Chapter 16: Dancing in Kyoto

It was the third week of October, yet the lingering heat of summer still raged on. At some point, people had begun saying that autumn—the season between summer and winter—was disappearing.

An October without the vibrant hues of autumn leaves was, visually speaking, a rather lonely sight.

Our destination was Kyoto, the ancient capital of a thousand years. From Tracen Academy in the Kanto region, we had traveled by bullet train for this expedition. Playing it safe, we arrived two days early and settled into a cramped hotel.

And now, the day before the race, we had come to scout out the Kyoto Racecourse. After taking the train from our hotel, we got off at Yodo Station—where the walls were plastered with transportation ads for Monthly Twinkle, the magazine run by Reporter Otona (whom I still hadn’t met). Nice atmosphere… I thought. Then again, this is the closest station to the racecourse. Following the sparse crowd, we walked on.

Through a covered passageway, the Kyoto Racecourse soon came into view. Unlike the usual whirlwind of excitement surrounding a racetrack, Kyoto’s was enveloped in silence, broken only by the distant murmur of a flowing river.

"Whoa…! My first time here… So this is the Kyoto Racecourse!"

"The Kyoto Racecourse… where the Kikuka-shō and the Tennō-shō (Spring) are held. For Apollo and me, this place might feel more familiar than Tokyo or Nakayama."

The Twinkle Series races were typically held on Saturdays and Sundays, but most racecourses remained open on weekdays and holidays. Though the crowds were thinner, the shops were still running, and families could be seen strolling through the park areas near the stands. On weekdays, the racecourse felt less like a sporting venue and more like an amusement park.

We entered from the back of the stands, making our way inside the towering structure. Our goal was the outdoor seating on the fifth floor—a spot where we could survey the course from a high, diagonal angle.

Climbing the racecourse’s iconic elongated stands, we finally reached the fifth floor. As expected of a major entertainment venue, the sheer scale of the seating was overwhelming.

Passing through the indoor area (apparently reserved for paid seating on race days), I overtook Tomio and practically glued myself to the outdoor seats.

"Wow…!"

The elevated outdoor seating was an open space where crisp winds swept through. From this height, I could see all the way to the far straight—something impossible from the ground level. Dedicated fans must cheer the horse girls on from these less crowded seats. The sky felt closer. What a view.

"Don’t get too excited and fall off."

"I’m not that much of an idiot."

Tomio, who had caught up from behind, teased me with a grin. Pouting, I pulled out my binoculars. My trainer did the same, spinning his pair playfully on his finger.

"Don’t look directly at the sun, got it?"

"I’m not you, Tomio. I’d never do something that dumb."

"Hey now."

Exchanging lighthearted jabs, we began our course inspection.

We’d had countless opportunities to study the Kyoto Racecourse through photos, maps, and 3D data. But seeing it in person? That was a world of difference. That’s why we’d arrived early—to spend the entire day before the race observing every detail.

—Now then. Kyoto Racecourse was often called things like "Yodo’s Slope" or "Yodo’s Something-or-Other," but in reality, it sat beside the Uji River. Beyond the far straight, where the horizon seemed to merge, a glimmer of water peeked through. That was the Uji River.

(For the record, "Yodo" was the name of the area—not the river. The actual Yodo River formed after the Uji, Katsuragawa, and Kizu Rivers merged. But, well, details didn’t matter much. Just another quirk of being an obsessive fan. The nickname likely came from the area’s name, and that was all I needed to know.)

Now, what Kyoto Racecourse was really known for—was the large pond inside the inner turf. Rumor had it the pond was made from an old oxbow lake. Until recently, I hadn’t known that Kyoto Racecourse had a grass track on the outermost side, a dirt track inside that, and an innermost steeplechase course. Meaning, beyond the steeplechase railings, much of the oval’s interior was filled with water.

The racecourse’s mascot was a white swan—apparently kept in that pond. Even the stands had special names like "Big Swan" or "Grand Swan."

After soaking in the non-racing aspects of Kyoto Racecourse, I finally turned my binoculars toward the main attraction—the course itself.

"That slope looks brutal, doesn’t it? Even from here, you can see how steep it is."

"Hmm… Maybe it’s there to balance out the rest of the flat course. The Twinkle Series tests everything—speed, stamina, grit, racing instinct. Every course has its own quirks."

What Tomio and I were focused on was the massive uphill and downhill slope stretching from the end of the far straight to the start of the fourth corner. There, looming like a trap designed specifically to break front-running horse girls like me, was a four-meter elevation change.

The sharp ascent and sudden drop would gut my stamina and legs—forcing me to sprint at full throttle the entire time. That’s how brutal a four-meter difference could be.

But in a way… that also meant the rest of the course was almost entirely flat. If I could just survive that one slope without crumbling, victory was practically guaranteed.

Easier said than done, though.

