Chapter 70: Europe’s Double Barreled Threat

The next race is the G2 Stayers Stakes, held in early December. Most of the horse girls who ran in the Kikuka-shō (Japanese St. Leger), Shūka-shō, or Autumn Tennō-shō had already set their sights on the Japan Cup, the Queen Elizabeth II Cup, or the Mile Championship, leaving many unfamiliar faces in this race.

Of course, some horse girls were resting in November to prepare for the Arima Kinen or Hong Kong G1 races, but Apollo Rainbow was the only one who shifted her target from the Kikuka-shō to the Stayers Stakes. In other words, I was the only classic-level competitor here.

The problem was that the Stayers Stakes was an international graded race—meaning not only local horse girls but also those from overseas could participate.

Foreign horse girls. That was the key factor in this year’s Stayers Stakes.

Among the foreign entries already announced was an Irish horse girl named Double Trigger. And she was the real issue.

—Double Trigger.

A chestnut horse girl with a world-class physique—171 cm tall, bust 90, waist 62, hips 89 (as per public records)—whose specialty was the hold-and-surge strategy. On top of that, she was notoriously temperamental, a demon on heavy ground, and a character packed with quirks.

But her skill was undeniable. Three years ago, she dominated the British G1 Ascot Gold Cup, the G1 Goodwood Cup, and the G2 Doncaster Cup, achieving the British long-distance Triple Crown. Even now, she remained one of Europe’s most celebrated stayers.

With a six-year racing career under her belt, she boasted an impressive record of 12 graded stakes wins in long-distance races. The year she secured the British Triple Crown, she was even named Europe’s Best Stayer.

Her victories included:

—3000m G3 Italian St. Leger

—3200m G3 Sagaro Stakes (2 wins)

—3200m G3 Henry II Stakes (2 wins)

—4000m G1 Ascot Gold Cup

—3200m G1 Goodwood Cup (3 wins)

—3600m G2 Doncaster Cup (3 wins)
...and more.

Her career stats stood at 29 races, 14 wins—4 of them G1s—with every graded stakes victory coming at 3000 meters or longer.

Double Trigger had already arrived in Japan, setting her sights on the Stayers Stakes after her run in September’s Doncaster Cup.

"Double Trigger… she’s so cool."

I muttered those words while watching her race footage. On the screen, the large-framed chestnut horse girl tore through an insane 4000-meter ultra-long-distance race. Unlike my speed-based front-running, her strategy was a slow-paced hold-and-surge, controlling the race from the front—yet she never relinquished the lead. What a beautiful stride.

"Three years ago… This must be Double Trigger in her prime, at the Gold Cup."

"Yeah. She’s overwhelming."

"Well, back then, she was called the world’s strongest stayer."

"She isn’t anymore?"

"She’s still undeniably strong… but not the strongest. A new generation has risen—ones even stronger than her. A changing of the guard, so to speak."

"…………"

I fell silent at Tomio’s words. Did he have to put it like that?

In the three-year-old footage, Double Trigger was both tricky and powerful. Her massive stride and overwhelming fighting spirit made her seem even larger than she was.

But in this year’s September Doncaster Cup, she had evolved—more refined, more cunning. Though she’d lost some of her raw power, she was still racing at an elite level.

Now, the question was: Who were these "next-generation" horse girls surpassing Double Trigger?

"Who’s stronger than Double Trigger now?"

"…Kayf Tara. A horse girl one year above you, Apollo."

"Kayf Tara…"

"Well, right now, Double Trigger’s in Japan, not Kayf Tara in Europe. If you can’t beat her, you’ve got no chance against Europe’s best."

"…Got it."

Double Trigger was a legend in Europe, the heartland of stayers. But now in her sixth year of racing, she was past her physical peak. Her technique and experience were still world-class, but… If I couldn’t beat her on Japan’s unfamiliar turf, I wouldn’t stand a chance in Europe. That’s what Tomio meant.

Still, no matter the opponent, I’d give it my all. Losing mentally before the race even started wasn’t an option. Even against the strongest, I’d fight to win. Europe’s best stayer or not—if she could counter my front-running, then bring it on. That was the mindset I needed.

"Oh, right. I compiled some info on Double Trigger. Here."

