Chapter 58: Kikisemaru

August, filled with training camps and rigorous workouts, came to an end, and September arrived. School classes resumed, and many of the classmates who had returned from the camps were deeply tanned.

Conversations with friends I hadn’t seen all summer revolved around how their skin looked even darker when they bent their elbows, the training they’d done over the break, or how they’d gone back home to reunite with their families—that sort of thing.

Once those small talks about summer ended, the next topic was the overseas races of Taiki Shuttle and Seeking the Pearl. That was amazing, wasn’t it? So cool… I wish we could race overseas someday too… We murmured dreamily, still not fully out of vacation mode, as classes began with a distinct lack of focus.

The teachers seemed aware of the students’ scattered minds, wrapping up early or sticking to light guidance—making the first week of September relatively easy.

Using that free time and the latter half of summer break, I’d started studying foreign languages like English and French in my spare time. After all, the ultra-long-distance races—especially the 4000-meter G1s, the Gold Cup and the Prix du Cadran—were held in Britain and France. It couldn’t hurt to start preparing now.

I’d already studied English to a university level, so the real challenge was French. I could manage some listening comprehension, but whether I’d understand native speakers on-site was another matter. Of course, building the credentials to even go on an overseas expedition was the first hurdle.

And so, the autumn classic campaign began quietly. The filly route kicked off with the G3 Shion Stakes, while the classic route started with the G2 Asahi Hai St. Lite Kinen.

My schedule was planned as "Kikuka Sho (Japanese St. Leger) → Stayers Stakes → Arima Kinen," while Guriko’s was "Centaur Stakes → Sprinters Stakes → Mile Championship."

The horse girls likely to run in the Kikuka Sho—Special Week was on the "Kobe Shimbun Hai → Kikuka Sho" path, King Halo chose "St. Lite Kinen → Kikuka Sho," and Seiun Sky had, surprisingly, opted for a mixed-race with seniors—the "Kyoto Daishoten"—before heading to the Kikuka Sho. Since each had chosen a different step race, the real clashes wouldn’t come until the main event.

The Kikuka Sho was the race Apollo Rainbow had aimed for before "I" got involved. To fulfill the lingering dream of the strongest stayer still burning in my heart, this was a battle I absolutely couldn’t lose.

Then, during training for the Kikuka Sho—just as I was in peak condition—my trainer suggested we measure my 3000-meter time.

"—So, that’s the idea. What do you think, Apollo?"

"Yeah, sure. There’s not much time left before the Kikuka Sho anyway."

The area was empty, an hour before curfew, pitch-black except for the floodlights illuminating the track. A cold wind blew, but my body, warmed up in the indoor training facility, found the chill refreshing.

Stepping onto the course, I tested the damp, slightly yielding turf—the track condition was probably "good to soft." Checking the feel of my training shoes, I tapped the grass with my toes. The slight impact made my calf muscles ripple, a tangible confirmation of the supple, resilient strength I’d built.

Even after summer camp, my body hadn’t stopped growing. Though, perhaps due to predisposition, the most noticeable gains were in stamina—intensive endurance training had pushed my stamina far beyond my peers’. Repeated pool sessions had exploded my lung capacity to the point where I could’ve passed for a marathon runner.

Of course, my main battleground would be long and ultra-long distances. Longer races meant more unknowns. There was fear, sure, but excitement outweighed it. The vague suffocation I’d felt in middle distances—likely due to poor compatibility—wouldn’t be a problem here. Just the thought of running free of that made me giddy.

Finishing my warm-up, I nodded and took my starting position. We didn’t have much time before curfew, and if anyone caught me running 3000 meters, it’d be trouble. Best to get it over with quickly. Toshio, seeing my signal, took a deep breath.

"Alright, here we go. On your marks, get set—"

Bang. The electronic chirp of the stopwatch sounded softly as I kicked off the dew-laden grass, racing against phantom rivals. Night races were rare outside regional tracks or Dubai, and my opponents might be far beyond my level—this might just be a pointless rehearsal.

But still, slicing through the night wind, I raced against three phantoms: the gray trickster Seiun Sky, the indomitable king of late charges King Halo, and the overwhelming Derby-winning horse girl Special Week, all bearing down on me with palpable pressure.

Seiun Sky’s phantom jostled against me before eventually settling into second. 3000 meters was a long way—her stamina wouldn’t hold past 3200-3400 meters. Fighting me, with my full 4000-meter endurance, wasn’t wise.

