In the Student Council room of Central Tracen Academy in Tokyo, Symboli Rudolf, Maruzensky, Air Groove, and Tokai Teio—who had come in specifically to snack on the sofa—were gathered around a projected overseas livestream of the French 2000 Guineas.
Although Japanese media had reported Oguri Cap's overseas Classic G1 challenge, not a single TV station had purchased the broadcast rights.
The reason was obvious: two years earlier, one station, hoping to ride the excitement around Derby Uma Musume Sirius Symboli's European expedition, had secured the rights to her races. The initial viewership spike quickly collapsed as Sirius Symboli suffered loss after loss. The station never recovered its investment, bleeding money.
With such a disastrous precedent, stations doubtful of Oguri Cap's prospects had no intention of repeating the same mistake.
Thus, the Student Council room relied on a foreign livestream projected from a computer. Thankfully, everyone present could follow English commentary—otherwise, they would be watching purely for the spectacle.
Before the race began, Symboli Rudolf remained firm in her belief: Oguri Cap would achieve an excellent result. Even if she didn't win, she would at least make the display board.
Air Groove and Maruzensky, however, were unconvinced. They acknowledged Oguri Cap's talent (on Japanese soil) and recognized Shuta An's unusual training sense, but the French Twinkle Series was undeniably a tier above Japan's. An older Oguri Cap might challenge it—perhaps—but not at her current stage.
Tokai Teio's stance was simple and unwavering: "Oguri-senpai will definitely win!"
"Teio was so reluctant when Shuta-kun tried to train her before" Air Groove sighed. "Now she's already acting like part of his team."
"That's because I feel myself getting stronger faster," Tokai Teio answered earnestly. "And I'm finding the Trainer more and more familiar like we met long ago. But I didn't feel that at all when we first met."
The others exchanged looks but offered no comment. Symboli Rudolf's gaze remained fixed on the screen, speaking half to herself, half to the room.
"Oguri Cap chose to attack from the inside on the curve. Won't she be easily blocked by opponents who realize her approach?"
"But this part of the curve looks like it's downhill." Maruzensky shook her head. "Trying to block diagonally here takes incredible balance. Still, if Oguri Cap can't push all the way to the front in one go, she'll have trouble breaking free after the turn. Once they hit the straight, the front runners will definitely seal all acceleration lanes."
"I believe the Trainer already prepared a plan," Tokai Teio said, clasping her hands, eyes shining. "Oguri-senpai will definitely break through the pack."
"I hope so," Air Groove murmured—genuine hope, not optimism. She dearly wanted to see a Japanese Uma Musume earn glory abroad, but she simply doubted it would happen today.
"To turn 'hope' into 'reality'—that is precisely a Trainer's role," Symboli Rudolf thought silently.
Her mind conjured an image of Shuta An. "Can he turn Teio's 'hope' into 'reality'?"
While she pondered, Oguri Cap had already woven her way to the back of the leading group—the curve wasn't even half over.
The scenery around Longchamp was beautiful, especially this portion winding through a small forest. If it were a casual stroll rather than a race, it would've been an ideal place to relax. But none of the Uma Musume had leisure to admire it—every nerve was focused on maintaining their rhythm.
"Oguri Cap, who started at the very back, has now reached mid-pack. It seems this Uma Musume from Japan is better adapted to the Longchamp turf than expected," the commentator noted casually.
The French Trainers in their VIP boxes didn't even blink. So what if she adapted? Given the overall level of Japanese Uma Musume, they were certain Oguri Cap had no chance.
Yes, they knew she had received guidance from Miss Miesque, the reigning Queen of the Mile—but:
"At best, it's been a month. Miss Miesque can't transfer her talent to her. That won't change anything."
Every French Trainer thought the same.
But Oguri Cap, now in the middle of the pack, remained composed. Using the curve's terrain, she sensed the positions of the Uma Musume behind her without turning her head.
"It looks like Honor Rajana, Pont-Aven, and Reinstate aren't planning to push here."
Instantly, Miss Miesque's targeted advice surfaced in her memory.
Though the French 2000 and 1000 Guineas had different participant profiles, the track layout was identical. Miss Miesque had used Longchamp's 1600-meter turf as her teaching model.
Oguri Cap remembered every word.
"Miss Miesque said the turf on the final straight at Longchamp is usually lower in moisture, perfect for my acceleration."
So today she had shortened her stride and increased her stride frequency. This conserved energy and allowed her to accelerate more easily on wetter turf—the classic pitch gait. She had mastered it thanks to Miss Miesque's relentless sparring and instruction over the past month.
"I didn't see Miss Miesque this morning but she must be watching this race, right?" Her chest warmed with determination.
"She taught me so much. I'll treat today as my graduation report to her."
High in the stands, Miss Miesque stood by the railing in sunglasses, eyes locked on Oguri Cap.
"That's right. Stay there. No need to rush—just wait for the moment after the bend." This generation Mile Queen's voice trembled with excitement.
"Oguri, do your best. If you win, I'll have more confidence in my plan to become a Trainer."
Just as Miss Miesque leaned forward expectantly, Tay Wharf—still leading—burst out of the final bend.
