Chapter 81. Pre-Race Conspiracy
Three days before the Prix Vermeille, the French URA Association announced the starting gate draw for the race.
This time, Mejiro Dober had drawn the innermost position—Gate 1.
The corners of Shuta An's lips curved into a smile as he teased the Uma Musume sitting on his lap.
"So this time they didn't stick Dober in the outermost gate. Is it because they're worried Dober would simply surge down the outside and leave everyone else far behind again?"
"I wouldn't be surprised if that were the reason."
Mejiro Dober's ears twitched as she rubbed her cheek affectionately against her lover's. Although it wasn't enough to make him feel numb, it was more than enough to make Shuta An comfortably narrow his eyes.
"But it won't matter," she declared with unwavering confidence. "None of the opponents in this race can stop me."
Over the past several days, Shuta An had thoroughly shared every piece of information he had gathered on the other Prix Vermeille entrants with Mejiro Dober. He had explained the psychological tendencies each Uma Musume displayed in previous races, the hidden strengths they might still possess, and the proper approach to conquering Longchamp Racecourse—the very same course that hosted the world's most prestigious long-distance turf race.
Now that Gate 1 had been confirmed, there was nothing more he needed to teach her.
Mejiro Dober already knew exactly how she would approach the final battle of the French Triple Tiara three days later.
"I'll win."
Holding her lover's wrist, she spoke each word with absolute certainty.
"I'll win just as impressively as I did in the Yorkshire Oaks."
"You still need to rest when it's time to rest."
Using his free hand, Shuta An lightly pinched Mejiro Dober's cheek.
"An eighteen-length victory in the Yorkshire Oaks was already overwhelming enough. Once victory is secured, Dober doesn't need to push herself any further. You still have two more races to run this year."
His voice remained calm throughout.
Even while advising his lover, he spoke as though victory were already an established fact. In his eyes, the other nine Uma Musume entered in the Prix Vermeille simply posed no threat to the lovely girl in his arms.
"Mhm~~."
Mejiro Dober nodded obediently.
—
Time passed in the blink of an eye, and before long, Prix Vermeille race day had arrived.
The skies over Paris had remained clear and sunny throughout the previous few days, filling the city with pleasant warmth and lifting everyone's spirits. Longchamp Racecourse was equally lively.
Although Prix Vermeille Race Day naturally couldn't compare with Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe weekend in prestige, the crowd was by no means small.
Everyone eagerly awaited the performance Mejiro Dober would deliver after displaying such overwhelming dominance in the Yorkshire Oaks.
"I just hope none of you become too discouraged once you see the outcome."
Standing beside the floor-to-ceiling window inside the box, Shuta An quietly murmured to himself.
After Mejiro Dober had entered Longchamp Racecourse alone yesterday afternoon, they had continued chatting through Line. Even so, the young man had deliberately ended their conversation shortly after ten o'clock that evening, insisting she get some proper rest.
"Dober's condition has recovered to roughly ninety percent of what it was at the Yorkshire Oaks. After the Prix Vermeille, it'll naturally dip again before gradually climbing throughout early October, eventually peaking on Breeders' Cup race day—The entire condition curve is perfectly clear now."
To Shuta An, the Prix Vermeille was nothing more than a preparatory race—a stepping stone designed to fine-tune Mejiro Dober's competitive condition before the Breeders' Cup Turf.
"No wonder Stoute and the others withdrew their own Uma Musume from the Prix Vermeille."
A faint chuckle escaped him.
"They already lost to Dober in the Yorkshire Oaks. If they lost here as well, only to watch Dober win again at the Breeders' Cup, Stoute's complexion probably wouldn't look better."
The Prix Vermeille was the third race on today's card.
Leaving the box, Shuta An made his way toward the grandstand overlooking the track.
The moment reporters spotted him, camera shutters began firing nonstop.
This was one of his rare appearances in France. After today, they might not see him here again until next year.
Although Shuta An had never publicly spoken about his feelings toward France, the reporters present all believed that this descendant of Sea Bird shared an exceptionally deep bond with this land.
He could clearly hear the relentless clicking of camera shutters behind him, yet never once turned around.
Instead, he calmly stopped beside the finishing post and lifted his gaze toward the giant screen.
Mejiro Dober had just completed the parade and was preparing to enter the Longchamp course.
"The autumn air is crisp—perfect weather for riding the wind."
The young man slowly raised one hand, closing his fingers as though grasping the breeze itself.
"This is exactly the kind of condition best suited for Dober to race at Longchamp."
Although many people regarded Longchamp Racecourse as an extremely heavy turf course, the reality was rather different. When the moisture content remained moderate, it was fully capable of producing astonishingly fast winning times.
The contrast between reality and popular perception was much like the misconception surrounding the final straight at Epsom Racecourse.
—
Passing through the parade ring, Mejiro Dober stepped onto the course.
Rather than heading straight toward the starting gates, she first made her way to the finishing post and waved toward her beloved.
The grandstand behind Shuta An instantly erupted into thunderous cheers.
Smiling faintly, Shuta An simply nodded in acknowledgment.
Completely satisfied with that single response, Mejiro Dober happily turned around and walked away. Her footsteps grew noticeably lighter, and she even began humming softly to herself.
Watching her retreating figure, Kaliana muttered,
"She looks like she's out for a leisurely stroll. There's not a trace of pressure on her."
"Do you honestly think we're capable of putting pressure on her?"
Standing beside Kaliana, Ridaiyma—another Uma Musume trained by Cumani—couldn't help interjecting.
"The total number of G1 races you and I have run combined isn't even equal to the number of G1 victories Mejiro Dober already has. Making someone like her feel pressured before the race is practically impossible."
"I'm in Gate 2, and you're in Gate 3."
Kaliana remained unconvinced.
"We can still put enough pressure on her during the opening stages. Right after the start, we'll accelerate immediately and get ahead of her. Brilliance, the Saint-Alary Stakes winner in Gate 4, will definitely recognize the opportunity and cooperate with us to box Mejiro Dober in."
Ridaiyma fell silent for a moment before nodding.
"We can try."
"If we don't, then as long as Mejiro Dober gets away cleanly, this race is practically hers already. This is our home ground. We can't surrender without putting up a fight."
"Brilliance is a G1-winning Uma Musume." Kaliana spoke with complete confidence. "If we create the opening, she'll definitely seize it immediately."
A determined smile appeared on her face.
"Let's show Mejiro Dober exactly what we're capable of."