(This is it. This is the one where she takes first.)
With the Urara I saw before me now, losing seemed almost impossible. I felt a surge of confidence stronger than any I'd felt before.
Then came the race: early September, Nakayama Racecourse. 1200 meters on the dirt. The sun was out, but morning showers had left the track slightly rough.
Urara's physical condition was perfect. Her spirits were high. There was no reason to be anxious.
And yet—
(...Is my luck just that bad?)
I stared at the racing program, a cold knot forming in my stomach.
Being a Maiden Race, there were only nine runners. The sheet listed the gate numbers, names, odds, and predicted strategies. That was where the problem lay.
Of the nine girls, five—including Urara—were "Betweeners" (Sashi). The other four were "Chasers" (Oikomi).
(Not a single "Runaway" or even a "Leader"... this is bad.)
I'd received the program the night before, but I'd been so focused on Urara's final adjustments that I hadn't scrutinized it until late at night. I had judged that Urara wasn't suited for leading from the front; I'd trained her strictly as a Betherner who strikes from the middle of the pack.
But with no front-runners in the mix, there was a high chance Urara would find herself at the very head of the pack by default.
A "Runaway" (Nige) sets the pace, forcing the others to keep up. Without one, the race often becomes a "Slow Pace" affair—a tactical crawl. I had never prepared Urara for a race like that.
(That's on me... No, think. Look at it differently. If there's no one in front of her, she can just run her own race at her own pace.)
Maybe someone was bluffing and would bolt for the lead at the start. If so, Urara could just follow and overtake on the final stretch. If she took the lead ("the hole"), she'd just have to run it like her solo training sessions.
I wanted to give her complex instructions on being "flexible," but for Urara, simpler was better: If there's someone in front of you, follow them. If not, run just like we practiced.
In the paddock, Urara peeled off her tracksuit jacket.
"Whoa..."
"Look at that girl. She's lean."
Underneath was the same gym-style racing kit with her number, but the crowd noticed the change. The definition in her legs was a silent testament to her summer.
(I guess admiring a young girl's muscle definition is a bit weird in any other context... but in this world, it's the highest form of respect,) I thought with a wry smile. Urara scurried to pick up her discarded jacket, then began her warm-up with her trademark grin.
The other girls were veterans of a few races now, and most seemed composed. But "composed" didn't mean "relaxed." The atmosphere was suffocatingly heavy. One girl was looking at the dirt, muttering to herself. Another had dark circles under her eyes. One girl, despite her cute features, had eyes that were bloodshot and feral.
It wasn't just competitive spirit. It was desperation. Urara was on her third race because we'd skipped one; some of these girls were likely on their fourth or fifth.
I scanned the paddock for other Trainers. There were only five of us in professional attire. Unless some shared a stable, that meant four of these girls were here without a Trainer by their side. They were likely being managed from afar or were being "phased out" by larger teams who were focusing on more promising talent.
(The scary one over there... I saw her at the debut. And the one with the dark circles... is she even okay?)
I beckoned Urara over. She hopped toward the fence, beaming.
"What is it, Trainer?"
I leaned over the railing, putting my mouth close to her ear. I kept my voice low, for her ears only.
"Watch out for Number 9, Castanet Rhythm; Number 5, Feudal Tenure; and Number 4, Duo Talicar. The vibe is off. They might get desperate and play rough. If they try to box you in or tail you too closely, keep your guard up. And watch out for the kickback sand, just like always."