"Indeed, just as Trainer said."
Boxed in between the pack and the railing, Oguri Cap kept her eyes fixed over Blushing John's shoulder. Even from this suffocating position, the finish line shimmered in the distance, as if beckoning her to unleash everything right now.
But she didn't. She remembered.
"Endure until the right-side railing moves outward."
'As long as the pseudo-straight wasn't over, the moment to sprint hadn't arrived.' Shuta An's warning echoed relentlessly in her mind.
Currently she was running fourth, with French Stress, Blushing John, and Tay Wharf forming the wall ahead. Blushing John blocked her path completely; unless she could slip around, there was no way to break through.
"Calm down don't rush." The lesson she'd learned from Miss Miesque held her instincts in check. A month ago, the old Oguri Cap would have already tried to force an opening and burned precious momentum.
In the VIP seats, multiple Trainers were already throwing Shuta An pitying looks. On the big screen, Oguri Cap looked utterly locked in. The trainers of Paris had already reached their conclusion.
Shuta An felt those mocking glances. He ignored them, even wanting to laugh.
"Can't these people see the pseudo-straight and final straight have separate railings? Have they already written Oguri off?"
Far away in Tokyo, Air Groove shared the French Trainers' worry.
"This is bad positioning. If she forces her way through, she'll risk collision. She should've started swinging outward on the turn. Saving ground only to lose even more now— what greed."
"No" Symboli Rudolf shook her head. "Something doesn't add up."
"Agreed. Shuta-kun isn't the type to miss the danger from gate 1." Maruzensky's expression tightened. "But Oguri still hugged the inside. She chose this."
Teio's eyes sparkled. "Trainer must've given instructions! Whether Oguri-senpai followed them though—" A silent chop from Rudolf ended her speculation.
Their answer would arrive in mere seconds.
Berno Light, knowing the plan, simply waited—ready to witness the expressions of all the doubters.
On the track, Blushing John refocused her attention. As long as she could synchronize her acceleration with French Stress on the final straight, Oguri Cap would never get space to escape. Her focus drifted toward French Stress. Without realizing it, Blushing John shifted slightly left.
And at that exact moment—
She crossed the point where the pseudo-straight met the true final straight.
Because the two straights formed an obtuse angle, her small drift created a much bigger pocket behind her—an opening that would never have appeared on a flat straight.
Now!
Oguri Cap's eyes ignited.
Her body switched instinctively from pitch gait to stride gait. The instant her familiar form returned; her speed exploded. She shot into the space Blushing John had inadvertently surrendered, slicing through it like an arrow cleaving a target.
The commentator, stunned but professional, kept pace:
"Onto the final straight! French Stress still lead—Tay Wharf and Blushing John swinging wide!"
"Oguri Cap?! The instant Blushing John shifted—she's broken through! The Gray Uma Musume from Japan has broken out!"
"What acceleration! She's already shoulder-to-shoulder with Blushing John! Is she truly a prodigy?!"
Berno Light heard her Trainer exhale deeply. The strategy had worked—no chaos, no unexpected interference. Oguri Cap had executed the plan flawlessly. Everything from here on depended solely on Oguri Cap's legs and the month of training poured into them.
"Go, Oguri." Shuta An whispered, afraid that even a shout might disturb her concentration.
Beside him, Berno Light flinched as she realized her hand had subconsciously pressed against his leg. Her face flushed. But the focused young man didn't notice at all.
"I've always said results don't matter in this race, but the crown is right there—" His whole body leaned forward involuntarily.
On the turf, Oguri Cap charged with everything she had. Stride after stride, she accelerated—then accelerated again. She didn't realize her stride frequency, even while staying in stride gait, was rising to pitch-gait levels.
Miss Miesque, observing keenly, narrowed her eyes.
"It's over," she murmured. "The result is decided."
Even French Stress and Blushing John could feel it—their speed didn't match the momentum roaring past them. Blushing John was still surging hard, but Oguri Cap had already broken free of their grasp.
And now the commentator could barely keep up:
"Oguri Cap on the inside takes the lead! Blushing John giving chase on the outside!"
"She's pulling away—Oguri Cap is pulling away from all of them!"
"Fifty meters left! Oguri Cap! Blushing John! One horse length apart! Can she close the distance?!"
Shuta An's fists trembled. If he could, he would give Oguri Cap every drop of strength he had. Fifty meters was two or three seconds for the runners—
"Blushing John can't catch her! She can't catch her! Is this really Oguri Cap?! A massive upset?!"
"The Gray assassin from Japan has slain every prediction!"
"Oguri, well done!!!"
At the instant she crossed the line, Shuta An roared, grabbing Berno Light and spinning her around in pure elation.
She screamed in delight, "Oguri is amazing!!!!!"
A cameraman hurried in, but to his disappointment, Shuta simply spun her—no dramatic kiss, no accidental fall. Setting Berno down, Shuta faced the camera head-on, his smile radiant.
"Next month's Prix du Jockey Club—the winner will still be us!"
The commentator, electrified, immediately added:
"If they do it, it will be the first two-crown achievement in 27 years!"