"Oh, thanks~"

Most of it was stuff I already knew, but sometimes even trivial details held clues. So I scrutinized every word.

"Huh, ‘A bronze statue was erected at Doncaster Racecourse in honor of her three Doncaster Cup wins.’ Nice. I’d love a statue someday."

"Hah, wonder what it takes to get one."

"Win a ton, maybe?"

"If only it were that easy…"

The notes also mentioned Double Trigger’s injury-prone nature and that she had a younger sister, Double Eclipse.

"It says here that during the classic season, Double Trigger fell way behind because of injuries. Looking at her career, she got hurt a lot, huh?"

"Yeah… European races are brutal to begin with, and she wasn’t the sturdiest. Lately, her recovery’s slowed down—she had to skip the Cadran and Royal Oak after the Doncaster Cup. She’s even said this Stayers Stakes might be her last run."

"…………"

I didn’t know Double Trigger well, but hearing "last run" made me feel… lonely. Would my time come someday too? I didn’t want to think about it.

"Still, why choose Japan for her last race? She’s always stuck to Europe."

"Europe’s season ends in October, right? Plus, the Stayers Stakes is the same distance as the Doncaster Cup."

Most of Europe’s Twinkle Series races ran from April to October, with very few G1s from November to March. So during this period, European horse girls often raced in Japan, Hong Kong, Australia, or Dubai.

But Hong Kong had no long-distance races, and Australia and Dubai were off-season. That left the Stayers Stakes—a 3000m+ graded race held at the perfect time.

…With the Stayers Stakes just around the corner, I had to prepare even harder than for the Kikuka-shō. My opponent was Europe’s finest stayer, a horse girl who’d won at 4000 meters.

This wasn’t like the Kikuka-shō, where all my rivals were first-timers in long-distance races. This time, every competitor was confident at 3600 meters—and Double Trigger was a master of ultra-long distances.

"Tomio, it’s about time. Let’s start training."

"Yeah, I’ll grab the bike. Wait outside."

"Got it!"

No time to waste. We immediately got up and headed out.

---

Today’s training was simple: running along the path built atop the riverside embankment. The goal was clear—to build endurance and strengthen my cardiovascular system so I wouldn’t lose out to Double Trigger.

Tomio, wearing a wrinkled jersey, pedaled her bicycle behind me as I jogged lightly. By the way, the fact that Tomio—the one on the bike—was the first to tire was practically a joke. Every time, I wondered if this riverside run was actually training for her instead.

"Huff… huff…"

Clad in my red and white jersey, I ran down the chilly path. After a few kilometers, my body warmed up, and the heat built up until the jersey itself felt stifling.

Glancing back lightly, I saw Tomio already panting heavily despite only a few kilometers in. Smirking, I deliberately picked up the pace to show off. I run at least 10 kilometers every time, so… I wonder if she’ll last till the end. Not looking good.

"Agh—Apollo! Cut me some slack! Don’t go that fast!"

"Yeah, yeah. If you’ve got breath to complain, use it on your legs."

"This is brutal for an office worker who never exercises…!"

"You could just buy a bike or a scooter already… Cheap in all the wrong ways, I swear."

Teasing a human like Tomio with an Uma Musume’s superior physique was pretty fun. It stirred this weird protective instinct—like looking back at my past self and thinking, "Wow, was I really like that?"

But enough messing around. Time to focus. I slowed to Tomio’s prescribed speed, checked my form, and resumed running with flawless precision.

No real conversation followed. Occasionally, Tomio would bark orders—"Focus on your form from fingertips to soles!" or "Inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth! Don’t let your breathing falter!"—but I never had much to say back.

Injuries and accidents stem from underestimating risks, ignoring them, or just plain carelessness. A routine training session could flip in an instant, leading to an abrupt end to my racing career.

If that happened, I’d regret it beyond words—I’d curse myself. That’s why I had to train with utmost caution. Stories about careless mistakes leading to career-ending injuries weren’t unheard of. Teachers and trainers drilled it into us constantly.

But students like us? We tend to forget why everyone keeps saying "be careful." They say it because they mean it—yet without understanding the worry of teachers and trainers, we sometimes goof off without thinking.

It’s inevitable—we’re still immature. But the Uma Musume who avoid those inevitable slip-ups are the ones who grow stronger.