Even illusions don’t have infinite stamina, so she must’ve known. The shadowy Seiun Sky began pacing herself.

3000 meters—three kilometers sounds even longer—was no joke. Not that shorter races weren’t grueling, but the longer the distance, the longer you had to sprint at full throttle. More time fighting, more time grinding down your spirit. That’s why long-distance races were once revered, why conquering them was proof of the strongest horse girl.

That was why I—why Apollo Rainbow had admired them. Brutal, harsh, lonely battles pushing the limits of endurance. The sheer coolness of a horse girl who mastered that was unmatched. The raw energy, dynamism, and emotion found in extreme competition—I wanted to be the kind of horse girl who could make fans feel that too.

Rounding the first corner, I led Seiun Sky by three lengths. But this time trial was still in its earliest stages—we hadn’t even cleared 400 meters. 2600 meters left, a full Derby distance plus 200 more. Ah, long-distance really is the best. It’s enough to drive you mad.

Sprinting at full tilt, pushing my body to its limits, I widened the gap between Special Week, King Halo, and Seiun Sky. My improved physique carved out devastating splits. Not even phantoms could keep up—I wouldn’t even let them step on my shadow stretching under the floodlights.

Passing 1000 meters, the pace was smooth, the time fast. My heart hammered against my ribs like a frantic drum. My throat burned, oxygen slowly depleting. A pleasant fatigue wrapped around me, like the early stages of an endurance run.

As I passed the 1600-meter mark, Seiun Sky’s phantom surged from behind—a classic move to disrupt my pace. She pulled up beside me, forcing a brutal tempo before abruptly slowing to settle into second, trying to throw me off balance. For an illusion, the accuracy was impressive.

But my strategy was simple: never relent. My front-running style wasn’t about controlled pacing—it was an all-out, suffocating blitz. In long distances, losing your rhythm is fatal. Her tricks only worked in middle distances, my weakness. The high-definition phantom Seiun Sky, seeing her gambit fail, resigned herself to conserving stamina.

And that was the point of my explosive runaway. What do you do if a (discount) Silence Suzuka appears in long distance? A horse girl who dictates the race at her whim, stealing the lead unchallenged? The answer: You can’t win against someone like that.

The original Silence Suzuka was revered because her blistering pace was untouchable. She’d tear ahead at sprint-like speeds, then maintain that pace even as rivals closed in—a strategy so absurd it felt like fiction. That wasn’t tactical front-running; it was pure, unyielding force. And as someone lacking finesse, that was the ideal I chased.

At 2400 meters, only 600 remained. The final corner loomed, the moment when Special Week and the others would unleash their long-striding finishes. The night air crackled as three oppressive auras bore down from behind.

But the gap I’d built over 2400 meters was insurmountable. Even if they sprinted now—even if I got injured—the race was already decided. My remaining stamina was more than enough to crush these last 600 meters.

I tore through the final corner and onto the homestretch where Tomio waited. The clock hovered in the mid-2-minute range. The phantoms shifted gears, but so did I—my body ignited, reaching peak velocity.

They clawed for position, but my closing kick refused to let them near. The 9-length lead never wavered. With a run that felt like purging all my frustrations, I left the illusions in the dust and crossed the line.

Slowing to a jog, then a brisk walk, I looped back toward Tomio. My breath was ragged, but I could’ve run another 1000 meters at full tilt without issue. Grinning, I shouted as I approached:

"What was the time?!"

It had to be a personal best. I practically bounced toward him—but his reaction wasn’t what I expected.

"Apollo. Take off your socks. Now."

"Huh? Why?"

"Just do it."

Tomio’s face was bloodless. No room for embarrassment about foot odor—this was dead serious. Confused, I sat and tugged off my shoes. Had I gotten hurt without realizing it? As I fumbled, Tomio muttered under his breath:

"...The time was 3 minutes flat."

"What."

"Unofficial, but it’s a world record. And you’re not even at your peak yet. That’s why—"

His hands, gentle as if handling glass, probed my legs. He lifted my calves, flexed my soles, checking for pain. There was none—just me, left bewildered.

"Hey, what’s going on? Shouldn’t you be happy? I wanted praise!"

"…………"

He sighed, conflict darkening his expression. This made no sense. What trainer wouldn’t celebrate their pupil shattering records? Unless… he was hiding something. Something that made him fear my growth. When I pressed him, he finally relented.

"—That’s the situation. I’m sorry I kept it from you."

"...I see."

