Chapter 16. Fugitive from Another Dimension Part 1
Silence Suzuka could clearly feel the burning gazes from the two opponents to her right. Their intentions were obvious—pressuring her from the very start, attempting to disrupt her rhythm. But to her, such things were hardly worth concern.
Since her comeback at the beginning of the year, An had made targeted adjustments to her training and even tailored a nutrition plan specifically for her physique. Although it hadn't given her the more pronounced curves she once half-jokingly wished for, the results of her medical report at the end of February had left Shuta An thoroughly satisfied.
He understood his own methods well.
After Silence Suzuka began her recovery training, he had drawn upon the theories recorded in the writings of Space Meteorite, refining and adapting them to suit her condition. What stood on the track now was not the same runner from the Tenno Sho (Autumn).
She was stronger.
Even if Silence Suzuka herself didn't fully grasp the technical changes behind those adjustments, she could feel the difference in her own body. When Shuta An granted her permission to run the first 1000 meters in 58 seconds, anticipation had already begun to build within her.
"If they think I'll abandon the Great Escape after last year's incident—then this is the perfect chance to surprise them."
After the final runner, Fly to the Stars, entered from gate eleven, Silence Suzuka's focus narrowed entirely inward.
She lowered her center of gravity, settling into her starting posture—ready to recreate that lightning-fast break that had once stunned the field.
Then—
"Click!"
At the precise instant the sound rang out, she moved.
The gate had not even fully opened, yet Silence Suzuka, leveraging her slender build, had already slipped through the narrowing gap. The metal brushed against her, drawing a faint wince, but after a quick confirmation that nothing was wrong, her attention snapped forward again.
Without hesitation, she surged ahead.
"What a start! Silence Suzuka has recreated her iconic break from the Tenno Sho (Autumn)! She looks to be in incredible condition!!"
The commentator's voice rose sharply.
Inside the VIP box, Shuta An stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, calmly finishing his sparkling water.
"That's a perfect start," he murmured.
His gaze remained fixed on the track.
"It seems Desert Shot and Mackook were instructed to target Suzuka?"
A faint smirk appeared.
"A Great Escape runner is always the hardest type to deal with. Because from the very beginning…the initiative belongs entirely to her."
From gate three, Desert Shot had been ordered to seize the lead. But Silence Suzuka's explosive break left both her and Mackook instantly behind.
"Damn it!"
DesertShot clenched her teeth.
"No…this won't do! I have to get ahead of her!"
She pushed harder, accelerating into a sprint. Yet the result defied her expectations.
The gap did not shrink.
It widened.
"What's going on?" she thought, disbelief creeping in. "Is she accelerating right from the start too? I'm supposed to pressure her—but why is she the one dictating everything? Can she really sustain this pace to the finish?!"
The answer lay beyond her imagination.
But in the VIP box, several Japanese Trainers had already seen this scenario play out countless times before.
"Every time I watch it, it still feels unreal—" Nishizaki Ryu scratched his head. "It's not like no one's used this style before—but no one has ever pushed it to this level."
"At this rate, 58 seconds for the first 1000 meters really is possible," Kitahara said, glancing toward Shuta An. "By the way, when you gave Suzuka that target…did you specify Dubai timing or Japan timing?"
"Isn't that naturally Japan timing?" Shuta An blinked. "There's no need to clarify something like that, right?"
"If it wasn't specified—" Kitahara turned back to the screen. "Then is it possible she's using Dubai timing instead?"
"Huh?!"
For the first time, Shuta An's composure cracked.
He hadn't considered that possibility at all.
"That shouldn't be the case…right?" he muttered, frowning. "If she runs 58 seconds by Dubai timing, that's equivalent to 56 seconds in Japan timing. That's far too extreme. No matter what, Suzuka wouldn't push herself to that level…would she?"
Even as he spoke, a quiet unease took root.
He knew her too well.
Silence Suzuka didn't need to reach 56 seconds. Even a 57-second pace, followed by a simple explanation—"I thought it was Dubai timing"—would leave him with no grounds to argue.
After all, he hadn't made it explicit.
"Even if her body has been conditioned using Space Meteorite's methods…" Shuta An's gaze returned to the track, his expression tightening. "Running at that rhythm would still place enormous strain on her."
A flicker of worry surfaced in his eyes.
"This is your final year as an older Uma Musume, Suzuka. You don't have the luxury of recovery anymore. If something goes wrong here…this might be your last chance to fight for the top."
On the track, Silence Suzuka had already broken free.
Desert Shot and Mackook—who had been tasked with suppressing her—were now trailing by seven or eight lengths, their efforts rendered meaningless.
Approaching the bend, the sound of pursuing footsteps gradually faded.
Until—There was nothing left.
For the first time in a long while, the world narrowed to only her own breathing…and the rhythm of her strides.
"What a wonderful feeling."
Her expression softened slightly.
"It's been so long."
The powerful acceleration from the start had not burdened her. If anything, the tempo of the Great Escape allowed her to settle more deeply into the race.
"I could go even faster—"
The thought surfaced naturally.
But she shook her head faintly.
"If I do that, Ann will definitely get angry…and I don't want that."
Suppressing the impulse, she steadied her pace and entered a controlled cruising rhythm.
Then—
The commentator's voice rang out once more.
"59.7 seconds for the first 1000 meters!"
Inside the VIP box, Shuta An's expression darkened instantly.