Taking things seriously is relatively easy. But keeping that seriousness over time? That’s incredibly hard. Without strong conviction, the mind naturally drifts toward comfort.

Only those who stay vigilant, never forget their roots, and maintain their dedication over the long haul can become something special.

No matter how gifted you are physically, you can’t beat someone who works harder.

No matter how hard you work, you can’t beat someone born with superior gifts.

The Uma Musume who define eras? They’re born with freakish talent and pile on effort bordering on madness. Only then can they overwhelm the rest.

To resist daily temptations and conquer the Twinkle Series, where powerhouses run rampant, you need resolve—to sacrifice your entire youth for races that last mere minutes.

…Well, saying "effort, effort" makes it sound simple. In reality, it’s agonizing, grueling, and brutal.

Hours passed since training began, the bright noon sun yielding to dusk. Needless to say, I’d been running nonstop—only pausing to snatch sports drinks from Tomio’s bike or wipe sweat with a towel.

Maintaining perfect form was more mentally exhausting than I’d imagined. Breathing, arm swing, balance, foot placement—every single step demanded attention. Honestly, coherent thought was slipping away.

My form wasn’t flawless anymore, and my sweat-soaked jersey left me chilled. I couldn’t even breathe through my nose properly, gulping air through my mouth instead.

"Apollo, straighten your back! Don’t hunch—you’ll take in less oxygen! C’mon, when it hurts most, that’s when you push your chest out!"

"Hah… hah…!"

"Don’t stop those legs! Is this really all our dream’s worth?!"

"Ghh—!"

Gritting my teeth, I fed off Tomio’s ragged shouts, using my frustration—Why does he push me so hard?!—as fuel. I dug deep, mustering every ounce of will.

Right. I have to keep going.

I’ll become an Uma Musume worthy of standing beside ⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎—the one I saw on TV.

"—Huh?"

The moment I rallied myself, a sharp headache struck. From its depths, fragmented memories surged—a sandstorm of dark recollections, echoing voices, flashing scenes.

"Mom… ⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎!"

"Amazing!"

"Yeah, so cool! Can I be like that too?"

"Of course you can."

"I’ll become a dazzling Uma Musume, just like ⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎!"

My foundation swayed violently. For a split second, my consciousness flickered—and just like that, everything slipped away. A sharp pain twisted my face, my vision blurred, my once-rhythmic stride faltered… until finally, I stopped.

"Nn… ah…!"

"What’s wrong, Apollo!?"

"—No, it’s nothing…"

"Come on. It’s obviously not nothing."

Tomio threw his bike aside and grabbed my shoulders as I stood frozen. A dull ache lingered in my head, but something told me it wasn’t serious, so I gently brushed off his hands and smiled.

"I’m fine."

Once the pain faded, the strange sensation vanished completely.
—Was it just my imagination? What was that? I felt like I remembered something, but…

"If there’s anything wrong besides fatigue, we should call an ambulance—"

"N-No, it’s not like that, really…"

"…………You can’t just brush it off."

"It’s a girl problem! Can’t talk about it with a guy!"

"Is that so?"

"Yes! Now let’s go!"

"…………"

Shaking off Tomio’s worried tone, I started running again. We had a rule: "Report any physical discomfort, no matter how minor." But this pain didn’t count—I was sure of it. So I ran. I wasn’t betraying his trust.

Because the discomfort was already gone. The fatigue throbbing deep in my body was louder. I don’t have time to fuss over some meaningless oddity.
I had to keep running. I had to push harder. Driven by something, I raced forward—until a harsh metallic screech cut through the riverside dusk.

"Whoa, don’t stop suddenly, Apollo! This bike’s brakes are crap since I never oiled them—"

The sound was Tomio’s bike skidding to a halt. And the reason I’d stopped? A lone figure stood before us.

"—Huh?"

Tomio’s voice cracked. We froze in place.

—The Uma Musume had long, deep chestnut hair. Her striking green eyes gleamed with an imposing aura, her figure radiant under the dying sunset, her fiery mane glowing crimson. Her athletic wear hugged a body sculpted with muscle—steel-like density visible even through fabric, her tomo development far beyond ordinary.

Tomio stepped half a pace in front of me, shielding me. The hostility in the stranger’s gaze was palpable. A cold, calculating stare pinned me down, sending a chill up my spine.

