"This looks bad."
The glasses-wearing guy cast a doubtful look at Garden Gale's current position. "That's definitely not a good spot."
His friend immediately picked up the topic, nodding vigorously in agreement.
"Yeah—Garden Gale's come from behind before," the friend said, adjusting imaginary glasses. "But she's never lagged this far back. Normally she's at least pacing near the front."
Did she fail to secure a good position at the start?
Coming from an outer gate inevitably left her trailing behind.
She'd have to wait patiently for the right moment, threading through gaps to overtake.
Was that the idea?
Well, whatever.
"So anyway… looks like T.M. Opera O's got this. I think my early bet's about to pay off!"
His voice rose sharply at the end, excitement obvious.
Meanwhile, the glasses-wearing guy's gaze lingered quietly on Garden Gale, silently hoping for a miracle.
Please win.
...
"It definitely wasn't because she couldn't secure a better position."
Symboli Rudolf chuckled knowingly. "Isn't it obvious? She's copying your running style."
"Mm," Mr. C.B. acknowledged, nodding gently. Rare approval flickered across her expression. "Not bad at all. Just a few details to smooth out. Maybe someday I'll give that kid a pointer or two."
Her eyes remained fixed on the trailing figure.
It had to be said: the view of an elite Umamusume vastly differed from ordinary spectators. Most of the crowd thought Garden Gale had slipped badly. Voices of reason inevitably drowned in the noise of public opinion, surrendering clarity in exchange for collective validation.
But every top-tier Umamusume saw clearly.
Garden Gale had evolved yet again—purposefully choosing the strategy most favorable to her. Her opponents today had no idea what trouble they'd face.
A brand-new running style.
—Mr. C.B.'s End Closer.
Was there any running style she couldn't master at this point?
Symboli Rudolf withdrew her gaze.
She shook her head, scanning the spectators to her left and right. Almost everyone else had turned their attention fully back to the leading pack, dismissing Garden Gale's chances entirely. To them, she was clearly out of form—unlikely to reach even the top three, let alone win.
A quiet pride stirred within Rudolf at this knowledge.
Very well then—in one minute, let reality silence all doubts.
...
Up ahead, T.M. Opera O had ramped up her pace, stepping forward like a ruthless tyrant bent on breaking the field with a relentless tempo. Yet the other contenders refused to surrender; these were elites after all, more than capable of matching her surge.
Some even plotted to overtake—
Like Admire Vega.
Setting everything else aside, Admire Vega might currently possess the strongest acceleration among the front trio, her final spurt a deadly weapon. Although T.M. Opera O would inevitably surpass everyone if allowed to set the pace—
Right now, things were different.
Admire Vega had her reasons. The old Admire Vega would have obediently waited until the final straight, launched her kick, and gracefully lost.
She'd already tasted defeat at the Satsuki Sho.
Admire Vega learned from experience.
She clearly understood that racing monsters required taking command of the pace herself.
This was precisely why Admire Vega chose to surge forward early—
—Desperately fighting to secure the lead!
Who cared if she burned stamina, who cared if she faced fierce wind resistance? At the very end, when her stamina ran dry, the razor-sharp determination she'd honed on snow-covered peaks would strike true.
Thus, a captivating spectacle emerged:
No matter how aggressively T.M. Opera O pushed forward, accelerating fiercely, Admire Vega stubbornly stuck to her side like glue, biting into her shadow and refusing to let go.
"Tch."
T.M. Opera O noticed immediately.
What a nuisance.
Should she shake off this troublesome opponent right now? But Garden Gale was still behind. Decisions flashed through her mind—yet Admire Vega didn't even grant her time to think.
She acted first.
With eyes blazing fiercely, every muscle in her body ignited—and shot forward!
In a heartbeat, Admire Vega surged past T.M. Opera O, catapulting from second place directly into the lead.
T.M. Opera O froze for a split second, snapped awake only by the sudden gust of displaced wind hitting her face. She blinked, momentarily speechless—but excitement soon surged within her. She couldn't afford to hesitate—she had to accelerate immediately and reclaim first place.
Pass her. Overtake her. Leave her behind.
The two became entangled in a fierce duel.
Seriously?
Stop messing around!!
The chasing pack behind was nearly speechless.
The escalating pace up front forced those behind to push harder just to stay competitive. Not everyone was that monstrously strong—yet maintaining a manageable gap with the leaders was crucial. If they fell too far behind, the frontrunners could pull away completely, leaving no chance for a comeback.
The two frontrunners kept widening their lead.
Everyone else was dragged into a ruthless pace.
A domino effect—one move, and the whole field had to react.
Because no one was willing to let these two duel it out undisturbed to the finish line.
The overall pace cranked up another notch.
Incredible.
At the very back, Garden Gale inwardly marveled. So this is how it feels when leaders up front recklessly escalate the pace, forcing everyone behind to scramble desperately. She finally understood how the chasing pack felt whenever she'd raced in front.
Well no choice now—she had to pick up speed and keep pace.
Then, Admire Vega truly exploded.
Even though plenty of distance still separated her from the finish line, she summoned every ounce of her strength and bolted from view, widening the gap dramatically. The instant she accelerated, the air itself distorted around her, as if a fierce demon had descended upon the course!
Her pace was phantom-like, shattering all limits as she raced to the very front of the field!!
Wait—
Girl, what the hell are you doing!?
Even T.M. Opera O, famously unorthodox herself, was dumbfounded.
This wasn't how it went when she raced against Garden Gale! Back then, their speed was gradual, controlled—a rhythmic escalation like a symphony. Who the hell jumped directly into a blistering climax?
They were only at the second turn!
Who in their right mind unleashes everything this early? Was Admire Vega insane? She wasn't racing—she was outright causing chaos! This woman was a complete lunatic!
What a catastrophic misplay.
With at least 1500 meters left, practically half the race remained.
Who starts sprinting now!?
Clearly, she wasn't after victory. Racing like this meant certain burnout—a textbook Twin Turbo, guaranteeing a humiliating collapse into dead last. Illogical. Absurd. Everyone watching was convinced Admire Vega had lost her mind.
The whole crowd eagerly awaited the inevitable moment she would spectacularly flame out.
...
...
...
Isn't art always born from madness?
---
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