"Should I say Miss Suzuka is really bold?" Nishizaki Ryu muttered to himself after hearing the commentator's words.
Tojo Hana, who had already returned to the box, was not surprised by Silence Suzuka's deliberate wordplay—running at a super-high-speed Great Escape rhythm. What truly drew her attention, however, was Shuta An's reaction.
According to his usual habits, Suzuka's approach should have made him both angry and worried. Yet now, the Young man simply took a can of sparkling water from the fridge and sat back on the sofa, his expression calm to the point of indifference. Watching this, Tojo Hana narrowed her eyes slightly.
"Now that he's this calm…I'm actually starting to worry about Suzuka," she murmured inwardly.
Kitahara, standing nearby, also sensed something unusual. He understood his friend well enough to recognize the stillness for what it was.
"It's likely that Miss Silence Suzuka will be criticized after this race, regardless of the outcome," he said quietly.
No one else spoke. In truth, none of them had the standing to interfere. The bond between Shuta An and Silence Suzuka was far deeper than anything they could casually step into.
On the track, after entering the bend, Silence Suzuka used the curve to glance behind her. DesertShot and Mackook had already been swallowed by the pack, their earlier intentions rendered meaningless.
"If you want to interfere with me, you need at least G1-level strength—and the resolve to go all out."
"Your convictions aren't strong enough."
Meanwhile, Annus Mirabilis lingered just to the outside of Mackook, her patience rapidly wearing thin. The rhythm ahead was already slipping beyond her grasp.
"If I keep waiting here, I won't be able to catch Silence Suzuka once we enter the final straight!"
She swept a quick glance around her, confirming that there was space to move out. Without hesitation, she adjusted her stride and surged forward.
"There's no need to hesitate…the only opponent in this race is Miss Silence Suzuka!"
Driving her legs with renewed force, she accelerated through the latter half of the bend, cleanly overtaking Mackook. Not far behind, Intikhab observed everything with composed detachment. Even as Annus Mirabilis made her move, she showed no intention of following.
"Last year, Silence Suzuka ran this section at around 61 seconds. This year, she's reduced it to 59."
"A two-second difference means her late-stage drop-off will be even more severe…"
"In any case, I don't believe she can sustain a dazzling performance after such a serious injury."
Her gaze remained steady, calculating.
"I wonder what Annus Mirabilis is thinking… Is she assuming Silence Suzuka won't lose speed?"
As a European Uma Musume, Intikhab had unwavering confidence in her finishing strength. Even with the international success of runners like Oguri, El Condor Pasa, and Taiki Shuttle, most European competitors still did not place Silence Suzuka in the same category. Her overseas victories, after all, had come from Turf Classic races in America—a detail that, in their eyes, spoke for itself.
Silence Suzuka, however, paid no mind to any of this.
In fact, when Shuta An had explained the race tactics beforehand, Intikhab had not even been mentioned. Their records were simply not comparable.
As she approached the end of the bend, Suzuka confirmed that no one had managed to close the gap. The pressure on her shoulders lessened, the race once again settling into a rhythm entirely her own.
"I didn't deliberately conserve stamina in the middle—"
"But it seems I can afford to ease off slightly now."
She adjusted her breathing, already planning her next move.
"Silence Suzuka has opened up a massive lead over second-place Annus Mirabilis! Fifteen lengths!" the guest commentator shouted, his voice almost cracking with disbelief.
"The real Silence Suzuka has returned with a shocking performance in her comeback race! Now the only question is—can she hold on to the finish?! But please believe it! A Sadalsuud runner has never lost a comeback race!"
At the same time, the Meydan Racecourse commentator's voice rose with equal excitement.
"Silence Suzuka leads into the final straight! A four-time G1 winner! Victorious from 1800 to 2200 meters! Capable of dictating a slow pace from start to finish, or unleashing a blistering tempo to break the field apart—and even delivering a second burst of speed!"
"On this Turf Classic stage, she may well be the ultimate answer!"
None of it reached her.
As Silence Suzuka entered the 500-meter final straight, she slightly reduced her speed, allowing herself a brief window to recover. It was a subtle adjustment—but under the watchful eyes of ten pursuing Uma Musumes, it did not go unnoticed.
"Silence Suzuka is slowing down…just as I expected."
"After pushing the first 1000 meters to 59 seconds, there's no way she could sustain it to the end."
"I'm entering the final straight as well…it's time to accelerate."
Behind them, RiverUsk—upon whom McLaughlin had placed his greatest hopes—was completely boxed in by the pack, unable to find any opening. Watching from the sidelines, McLaughlin covered his face in frustration.
He could not comprehend how such a mistake had occurred, especially after deploying two "wingmen" specifically to control the race.
"Damn it…"
"Unbelievable."
In the box, Shuta An also noticed RiverUsk's predicament. A faint curl appeared at the corner of his lips.
"So much focus on targeting Suzuka…and he forgot to train his own runner properly?"
"Makemelaugh indeed."
At that very moment, Silence Suzuka felt her breathing stabilize. The brief recovery had been enough. Without hesitation, she drove her legs forward once more, accelerating cleanly.
Just a few strides later, Annus Mirabilis's heart sank.
For an instant, when Suzuka had slowed, hope had flickered—thin, fragile, but real.
Now, with just over 300 meters remaining, that hope was completely shattered.
The gap did not shrink.
It widened.
Annus Mirabilis cast a brief glance at the runners behind her before fixing her gaze forward again.
"Then I'll secure second place."
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