Urara's ears flicked, tickled by my whisper, but she nodded seriously.
In these races, physical contact during a turn or an overtake isn't necessarily a foul. Unless it's blatant and malicious, the officials rarely intervene. But the risk of being bumped off-balance or forced into a bad line was real. I was just being paranoid, but in this atmosphere, paranoia felt like a survival trait.
The paddock show ended. It was time.
The fanfare echoed. The nine girls gathered at the gate.
"The clouds have cleared as if the morning rain was a dream. We're set for Race 4. The track is officially 'Good to Yielding' due to the moisture. 1200 meters on the dirt. The gates are about to open."
"Wet dirt tends to be faster than dry," the commentator added. "I'm excited to see the splits."
One by one, they were called to the stalls.
"And here is Number 7, Haru Urara. Third in the betting pools. She enters the gate with that radiant smile."
"You don't often see a girl so genuinely happy to be at the start," the analyst noted. "She looked spectacular in the paddock. Ninth in her debut, fifth in her last... she's the dark horse today."
People were starting to recognize her. "Urara-chan!" a few voices called out. It made me both proud and nervous. As the even-numbered gates filled, the final runner was called.
"Lastly, Number 9, Castanet Rhythm. Fourth favorite. She's... oh, is she alright?"
The girl stumbled, nearly cracking her head against the gate frame.
(Hey... you've got to be kidding me,) I thought. She looked pale. Sickly. Why was she even running? Was it her choice, or her Trainer's? If it were Urara, I'd have scratched her in a heartbeat. But I had no right to interfere with another stable's decisions.
"A slight delay, but Castanet Rhythm is in. The field is set."
Silence fell over the track. Then—CLACK. The gates flew open.
"And they're off! A bit of a ragged start... Number 9, Castanet Rhythm, has missed the break entirely!"
Only four girls, Urara included, had timed the jump perfectly. Some had stayed back by design, but others had simply frozen.
Like the Fukushima track, this sprint started on a grass chute before merging into the dirt. But Nakayama's defining feature was its terrain—it was a rollercoaster. A climb right out of the gate, followed by a terrifying four-meter drop over a 500-meter descent into the turn, ending with a brutal two-meter uphill climb in the final 200-meter straight.
Urara hadn't faced a hill like this in a real race yet, but I wasn't worried about her power. We'd done the hill training. My concern was the positioning.
(This is... a strange look,) I muttered.
"Taking the lead is Number 7, Haru Urara! A beautiful start puts her at the front. One length behind her is Duo Talicar. A further two lengths back, Feudal Tenure and Compromise are fighting for third."
It was exactly what I feared. Urara was the pace-setter. Because so many had botched the start, the field was strung out: Urara and one other in a two-horse breakaway, two "Leaders" behind them, four in the mid-pack, and one "Chaser."
"A massive five-length gap to the trailing group... and further back, Castanet Rhythm is struggling to close the distance."
I watched Urara's face as she approached the turn. She looked confused. She was used to seeing backs, not open track.
(The pace is too slow... This isn't like the drills. She's losing her rhythm because there's no one to chase...)