...
Up in the stands, the members of "Dream" collectively fell silent due to the sudden intangible hunt on the track.
"Trainer, that Wheat-chan she..." Tokai Teio pointed at the track, turning to look at Lucian, her words filled with astonishment. "It's too scary—like... like being targeted by some wild beast."
Tokai Teio had voiced everyone's thoughts; as Uma Musume, they could more or less feel it too.
"Yeah, it's exactly like a Zone!"
In Lucian's eyes, a phantom cheetah wreathed in golden flames had long appeared over Penelope, embodying the violent aesthetics of speed.
"Uma Musume like her, who push speed to the absolute limit, don't have the word 'satisfaction' in their dictionary—only an infinite thirst to surpass themselves and claim the championship... That's why their 'Zone' awakens earlier and is mastered more deeply."
"Then if she raced against Suzuka, who would win? Suzuka's speed is really fast too." Seiun Sky asked.
Lucian shook his head. "That's hard to say. The track changes in an instant—track length, condition that day, even luck—all factors play in."
"But I heard that on the African savanna, cheetahs usually only hunt the fastest antelopes." Seiun Sky blinked playfully, teasing.
"Antelopes are antelopes—what does that have to do with me..." Silence Suzuka rolled her eyes at her, then turned to Lucian with worry. "Lucian-kun, is Spe-chan's situation right now really dangerous? Can she... handle this kind of pressure?"
Lucian shook his head again—this time a faint smile curved his lips. "This situation was anticipated too. Suzuka, do you remember the simulation race against Symboli Rudolf back then?"
"Mm, of course I remember." Silence Suzuka nodded.
Lucian explained, "Back then Spe-chan's mindset and will were still immature—easily broken. Against strong opponents, she'd be intimidated and fall apart instantly."
"But look at her now—her pace is still steady, position well maintained... This shows she already has the ability to compete on the same stage as these runners and fight for the championship." Lucian's voice grew more confident; looking at that familiar figure on the track, his eyes shone with pride and trust.
"Now it's just a matter of when this flower bud will bloom."
...
Penelope's sudden raid was like a bolt of lightning, instantly shattering the track's calm and forcing the entire race's rhythm to rise passively.
At this point, Special Week set her sights on Sergio ahead. She remembered what Lucian had told her—avoid clashing head-on.
This wasn't cowardly avoidance; it was the wisdom of a top fighter. A skilled matador always dodges the bull's fatal charge.
More importantly, she couldn't trail behind, running passively to someone else's rhythm.
"Since they've started accelerating... then I'll chase on the momentum!"
Special Week moved like a finely honed scalpel—precise, calm, and unrelenting—quietly cutting in toward Sergio's outer side.
Passing on the outside required more leg power, but Special Week firmly believed her judgment: the reward outweighed the cost!
Broye's target was singular: keep Special Week in sight. Seeing her accelerate past Sergio ahead, Broye lowered her center without hesitation, exploding with astonishing speed to follow right behind Special Week.
Sergio's gaze grew grave, but her steps remained steady and powerful—no disruption to her rhythm from Special Week or Broye.
No diagonal running in a race; right now she was like a moving fortress, firmly holding the best inner route and blocking almost every Uma Musume behind trying to find an opening inside.
As for opponents detouring outside, Sergio paid them no mind.
This was exactly the situation she welcomed—they burned precious extra stamina and bore the psychological pressure of overtaking.
She only needed to hold her rhythm and wait for her moment to shine.
...
The audience's cheers, the heavy hoofbeats of the Uma Musume, and their rapid breathing intertwined and clashed above the turf, composing a symphony of speed, wisdom, and will.
The race was about to enter the final straight!
Sergio seized the timing, gathering all her strength to unleash everything in a thunderous final sprint.
But at that instant, a bone-chilling cold that stopped her heart and seemed to freeze her blood surged up her spine like a snake from her feet without warning.
She felt thrown into a completely alien world—an icy, snow-swept desolate plain.
Bitter gales whipped up feather-like snow, overwhelming and mercilessly extinguishing the fighting spirit she'd just ignited.
"Haa... Wh-what!?" Sergio's breath hitched violently; her rhythm shattered instantly. Her lungs felt pierced by tiny ice needles.
Almost the moment she entered the inner path, Astrid seized the flaw. In a way no one expected, she flexibly overtook Sergio from the inside.
In that moment, Sergio only felt a white mist brush past beside her—while she herself seemed invaded by polar cold, her limbs encased in invisible ice.
...
"Astrid actually seized a split-second gap and overtook Sergio from the inner path!!!" The announcer's near-screaming roar instantly ignited the entire stands.
Lucian held his breath too, staring in shock at this textbook inner cut—timing so precise, judgment so decisive. It flowed like a sharp ice blade, breathtakingly beautiful.
This Ice Crystal Valkyrie of the North, always quiet on the field, had finally torn away her veil of silence and truly made her name resound.
That unstoppable sharpness and bone-piercing chill—Lucian could feel it even from afar. He could only shout inwardly: "Spe-chan... you have to hang in there!"
...
"What the hell!!!"
No longer able to stay calm, Sergio burst free like a bull breaking its chains, charging forward with desperate, do-or-die resolve toward the opponents ahead.
Yet even though they were right there, Sergio felt like she was chasing an ever-receding phantom.
That intangible chill had sealed her path forward completely.