Chapter 85. Too Easy
With half a month remaining until the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe, Shuta gradually began to ramp up Teio's training intensity.
The Undefeated Triple Crown Uma Musume adapted to the heavier workload with remarkable speed. According to Shuta An's meticulously calculated schedule, her training intensity would peak on Thursday, exactly one week before the Arc. After that threshold, the intensity would be tapered down by a full level and maintained through to the Thursday of race week.
This tapering strategy was the standard peaking curve utilized by Team Sadalsuud for all major Grade 1 races.
Teio had long since internalized this rhythm.
On Sunday, Shuta An brought Tokai Teio to Longchamp Racecourse for a 1,400-meter "long-distance" breeze on the turf. As he reviewed the stopwatch data, the young man nodded in satisfaction.
"We can't exactly expect Longchamp Racecourse to keep our workout times confidential, so I asked you to run that breeze at only 70% capacity. The raw times on this sheet might not look particularly explosive, but the underlying data is excellent."
Shuta said, waving the printed A4 sheet as he walked beside the Undefeated Triple Crown Uma Musume.
Tokai Teio linked her arm through her lover's, waiting until he finished speaking to share her own assessment.
"Ann, the turf here feels incredibly heavy. Pushing off the ground requires significantly more effort than on the tracks back home, but it still feels lighter than the turf at Ascot. Factoring in the undulating terrain, I'd say Ascot is still a bit more punishing to run on than Longchamp."
"So, you're feeling a bit more confident about Longchamp, then?"
Shuta turned his head, smiling warmly as he met her eyes.
Teio didn't hesitate for a microsecond. "Yes. I feel like I can beat everyone."
"That's exactly what I want to hear." The young man turned his gaze forward again. "We must win this."
"Yes."
Over the past few days, Teio had learned exactly what her lover planned to do if they secured the victory. Operating under the principle that they kept no secrets from one another, she had already resolved to deliver a performance at the Arc that would transcend history.
After returning to the Molitor MGallery, Teio rested briefly in their suite before changing into her swimsuit. Grabbing a kickboard, she joined Shuta An at the hotel's famous outdoor swimming pool, a historic facility built decades prior.
With autumn rapidly encroaching, the air in Paris carried a distinct chill. However, with the sun beating down from a cloudless sky, lounging by the outdoor pool remained surprisingly pleasant.
Wearing only his swimming trunks, Shuta An sat on a lounge chair by the edge of the pool, scrolling through his phone, while Tokai Teio drifted lazily through the water, resting her arms on the kickboard.
He hadn't brought her to the outdoor pool for aquatic conditioning—if that were the goal, they would have utilized the far more private indoor facility. The purpose of this outing was purely recreational. He wanted Tokai Teio to properly unwind after her morning breeze at Longchamp.
While they had already visited the racecourse for her turf work, the young man still planned to have her complete her routine daily conditioning at the hotel's private training ground after lunch.
Although Teio reported that Longchamp feels more manageable than Ascot, I still need to ensure her biomechanics are perfectly adapted to that specific turf.
Shuta An thought to himself as he simultaneously texted Mejiro Dober back at Central Tracen Academy.
Track adaptability is the single factor that will dictate success or failure in this Arc.
Historically, El Condor Pasa's adaptability to Longchamp's turf had been phenomenal. Her tragedy was simply that she encountered Montjeu—a monster whose physical specs were uniquely, perfectly attuned to dominating heavy European tracks.
This year, Tokai Teio seemed entirely comfortable on the Parisian turf. But Shuta An couldn't definitively guarantee that a Montjeu-esque monster wouldn't suddenly emerge from the other seventeen competitors if race day yielded a bottomless, heavy track.
Take St. Jovite, for example—She essentially vanished for a long hiatus after her dominant Epsom Derby win last year. But if she's managed to retain that razor-sharp racing instinct, she could pose a genuine, lethal threat to Teio.
"Ha—"
The young man stifled a yawn as he slipped out onto the balcony. The frigid night wind bit at his skin as he gazed toward the dark expanse of the Bois de Boulogne, where Longchamp Racecourse lay waiting.
"If Teio wins—what should I say? What kind of pose should I strike when she crosses that wire?"
Shuta muttered to himself, his right hand unconsciously rubbing a faint set of teeth marks Tokai Teio had left on his left shoulder.
After pondering the choreography for several minutes, he couldn't come up with anything suitably dramatic. He chuckled softly, shook his head, and stepped back inside.
"Forget it. The gate draw hasn't even been finalized yet; it's far too early to start choreographing victory poses. Instead of daydreaming, I should be analyzing the traps the media will inevitably set at the pre-race press conference, and drafting my responses."
Despite his pragmatic self-lecture, the moment the young man crawled back into bed and closed his eyes, he rapidly descended into the Dream World.
—
Today, he found himself materializing at Belmont Park.
It was time for Hokuto Vega to compete in the Beldame Stakes.
Previously, Shuta and Stableman Fujii had confidently predicted that the Beldame Stakes would draw a massive field, providing Hokuto Vega with invaluable experience navigating through dense traffic in American dirt races.
The reality proved to be comically anti-climactic. Upon learning that Hokuto Vega had formally entered the Beldame Stakes, several rival stables abruptly withdrew their entries, explicitly stating they would find softer spots to race their horses.
The resulting scenario was profoundly awkward: the Grade 1 Beldame Stakes had drawn a grand total of three horses.
Aside from Hokuto Vega, the only two brave (or foolish) souls remaining were Tennis Lady and Classy Mirage. Of the two, Tennis Lady was coming off a sixth-place finish in a listed stakes, while Classy Mirage had recently managed a third-place finish in a conditional allowance race.
"The disparity in class is just insulting."
Shuta An muttered, instantly losing interest the moment he reviewed the final entries.
"This is practically free money, isn't it?!"
Stableman Fujii exclaimed, staring at the racing program.
"If every Grade 1 in America was this soft, Mori-san and Trainer Nakano would definitely keep Hokuto Vega stationed over here next year!"
"No kidding." the training assistants echoed in disbelief.
Given that their opposition consisted of two fillies attempting graded stakes company for the very first time, Shuta An abandoned any complex tactical planning. Breaking from Gate 3, he simply let Hokuto Vega seize the lead on her own terms.
He dictated a perfectly average, unremarkable pace, clocking the first 1,000 meters in 59.9 seconds. As they swung into the final straight, Shuta An didn't even consider drawing his whip. He merely pushed the reins, allowing Hokuto Vega to accelerate organically. Cruising under her own power, she rapidly decimated the field, the gap between her and the trailing horses expanding exponentially with every stride.
She crossed the finish line stopping the clock at 1:48.81.
She had left the runner-up, Classy Mirage, a staggering 5 lengths in her wake. Tennis Lady crossed the wire 7 lengths behind the winner.
As she hit the wire, the cheers erupting from the Belmont grandstands were absolutely deafening.
It seems the American audience genuinely loves a blowout spectacle.
Shuta An mused as he began to ease Hokuto Vega up.
I wonder how they're going to react if she wins the Breeders' Cup Series by a margin like this?