After staring through my binoculars for so long, my eyes throbbed with fatigue. I lowered them, pressing my thumb and forefinger against my eyelids. Why does long-distance viewing tire you out so much?

Rubbing my eyes, I was about to resume my inspection when I caught sight of Tomio beside me—dead serious, muttering to himself as he peered through his own binoculars. He wasn’t a horse girl, but the sheer intensity radiating off him was overwhelming.

He’s giving it his all… for me.

A shiver ran through me. My tail flicked. I wanted to touch him. To claim him for myself. Ah—this urge, this heat—I can’t suppress it.

But… not yet.

The time to unleash these feelings was still far, far away. Until then, I had to endure. Bottle it up, over and over, and convert it into fighting spirit.

"Hey, Trainer. Should we grab lunch soon?"

I shook off my thoughts and tugged at his sleeve. Noticing my touch, he lowered his binoculars and turned to me.

"Yeah, good call. Gotta check out the racecourse’s gourmet spots too."

And so, after wrapping up our scouting, we set off to explore the food stalls inside the stands.

---

On our way back after lunch, we passed a small exhibit labeled "Hall of Fame: Legendary Horse Girls."

There, standing in life-sized panels, were Narita Brian—the Triple Crown winner who battled through injuries—and Oguri Cap, the dappled grey who took the racing world by storm.

If I keep winning… will I someday stand among them?

Lost in thought, we returned to the hotel, held a long strategy meeting, and turned in early to rest for tomorrow.

---

October’s third Saturday arrived—Race 8 at Kyoto Racecourse: The Purple Chrysanthemum Prize.

Though post time wasn’t until past 1 PM, I arrived at 10 AM to sharpen my focus. The electrifying atmosphere of the bustling racecourse seeped into me as I did a light jog around the grounds.

The weather was perfect—24°C, no wind, firm turf. Autumn had finally settled in, with a high-pressure system cooling Japan’s skies.

Guri-chan and JaraJara-chan would be watching from the cafeteria TV. Maruzensky sent a message: "Watching from home~!" Palmer and Helios chimed in with: "ALL-IN ON THE BREAKAWAY!" (The gals’ slang was lost on me, but I appreciated the enthusiasm.)

After downing a quick energy gel, 30 minutes to post time.

Changed into my track suit in the waiting room, exchanged a few words with Tomio, then headed through the tunnel for the paddock debut.

---

For some reason, the paddock was packed.

Tomio muttered, "Not worried, but don’t let it get to you."

The sheer number of spectators was baffling.

Kyoto’s Race 10—the Uzumasa Stakes, a dirt sprint—might’ve drawn a crowd, but that wasn’t it.

Then I caught the murmurs:

"The Irish Trophy Fu-Chū Horse Girl Stakes at Tokyo Racecourse!"

A G2 mile race (1800m)—a stepping stone to the Queen Elizabeth II Cup. The spectators here were likely killing time before the public viewing.

Or…

Some were probably scouting future Classic contenders early, so they could later boast: "I’ve been following [X] since her allowance days!"

"Apollo Rainbow’s got this in the bag."

"Huh? Since when?"

"Look at her legs. She’s bulked up since her maiden win—thighs at least 2cm thicker."

"Now that you mention it… her biceps are more defined too."

“More than anything, even among senior-level girls, very few are used to the explosive front-running style. She also has the mental edge of having overcome the trauma from her debut race.”

“Ah, that explains it! I think I finally understand why she’s the crowd favorite…!”

While letting the voices of the crowd wash over me, I go over the final checks with Tomio in the paddock. Today’s strategy is the usual: a daring solo breakaway. I’m supposed to go all out from the start and leave everyone in the dust. It’s also meant to be a rehearsal for the graded races that await us down the line… but honestly, I don’t think I’m strong enough to leave the other girls behind.

“And the favorite today is this girl—Apollo Rainbow!”“She looks calm and collected. There’s no doubt she stands head and shoulders above the rest. If she wins here as expected, we’ll be looking at a clear path to the Hopeful Stakes and other major races.”

The Hopeful Stakes… one of the Junior Grade 1s. That smooth voice from the speakers says something so grand, but it still doesn’t feel real to me. Maybe it’s because I see girls like Happy Meek and Special Week as my rivals, and I can’t stop agonizing over my own lack of ability.

“Apollo. If you feel anything off in your legs, stop right away. There’ll always be another chance.”

“Yeah, I know. But more importantly—gimme your hand.”

“…You’re doing that again? Cut me some slack, would ya?”

I press in close to Tomio. We’re standing in a pretty visible spot in the paddock, so he glances nervously around, wearing a strained smile.

“It’s fine. I just want to hold your hand.”

“O-oh, if that’s all, then I guess…”

As he tentatively extends his hand, I take it and gently wrap both of mine around it.

Thump, thump.My heartbeat rises steadily.