The truth was this: My body—evolving for long distances, fueled by monstrous stamina—might not survive its own potential. If I pushed my explosive front-running to the limit, my legs and heart could buckle under the strain. The risk wasn’t just injury. It was catastrophe.

The revelation stunned me. Was this the price of perfect compatibility? I knew pushing my limits carried risks, but life-threatening ones? It felt unreal.

Yet I remembered—racetrack accidents didn’t just happen from poor conditioning or bad luck. Some came from transcending limits.

...So that was Tomio’s fear. My unrivaled endurance, my all-consuming running style—they were double-edged swords.

"During camp, I consulted Okino and Amami. Studied injury cases, care methods… Turns out Silence Suzuka faces the same dilemma. Okino’s been struggling with it too."

"Suzuka too…?"

Agnes Tachyon’s warning about "the unknown in horse girls" must’ve meant this: the peril lurking beyond speed. But risks were part of the turf. We all knew that. And I had a dream—Apollo Rainbow’s dream—I couldn’t abandon. The Kikuka Sho was non-negotiable. Suzuka surely felt the same.

Tomio’s hesitation made sense now. Our shared reverence for stayers had blinded him. Agnes’s warning was just another layer of the danger we’d already accepted.

But today changed things. A world record in my current state meant one thing: If I refined my body further for the Kikuka Sho, I might break it beyond repair.

Finishing his examination, Tomio met my eyes.

"...Watching you run, I finally understood Agnes’s warning. As your trainer, I don’t know if we should keep going—or stop before it’s too late."

"…………"

"Normally, you wouldn’t clock a time like this in a casual trial. The sport’s gotten faster, sure—but this is abnormal. You weren’t even running like your usual demonic self..."

The 3000-meter test had been a casual "Let’s check real quick" affair. I’d given it my all, but never imagined hitting 3:00.0—a world record. The growth from summer training had become a shackle.

"Of course I want to see you dominate the Kikuka Sho. But more than that—I’d rather die than watch you get hurt. Victory is priceless, but your safety matters more."

"...But I’m fine now, aren’t I? Worrying is one thing, but maybe I’ll pull it off flawlessly when it counts?"

"...Yeah. That’s the hope. But... damn it. I don’t know what’s right anymore."

Tomio’s face twisted with anguish—torn between a fan’s yearning to see dreams realized and a guardian’s fear for my well-being.

I bit my lip. His trauma from the Wakakoma Stakes was resurfacing. Back then, overtraining fatigue had been the culprit—something manageable. But this? A paradox where my strength itself was the threat. To beat my rivals, I had to grow stronger. Yet growing stronger edged me closer to ruin. A cruel, unsolvable riddle.

My fate was mine to choose: charge forward, risks be damned, or abandon the Kikuka Sho.

Self-destruction—or surrender.

Amid the searing turmoil, the vision behind my eyelids refused to fade. Those dazzling, indomitable stayers I idolized. "Screw the risks"—I wanted to lose myself in that dream. But I couldn’t forget Toshio’s tears after Wakakoma. The helplessness of watching someone you cherish break. That ice-cold dread was something I never wanted to relive.

Then—a spark. A fleeting memory of a trivial conversation from March, about cherry blossoms.

"Apollo, did you know? Sakura buds delay blooming unless they endure the cold."

"Strange, isn’t it? Harsh winters are what wake them up."

Why remember this now? My subconscious offered no logic, only certainty: this was my soul’s answer.

The Derby had ended in a dead heat. The Kikuka Sho, though—it’d be glory or ruin. I knew I could win if I didn’t falter. Blaze bright or burn out.

Now. If I were to bloom at all, it had to be here, on this stage. After all the suffering—how could I not? This chilling fear was the very frost I needed. By choosing to charge into it—

I’d erupt into full flower.

I met Tomio’s wavering gaze and declared:

"Trainer. I’m moving forward anyway."

"...!"

"Let’s fight for the Kikuka Sho together. I won’t give up on my dream—no wall’s ever stopped me before."

"Apollo..."

"We shattered the distance-compatibility wall, didn’t we? However deep Tachyon’s ‘unknown’ goes, we’ll clear it. ...Together, we can do it."

"...Yeah. That’s the Apollo I know."

Slowly, he stood and pulled me up. Our eyes locked—confirming, rallying—as we traded vows.

"Let’s go, Apollo. I believe in you. We’re winning the Kikuka Sho."

"...Yeah!"

Beneath the crisp night wind, our resolve was reforged.

Mid-September now. The Kikuka Sho trial races—are about to begin.