"...Double Trigger. Fancy meeting you here."

Europe’s famed stayer, Double Trigger, stood before us.

"What a coincidence running into you here, Apollo Rainbow. You’re even smaller and cuter in person, huh?"

……I barely understood half of that. Guess I need to work on my English listening skills. Her tone wasn’t friendly—if anything, it sounded mocking.

"...So you’re the one who won the Japan St. Leger? Doesn’t look like much of a rival to me, despite what Lemos said."

The Japan St. Leger must mean the Kikuka-shō. That’s all I could parse, but her expression made it clear—she doubted me.

Her jade-green eyes bore into me. Something about her worn-out irises felt unsettling.

"What do you want… Wait, do I have to say this in English?"

"I’ll handle it."

"You can?"

"I’m your trainer."

"Wow."

"Do you need something from our Apollo?"

Whoa, Tomio speaks English? Cool. Smooth.

"So she didn’t understand a word I said. Language barriers are a pain…"

"You’ve been pretty provocative from the start."

"I heard you set a record in this country’s St. Leger, but you’re no match for me. I came here to show you the power of Europe—the home of true stayers."

Tomio whispered a rough translation. Wait, he can do real-time interpreting? That’s insane…

Still, she’s really taunting me. It’s complicated—I used to admire her, but now she’s just… mean.

"According to Lemos, you’re Japan’s strongest stayer. But a tiny, spineless thing like you could never beat me. The Stayers Stakes is mine."

"...Seriously?"

"……"

It was a declaration of war, backed by unshakable confidence. But I didn’t want to lose either—not on this long-distance stage. If I couldn’t face down someone like Double Trigger here, I had no hope of holding my own in Europe during next year’s overseas campaign.

Double Trigger was already at a disadvantage, dealing with unfamiliar Japanese turf and the pressures of competing away from home. She probably needed to steel herself just to stay focused. Maybe I should try firing back with a little provocation of my own. La victoire est à moi!! Don’t get cocky! …I wanted to say something like that, but I didn’t want to stir up unnecessary trouble.

So instead, I deliberately approached her head-on and responded in clumsy English.

"Ms. Double Trigger, your achievements have crossed the sea and reached us here in Japan! It’s an honor to race against a legendary stayer like you on Japanese turf! May I have your autograph?"

"Huh, autograph?"

"Please give me your autograph!"

"Uh, oh… sure, okay."

Maybe my words softened her a bit—Double Trigger’s demeanor visibly relaxed. When I handed her the book Stayer Training Theory from Tomio’s bag, she blushed slightly and began signing it.

It seemed like she was just tense from being in a foreign country. She didn’t seem like a bad person.

"Your English’s pretty good, you know."

"Thank you very much!"

"I’m looking forward to race day too, Apollo Rainbow."

With a quiet smile that erased any trace of her earlier sarcasm, Double Trigger reached out for a handshake. When I eagerly accepted, she looked even more pleased and dashed off, seemingly content.

"…She was a bit odd, huh."

"She's been racing for six years—she's probably seen all kinds of things. She’s a bit sarcastic, sure, but I don’t think she’s a bad sort."

"It’s getting dark. Should we head home?"

We watched Double Trigger fade into the twilight, then began our walk back. Seeing how exhausted I was, Tomio offered me the back seat of his bike—well, it wasn’t really a seat, just the back of his mom’s bike.

"Apollo, want to ride in the back?"

"Then I’ll take you up on that."

I later found out the spot I sat on was called a "dress guard." I wrapped my arms around Tomio’s waist and, turning sideways, sat on the dress guard.

As I leaned against his back, Tomio took that as the cue to start pedaling. Maybe carrying even just one girl made the bike heavy, because we swayed left and right as we slowly moved forward.

"…Aren’t we going kinda slow?"

"Apollo’s heav—uh, I mean, I’m just not good at riding double."

"You’re not fooling anyone."

"I’m sorry."

"…Well, whatever. It’s annoying, but fine."

"I’ll reflect on my actions."

Compared to a grown man, a single girl’s weight isn’t much. Still, heavy is heavy. Because we're alive.

It was much slower than any race a horse girl would run, but the sensation of riding the wind at his pace gave me a quiet, comforting warmth that couldn’t be replaced by anything else.

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