all—
Grand front-run!!!
"BOOM—THOOM—!"
Thunder rolled in the opening phase. The pack watched, eyes wide, as that silver figure detonated into top speed, opening several lengths in an instant.
"A brilliant break—now in front is… my god, g-grand front-run?! It's Fujimasa March!"
The commentator's voice cracked with shock.
"She's on it from the snap! From the very 'six-nine-zero' she's abandoned every tactic and reserve—straight into a final battle pace!"
"Is she going to turn this 1600-meter mile into a solo stage that belongs only to her?!"
In the stands, Kuroha's lips curved faintly.
"G-g-grand… front-run?"
Beside him, the tiny chestnut-haired girl named Silence Suzuka stared round-eyed, mouth ajar. In her clear blue pupils, the lone silver comet streaking away lit a light she'd never felt before—something like faith.
On the course, Aotake Memory felt the wall of wind roaring at her, a wave so huge it seemed ready to devour her whole—and her mind went white.
Run your own race…
Her trainer's words rang in her ears. But… but watching an opponent break away like that—how was she supposed to "run her own race"?!
Chase, or not?!
"Skrrch—!"
In the instant she hesitated, a gray figure at her flank had already chosen.
Without a shred of doubt.
A step twitched; gray lightning flared in Oguri Cap's eyes.
"BOOM—!"
Sod burst into a crater under Oguri's unmatched leg drive.
Savage gray airstreams poured from her gaze, the wedge of her iron will striking open the door of power.
Domain — Grey Monster!
Fujimasa March had declared her resolve in the most extreme way; Oguri answered that challenge with the purest action.
Chase!
Even if it was a trap—even if it was an overt strategy—she'd smash it head-on with absolute strength!
The ash-gray Monster moved! She ditched her best-loved hold-and-wait approach, ripped free of the pack, and knifed after that silver gleam!
"Oguri Cap goes too! She's giving chase!"
"The opening phase turns into a final sprint in an instant!" the commentator cried. "Fujimasa March and Oguri Cap—the Osaka Cup sovereign and the strongest active—open this race with a titanic one-on-one duel!"
Under the twin pressure of the silver-white and gray Domains, Aotake Memory felt as if an invisible hand clenched her heart; her breath hitched.
The pressure wasn't just sheer pace. It carried an absolute mental oppression that made the blood roaring in her veins stall for a beat.
She ground her teeth and carved her trainer's words into bone:
"Run your rhythm… run your rhythm!"
She kicked hard, trying to slip the everywhere shackles of that aura, but her steps unavoidably picked up a hint of weight.
"Still…"
Watching those two figures blaze away in silver and gray, confusion flashed through Aotake's eyes.
...
Out on the course—
March and Oguri's lead ballooned before the naked eye.
Two lengths… three… four!
Silver storm ravaged the front; gray currents eroded from behind.
The race was becoming their duet.
Behind, Aotake had already been dropped far back.
The main group forced themselves calm, returning to the pacing that should govern a mile.
Even in a 1600m race the cadence is quick—but almost no one explodes with final-straight speed at the gun just to take position.
What March and Oguri were doing was, frankly, illogical.
Worse, the speed those two were producing wasn't just a gear higher—
It was dimensions higher. The way the gap yawned in a blink made even top-class milers and middle-distance aces feel a strange illusion:
Are they seriously going to hold this all the way to 1600m?
That absurd thought hit the runners, the crowd, even the trainers.
In the stands, Ginjirou Musaka's hand locked on the rail, knuckles white.
Nase Hideto's brow knotted tight. (Eito was wrong)
This had burst far beyond theory.
This was a monsters' duel—sense need not apply.
"Ta-ta-ta—!"
The dull drum of hooves rolled on. The two titans only got faster…
With enough runway to accelerate, and with the power of their Domains, Fujimasa March and Oguri Cap both punched up to the fastest speeds of their lives, flying the rails.
"Through the first bend! Fujimasa March still leads! She's still accelerating! Not a hint of fade in her stride!"
The commentator's voice trembled. He hardly believed his own eyes.
"The opening 400m has already blown past normal sprint fractions! Are they really going to cover an entire mile at this pace?!"
On the course, March felt the gray presence stalking her—like a shadow ready to swallow her whole—and the corner of her mouth ticked up.
Here you are—Fourth Gear.
She didn't look back—she poured all her will into her legs.
I know—only like this will you give me everything in a fight!
The silver storm howled more wildly; the turf beneath her feet seemed to keen for this ultimate speed.
And behind her—just three and a half lengths back—
Oguri's focus was absolute. In eyes burning with gray lightning, only that silver figure ahead remained.
She could feel every cell exulting at this never-before high-speed duel.
She was tired.
Muscles screamed; her lungs burned with hot reflux pain.
But it felt so good.
This was exactly what she wished for: a no-reserve, will-and-power collision—straight on!
Meanwhile, the main pack far behind had fallen into a strange hush.
Aotake Memory ran at the head of that group; she could hear, crystal clear, her heartbeat racing from nerves.
Calm down, Aotake! Trust the trainer's read!
She fought to hold her own rhythm, refusing to be dragged into that god-tier slugfest up front.
They can't sustain this pace! Absolutely impossible!
A mile is not a 400-meter dash! They'll crack halfway!
And then—it's my chance!
Reason told her so.
But her instincts—her competitive fire—screeched to the contrary, spurring her to launch now.
She bit down hard on her lip to keep her form from wobbling even a hair.
Around her, most of the others clung to the same plan.
They kept a comparatively high-speed pack—veteran hunters waiting for the two beasts ahead to show the first sag of fatigue.
(End of Chapter)
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