Night had fallen over the Winner's Stage, but the venue still pulsed with life. Spotlights poured down like a shimmering galaxy, bathing everything in brilliant white and gold.
Kitasan Black's long eyelashes trembled ever so slightly beneath the intense glare.
Dry-ice mist rolled across the stage floor, swirling around her ankles like cool morning fog over a racetrack.
To one side she caught the faint sound of Duramente steadying her breathing. To the other, the crisp metallic chime of Manhattan Cafe's ankle ornaments rang out each time she shifted her weight.
Behind them, massive screens that had displayed heart-pounding race footage all day now stretched along the back wall and curved dome of the stage.
A glowing digital countdown hovered in the center, its numbers cutting through the darkness. When the fluorescent 3 flashed into existence, it met the sea of colorful glow sticks waving frantically in the audience directly opposite the stage.
In that instant, Kitasan Black's mind flashed back to the finish line of the Satsuki Sho. She could still feel the powerful wind whipped up by Duramente's final sprint brushing the fine hairs on the nape of her neck.
She could still feel the grass clippings and bits of turf kicked up by the pack splattering against her calves. The memory sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.
"Ready," the director's voice came through her earpiece, calm and precise.
Kitasan Black shifted her weight forward and raised her arms in perfect sync with the formation. The bright emblem positioned to her front left and Seiun Sky to her front right smoothly extended their own arms.
The rest of the Uma Musume members fanned out into staggered lines, creating a living, breathing stage picture that felt both grand and intimate.
The opening notes of Winning the Soul flowed across the venue like a gentle wave. The glow sticks in the crowd waved faster, the cheers growing louder and more eager with every beat.
As the verse began, Kitasan Black executed a graceful spin and locked eyes with Satono Crown.
In her friend's gaze she saw genuine congratulations mixed with that familiar spark of lingering battle intent and fighting spirit from earlier in the day.
Another spin brought her face-to-face with the front row of the audience, and there he was—Yasui Makoto—watching her with a warm, proud smile. Flanking him were the seniors, clapping enthusiastically and flashing thumbs-up toward the stage.
Even as the song built toward its climactic finale and rainbow-colored light rain cascaded from the dome overhead, Kitasan Black's gaze kept returning to that single spot in the crowd.
No matter how brightly the spotlights burned or how wildly the audience cheered, her attention remained anchored there.
When the final notes faded and thunderous applause surged over the stage like a tidal wave, Tokai Teio chuckled softly while still clapping.
"Kita-chan… is looking at us."
"Yes," Mejiro McQueen replied with a gentle nod, her eyes briefly flicking toward Tokai Teio. "Did you think of your past self, Tokai Teio?"
"Heh… I really didn't think of it until you mentioned it." Tokai Teio gave a small laugh and nodded. "At that time, Kita-chan was probably standing exactly where we are now."
The nostalgic exchange between the two veteran Uma Musume brought soft, emotional smiles to every face on stage. Even the dry-ice mist seemed to glow warmer in that moment.
Yasui Makoto smiled as well, his eyes never leaving the black-haired girl bowing gracefully at the center of the stage for her curtain call. In his mind, the photo-finish analysis from the Satsuki Sho played on repeat.
The moment the results confirmed Kitasan Black's victory in the Satsuki Sho, pure joy had flooded through him. Yet when he saw the official "margin" representing the winning distance, a strange sense of déjà vu washed over him.
Six centimeters.
That was how much Kitasan Black had led at the finish line.
It was the same razor-thin margin as the Spring Stakes. Such a tiny gap meant that the slightest mistake, the smallest misstep, could have handed the championship to someone else. The realization left Yasui Makoto with an inexplicable pang of melancholy and a faint headache.
From a purely technical standpoint, Kitasan Black's performance in the Satsuki Sho had been flawless. The training regimen and race plan they had followed were undeniably correct. And yet victory had still hung by a thread.
A race was never a solo effort. While he and Kitasan Black poured everything into improving, their rivals were doing exactly the same. Even without a deeper data dive, his experience and intuition told him the competition in this race had been far stronger than past records suggested.
More importantly, Duramente—who had nearly overtaken Kitasan Black—had brushed against the Zone the instant she entered her Classic year.
He had overheard Tokai Teio and the others discussing the Zone before. In the world of sports, it was a specialized state of being. Extreme stunt athletes experienced it too, perhaps even more intensely. At its core, the Zone originated from the psychological concept of "flow." When someone became completely immersed in an activity, they entered an optimal state: laser-focused attention, loss of self-awareness, distorted sense of time, and perfect harmony between action and consciousness.
Physiologically, the prefrontal cortex experienced temporary inhibition. The default mode network quieted down while dopamine and norepinephrine levels rose. Certain brainwave frequencies synchronized in remarkable ways. Perception sharpened. Control deepened. In high-risk extreme sports, entering the Zone could dramatically improve safety and success rates.
But reaching—and especially mastering—the Zone demanded extraordinary talent, relentless training, and accumulated experience. Only the greatest performers in the world ever touched it consistently. Yasui Makoto himself had only grazed that state a handful of times in the past.
The world of Uma Musume was no different.
Tokai Teio, Mejiro McQueen, and the other long-established stars had all experienced the Zone. Yet their first encounters had come after their Classic year. The two presidents had first touched it during their legendary old-year Tenno Sho (Spring) duel. More precisely, Mejiro McQueen had entered the Zone in that race, while Tokai Teio achieved it later on the Japan Cup track.
Special Week had done it in the Japan Cup. Silence Suzuka in the Daily Hai. Gold Ship in the Takarazuka Kinen. Daiwa Scarlet and Vodka had reached it earlier than most, but still in their old year.
Of course, there were rare exceptions who touched the Zone during their Classic year. Oguri Cap, for instance, had brushed against it multiple times across her three fierce duels with Tamamo Cross. By their final clash at the Arima Kinen, she had fully become a Zone-level contender.
Duramente's case—touching the Zone already in the Satsuki Sho—was rare among the rare.
Two more major races remained in the Classic year: the Japanese Derby and the Kikuka Sho. Then the old-year clashes would truly begin. Yasui Makoto rubbed his temples, feeling the headache intensify.
How do I help Kita-chan reach the Zone?
Research on the Zone remained incomplete in every world. No concrete theory existed, let alone a practical training method. Designing a program for something so elusive felt impossible.
After a long moment of quiet frustration, Yasui Makoto let out a slow breath and felt his shoulders relax.
The absence of a clear theory did not mean there were no clues. The Zone was ultimately a fusion of talent, training, and experience. Duramente might currently hold the edge in raw talent, but Kitasan Black would not fall far behind. He had known for a long time that this Uma Musume developed later than average. That meant her upper limit was higher, and she still had every chance to touch the Zone herself.
There was no need to rush.
More importantly, Kitasan Black's Satsuki Sho performance proved their current training approach was working. He simply needed to stay the course and keep believing. Over-worrying about every gain and loss would only cloud his judgment.
With his thoughts finally clear, Yasui Makoto's mood lifted. He was just about to join the rest of the audience in shouting "One more song!" toward the stage when his phone vibrated in his pocket.
He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and a flicker of surprise crossed his face. Puzzled, he slipped away from the crowd toward a quieter area outside the seating.
A moment later…
"…Wait, what do you mean someone snuck in?"
"…That child said she'd only speak if she saw me?"
"…Alright, the office lobby, right? I'll be there soon."