Meanwhile.
Elsewhere—in a very different sort of rush—inside JRA headquarters:
Symboli Rudolf strode briskly through the brightly lit lobby, a thick folder clutched in her hands. Ignoring the astonished glances of the exhausted corporate drones around her, she approached a certain office, knocking once.
Then, without waiting for a response she pushed straight in.
Clearly, knocking had been nothing more than a formality—the last vestige of politeness she could muster.
"Why isn't Garden Gale allowed to compete in the Japan Cup?"
Rudolf went straight to the point, a palpable fury seething in her tone. Her anger gauge was visibly filling—at least seventy percent, if not dangerously close to eruption.
Inside the office, a somewhat portly middle-aged man, hair thinning and boredom evident in his gaze, had been idly staring out the window. At Rudolf's abrupt entry, he turned around, retorting sharply:
"Oh? You have a problem with that?"
"H-hey, easy now! Let's calm down, please." A weary employee rushed up behind Rudolf, dark circles etched deep beneath his eyes as he desperately tried to defuse the rising tension.
But Symboli Rudolf simply stared coldly at the man.
This was a direct confrontation over race entries.
When Montjeu's participation had been confirmed, Europe had sent forth exceptionally strong Umamusume. Coupled with strict limits on domestic participants, the JRA organizers naturally prioritized seasoned veterans from the older ranks.
They had insisted on proven strength and stellar track records—
And thus had bluntly rejected Rudolf's proposal to let Garden Gale join.
The domestic slots had all been awarded to established Umamusume from the Golden Generation—like Grass Wonder, Seiun Sky—battle-hardened and unquestionably proven. To them, Garden Gale was just a rookie who hadn't even completed her debut year.
After all, the Japan Cup was a matter of national pride.
If foreign Umamusume managed to win, it'd be equivalent to Japan's own runners claiming the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe—a tremendous embarrassment.
It was absurd logic.
But even so, Rudolf was certain she could personally guarantee Garden Gale's results—like planting seeds in spring and knowing harvest would surely come in autumn.
Unfortunately, Rudolf's relationship with JRA management had never been harmonious.
She tended to invest too deeply in certain Umamusume's futures, resulting in the emergence of monsters like Oguri Cap. The JRA's higher-ups viewed Rudolf's involvement as meddlesome interference, causing repeated friction between both sides.
At first the Emperor had acknowledged she might be overstepping and swallowed her pride, letting the friction pass quietly.
She hadn't retaliated.
Yet soon afterward…
Things only grew worse. Quiet tolerance never solved anything; it only encouraged the other side to grow bolder.
Wasn't it obvious?
Suppression, rejection—these festering issues piled higher every day. Without confrontation, the organization would remain a cesspool of inefficiency, hopelessly stagnant and infuriatingly inept.
"You know, this problem's actually simple to fix." Rudolf suddenly smiled. The urgency was unnecessary, really—it was only because JRA's rejection had come at supersonic speed that she'd stormed over here demanding answers.
If…
If things went as planned tomorrow, there would be no more room for debate.
She raised a single finger.
"Since I saw Oguri Cap's potential clearly, you can trust I'm not mistaken about Garden Gale, either. You might not see it now, but in just one day the Japan Derby will prove everything. Just watch carefully who wins."
Finished, she turned gracefully on her heel.
She paid no attention to the middle-aged man's shifting expression.
Nor did she care how furious he was getting.
"Hey—!"
Rudolf decisively closed the door, muffling the protests behind its thick wooden frame. Calmly adjusting her hair, she walked away without another glance.
Garden Gale, Garden Gale…
She sighed softly, pressing her fingers against her brow.
You have to win.
That's what Rudolf was thinking—
If every new generation Umamusume had even half her strength, things would be so much easier. Forget Montjeu—she could even flatten the Arc itself! Rudolf couldn't help but smile at her own ridiculous imagination.
But…
Did Garden Gale actually have the qualifications to run the Arc?
That absurd thought was quickly discarded, mere seconds after it surfaced.
Better to pin those hopes on El Condor Pasa instead. The Golden Generation's greatest Umamusume—Japan's soaring condor—was set to clash against Montjeu at the Arc.
...
Garden Gale herself had no idea how highly Symboli Rudolf thought of her. Though she knew Rudolf liked her well enough—
She was currently staring at her phone screen, jaw dropping at the trending news.
A girl had followed a climbing team into the snowy mountains, only to become separated from rescuers during a violent storm. Just as all hope was lost, trapped and without supplies—
Someone miraculously appeared and saved her life.
Well, not exactly a someone.
An Umamusume.
—Admire Vega.
The rescued girl's eyes sparkled with admiration, glittering brightly as she passionately declared to the camera: "From now on, I'm Admire Vega's die-hard fan!!!"
Wait, seriously?
This crazy girl actually spent a whole month training on a snow-covered mountain?!
Who does that, a Buddhist ascetic?!
And then exactly like last time—there was T.M. Opera O's stunt.
Garden switched over to the Tracen Academy forums.
A post by user [The End-of-the-Century Overlord] topped the threads, boldly declaring that she'd exact ruthless revenge against Garden Gale in the Japan Derby.
[Ganoush]:Huh, didn't I see this exact post a month ago?
[NotKafka]:Last month's post referred to the Satsuki Sho. She lost.
[Eigo #1 Wise Hater]:This girl's determination matches mine! You've got my support!
Ridiculous…
If Garden Gale herself had lost a race, she'd definitely duck her head in shame and uninstall every social app she had. Maybe this was just the essence of greatness—
Opera-san is too great; no further words needed.
The only one not making waves was Narita Top Road.
Probably buried in rigorous training as usual.
Exhaling softly—
One day.
Just one more day.
Fifteen hours remained until the Japan Derby—and the entire city had plunged into countdown fever.
---
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