Shuta An was no fool; naturally, he could sense that Tojo Hana's first impression of Oguri Cap was less than favorable, yet no anger stirred within him. For one, he held little admiration for the Trainers from Central himself. For another, a mediocre evaluation of Oguri Cap meant there was no intent to poach her—something that, in truth, brought him quiet relief.
After dinner, Shuta An took a brief walk before returning to his room for a shower and rest. The Japanese-style suite he had booked consisted of two bedrooms—one large, one small. He deliberately chose the smaller room near the entrance, leaving the more spacious bedroom, conveniently connected to the private hot spring, for the two Uma Musume.
After bathing and changing into pajamas, he drew hot water in the tub for Oguri Cap and Berno Light. Once the preparations were done, he stepped out of the bathroom. The two girls had not yet returned, and thus he made his way openly to his own bedroom.
"If they had come back just now, that would've been awkward," he thought, lying down on the bed. The very image of such a situation made him wince internally. Two months of shared lodging—there would likely be many such moments of quiet embarrassment ahead.
But it was far too late to rebook. All he could do was will the unease from his mind and let sleep claim him. In his dream, Shuta An found himself once again in Kasamatsu—not as a Trainer, but back in his days as a jockey-in-training.
"Shuta-kun, you'll need to go to the racecourse today," came the familiar voice of Sagami Masayuki, his mentor.
"Teacher? Why?" Shuta An asked in confusion. "I don't have any commissions today, do I?"
"You didn't. But last night, one unlucky jockey from Kasamatsu got drunk, fell off his bike, and injured his leg. Most of the horses he was supposed to ride belong to my stable…"
So that was how he had inherited seven rides for the day—all from Sagami's barn. None were particularly strong contenders; in fact, the best-ranked horse was only seventh in popularity, and two of them were rated dead last.
When Shuta An entered the jockeys' lounge, the veterans there exchanged knowing smiles. They thought him a mere novice whose only success came from the prodigious Oguri Cap. Without her, they expected him to flounder.
But the first race shattered those assumptions. In the C7-class dirt 1400m, astride the ninth-favorite Kitano Blade, Shuta An employed a hold-up (late-surger) strategy—patient in the early stages, explosive at the finish. With powerful left-hand whips slicing through the air and precise right-hand pushes, he stole victory at the wire from the top-favorite Kurino Renaissance.
The second race, C1-class, also 1400m dirt, saw a different tactic. From the start, he urged Bear's Letter forward with an opening whip that cut the wind itself. Ten lengths clear by the final turn, he sustained that lead through sheer technique and timing, winning by a nose over the closing favorite.
By the seventh race, aboard Smile Akasaka—the least favored horse—he changed again. Calm and patient, he only urged the horse in the final straight when all others had exhausted themselves. Another win.
By sunset, six races, six victories. Now came the last of the day—the Nakao Kogen Special, A-class, 1600m dirt.
"If he wins this too…" the live commentator's voice trembled with awe, "we'll witness a first in Kasamatsu's history."
But Shuta An felt no pressure. Sagami Masayuki had already told him that even six wins in a day was a national record. Still—"If possible, I want to win this one too," Shuta murmured as he mounted Bordeaux Prune, his final partner.
Without Oguri Cap, his signature skill, Head-on Duel was unusable. Every possible tactic he had employed earlier was now expected. He had no element of surprise left.
"Escape (front-runner)? Pace Setter (pace chaser)? Hold-up (late-surger)?" He circled in the paddock, mind racing. Finally, he exhaled. "Let's go with a Pace Setter strategy."
It wasn't innovative, but it was solid and orthodox.
With a sharp snap, the starting gates burst open. Bordeaux Prune leapt cleanly. Shuta guided her smoothly into third position without a single lash of the whip. The veterans, wary of his presence, marked him closely. Yet only two jockeys managed to seize the front.
"So, they're choosing to race for the win, not to block me," he observed quietly, leaning closer to the horse's neck.
The field thundered through the turns. The A-class prize was two million yen—enough to make even seasoned jockeys forsake their pride just this once. Sagami Masayuki watched from the stands beside Trainer Matsumoto. "That's my new jockey," he said, pride unmistakable.
Matsumoto nodded, eyes narrowing. "His form is different—more aggressive. Almost foreign."
"Power-riding," Sagami agreed. "Something Japan's riders lack."
They fell silent as the race reached its climax. In the final stretch—only 238 meters long—Bordeaux Prune began to falter. Her breathing grew ragged, her pace unstable.
But Shuta remained calm. "She's not the only one," he thought, gauging his rivals' conditions at a glance. "Theirs are worse."
Then, in a move that stunned the crowd, he switched the whip to his left hand. The sharp crack made Bordeaux Prune shift inward, cutting toward the inner lane. At Kasamatsu, a right-handed course, the inner lane was usually avoided due to deep sand. But after four consecutive race days, that track had been worn firm. The inner lane was no slower now—and by taking it, Shuta blocked his opponents' acceleration path.
Forced to brake and adjust, the others lost precious seconds. From there, it was all down to Bordeaux Prune's will—and Shuta's. He drove her forward, alternating between fierce windmill whips and heavy, rhythmic pushes that harmonized with her stride, easing her fatigue while demanding more.
The crowd erupted.
"She's pulling ahead!"
"It's unbelievable!"
"So it wasn't just Oguri Cap—he's the real deal!"
Sagami Masayuki clenched his fists. "Yes… keep going!"
"Can he really do it?" Matsumoto murmured.
But Shuta heard none of it. His entire being was consumed by the race.
"Win this! Dream or not, I want to win them all!" he shouted inwardly, his eyes aflame.
The commentator's voice rose in ecstasy— "Bordeaux Prune surges ahead! Incredible! So what if Central has Yutaka Take?! We at Kasamatsu have Shuta An!"
The finish line flashed past. In the next instant, a soft chime sounded in Shuta's mind.
He blinked.
Acquired teachable skill — Senko no Oni.