I let go of that warmth just as quickly—and transform it into a burning, ruthless fighting spirit. I squeeze his hand tight and flash Tomio a confident smile.

“I’m off.”

“Yeah. I’ll be right here, waiting.”

Soon after, the horses begin making their way onto the track. The fanfare blares across the racecourse. Until now, there had only been eight horses in the full gate, making things feel a bit compact—but today, the field is larger.

I draw strength from the fire quietly raging in my chest and take a sharp breath in.

—I can do this.

My heart is blazing, but my mind is ice-cold.

I step into the gate, eyes fixed dead ahead. I don’t spare even a glance at the other girls.

“Now starting at Kyoto Racecourse, Race 8: the Shikiku Sho, a Junior Class race for first-time winners!”

“An important stepping-stone that may predict next year’s Classics! Let’s hope to see some strong performances today!”

“The heavy favorite, Apollo Rainbow, is in Gate 7 of Lane 4. She looks calm and composed.”

“She’s my top pick! I’m expecting a breathtaking solo breakaway that’ll steal the crowd’s hearts!”

The Shikiku Sho will run with 15 entrants—just short of a full gate. I take my spot in a gate slightly toward the center and slap my cheeks. This is actually my first time racing with more than ten runners, but as long as I avoid any chaos at the start, I won’t get swallowed up in the pack.

I’ve trained desperately. I have the strength of my determination. There’s nothing to fear. I’ll show them what Tomio and Apollo Rainbow are made of.

All the girls are now in the gate. The crowd falls into a hush. Tens of thousands of fans are watching, and yet I’m still amazed by how well-behaved they are.

“And they’re off! The Shikiku Sho has begun!”

What shattered the silence—was my rocket start.

I spring forward low to the ground, leaving even the second-place runner far behind in the blink of an eye.

From here, it’s a 2000-meter solo journey. Whether I collapse on the Kyoto hill or not… it all comes down to me. A battle with myself.

I accelerate with smooth control, slipping into a solo lead. Out of the second corner and down the backstretch. The gap between me and the runner-up is… honestly, it’s so big I can’t even tell.

But remember how Happy Meek closed the gap at training camp? That race was 2400 meters, and she still caught up in no time and came within a neck. What would those elite fillies do now? Special Week? El Condor Pasa? Grass Wonder? Every single one of them… would definitely overtake me here.

Racing isn’t about who’s the fastest.It’s not about who’s the strongest.It’s about who’s the smartest.

Even if you’re slow. Even if you’re weak.As long as you pull off a trick—or shake things up—you just need to be the first one across the finish line.

That’s exactly why my solo breakaway doesn’t work against those with physical gifts. Unless my opponent has some form of weakness or inexperience, this high-speed strategy is completely ineffective. Take, for example, mental fortitude. The whole idea behind this explosive lead is to make them panic—“Can I really catch up from that far back?”—but that anxiety won’t even register for someone with overwhelming confidence and ability.

To put it bluntly:If someone runs their perfect race, conserving energy all the way to the final corner and then unleashes their finishing burst at full force—I’d lose. Just like that.That’s what almost happened with Happy Meek.

It’s a fragile strategy, reliant on the opponent’s fear.My explosive breakaway… it’s nothing more than a gamble that hopes for a mistake.Maybe—just maybe—Mejiro Palmer or Daitaku Helios were criticizing this very passive breakaway style all along.

The infamous slope at Kyoto draws near.Whether it’s the oxygen deprivation or not…hallucinations of elite runners start materializing at my back.

I barely have time to be shocked before Seiun Sky darts in, throwing off my rhythm.Glass Wonder locks eyes with me, then charges forward.Special Week accelerates straight at me like a bullet.King Halo watches quietly from the rear.El Condor Pasa edges up, preparing to pull ahead with flawless strategy.

Every last one of them—Monsters.It’s almost laughable, how they toy with me using that insane stamina.They hammer in the difference in talent, relentless and cruel.Mocking me.Don’t underestimate me—don’t you dare look down on my trainer and me!

I push up the Kyoto slope with sheer grit and begin the descent.Seiun Sky makes her move.El Condor Pasa begins to surge.Just as the panic sets in—Seiun Sky sticks her tongue out as she breezes past me.

It was supposed to be a perfect breakaway.A high-speed escape that would crush anyone chasing.

But these top-tier prodigies move ahead as if laughing at me.

The moment Seiun Sky passes,El Condor Pasa and Special Week slip past on either side.We enter the final corner—and even Glass Wonder and King Halo overtake me.

Why…? How…?I bite back the scream rising in my throat and keep running.

With this kind of performance… there's no way I’ll ever win the Hopeful Stakes.

And yet—Despite the suffocating sense of defeat clinging to me,I still cross the finish line in first place.

.

.

.

But—compared to the phantoms of those elite runners,it was a distant sixth place.

I’m still nowhere near their level.Nowhere near the strongest generation.