Leaving behind the activity room steeped in distance and stillness, Secretariat returned to her student council office—a place as impeccably orderly as ever, yet faintly cold. Afternoon light slanted through the blinds, laying alternating bands of brightness and shadow across the polished desk.
The air carried the faint scent of paper and ink, along with a trace of the incense she habitually used, as if to dispel the stifling weight of stacked documents. Her gaze swept across the desk out of habit, then paused on a moderately thick folder that had clearly just been placed there.
Its cover was a deep blue, unmarked. Sitting quietly at the center of the otherwise empty desk, it stood out all the more.
Secretariat walked over, set down her clipboard, and lightly ran her fingers across the folder's surface.
Her eyes remained calm, but something flickered faintly within them.
Sakuraba Ryo.
The man who called himself an "ordinary investor," and the Sunday Silence under him—who had risen like a comet, trailing thorns and controversy in her wake.
She had to admit it—her curiosity had been stirred.
Not just by Sunday Silence's rebirth-like surge in strength, but by Sakuraba Ryo himself—and the composure he had shown in the face of such a shocking victory.
Where did that confidence come from?
And how, exactly, had he done it?
How had someone who looked so utterly ordinary taken an exchange student once marginalized by the American Circuit and forced overseas—and turned her into a "monster" now shaking the entire circuit?
With those questions in mind, Secretariat had used her authority and connections as student council president to conduct a background check on this "Mr. Investor" in the gaps between her duties. It wasn't exhaustive.
And now, the results sat before her.
She pulled out her chair and sat down. After steadying her breathing, she opened the deep-blue folder.
The first few pages contained only basic information.
[Name]: Sakuraba Ryo
[Age]: 24
Broadly speaking, his background showed that he had graduated from a prestigious university in Japan, then founded an idol agency of his own...
And then gone bankrupt the year before last?
After that, he had switched careers and become an investor...
She turned the page.
What followed was a record of his recent investments, naturally focused on Sunday Silence.
According to the file, Sakuraba Ryo had made large-scale investments in a regional academy in Japan—and Sunday Silence was a student in that academy's international class.
At that, Secretariat's brow twitched ever so slightly.
Did that mean...
An American G1 Umamusume had been defeated by someone trained at a regional academy in Japan?
Weren't regional academies supposed to be the bottom tier?
Just how much had Sakuraba Ryo invested in that place?
A supposedly bottom-tier academy, and Sunday Silence's current value and impact—the contrast was so extreme it bordered on the absurd.
Further down were his other investments.
A few short lines of text. A handful of names.
Secretariat's reading slowed.
Her eyes moved back and forth over those names and their brief descriptions.
Tamamo Cross...?
That prodigy Umamusume in Japan, hailed as the strongest genius in the country—he had invested in her?
Oguri Cap...?
That monster rookie from a regional academy, whose popularity and ability had both reached phenomenon-level—he had invested in her too?
For a moment, her breathing hitched.
Her fingers paused at the edge of the page, tightening just enough to crease the paper slightly.
How... was that possible?
If this file was accurate, then Sakuraba Ryo's eye for investment could no longer be described as merely precise—or lucky.
It was closer to... foresight.
Or something even stranger—an abnormal ability to find rough stones and polish them into diamonds.
But what struck her even more was the calm expression he had worn when he said, "This is just a little rough weather on the road of investment."
Could it be...
He had already expected Sunday Silence to become like this?
Maybe even expected... the storm of controversy?
Was that why he had accepted it so calmly?
One speculation after another bubbled up in her mind, colliding and dissolving.
Secretariat leaned back slowly, her gaze still resting on the words in the file—ordinary on their own, yet together enough to overturn common sense.
Outside the window, the light shifted. The office lighting shifted with it.
The deep-blue folder now seemed to carry some heavy, unspoken secret.
She reached out and closed it gently, her fingertips resting on the smooth cover.
In her eyes, the initial surprise and absurdity settled, replaced by something deeper. More complex.
Sakuraba Ryo... what exactly are you?
And what was his true purpose in investing in Sunday Silence, bringing her to America, and stirring up this storm?
This "ordinary investor" was far more interesting—and far more mysterious—than she had first assumed.
Her fingers slid lightly across the cover before she withdrew her hand, leaving the unanswered questions sealed inside.
Leaning back, she gazed out at the lowering afternoon sun. The office remained silent, save for the steady rhythm of her breathing.
The initial shock had already crystallized into something sharper:
Curiosity. Intent.
Sakuraba Ryo... this man was a mystery wrapped in fog.
His seemingly casual investments had consistently uncovered—and ignited—one monster Umamusume after another.
The ash-cold composure he showed in the face of success that defied common sense, and the mix of helplessness and quiet stubbornness he displayed under pressure—none of it matched the image of an ordinary investor.
What did he actually want?
Was it just money?
That didn't seem enough to explain his uncanny eye.
Was he laying out something larger?
Or was it... something more personal? Something hidden?
She couldn't say.
But one thing was almost certain.
With the strength Sunday Silence had already displayed—combined with that burning will that seemed ready to consume everything—and Sakuraba Ryo's strange ability to turn stone into gold, they would never stop at a single G1 victory in the Santa Anita Derby.
Their next step would almost certainly be the Triple Crown.
And the first stage of that crown—the Kentucky Derby—was approaching fast.
Secretariat narrowed her eyes slightly, a sharp light flashing behind her lenses.
The Kentucky Derby...
One of the most prestigious races on the American Circuit. The starting point of glory for countless Umamusume.
Naturally, it was also a target the top students of the academy fully intended to claim.
Her younger sister, Easy Goer—one of the academy's most celebrated prodigies—would almost certainly compete.
And with her temperament and ability, she would never yield victory easily.
Which meant...
Sunday Silence and Easy Goer—two Umamusume with completely different styles, yet equally monstrous potential—were very likely to clash head-on on that track.
It wouldn't just be a contest of speed and skill.
Mixed into it might be Sunday Silence's unresolved, ice-cold revenge against the American circuit—and Easy Goer's pure, stubborn adherence to her own path.
And behind it all, Sakuraba Ryo would inevitably appear as well.
A faint, meaningful smile touched Secretariat's lips.
"Looks like... the Kentucky Derby is going to be a very interesting race."
If a simple investigation could only sketch a vague outline without reaching the core, then the answer was obvious.
She would get closer.
In the charged atmosphere of the race, she would observe Sakuraba Ryo directly.
If she could watch how he interacted with Sunday Silence, test him from the sidelines, perhaps she could glimpse something beneath that calm exterior.
At the very least, she needed to understand what this man—who seemed to attract monsters—was trying to accomplish by bringing Sunday Silence to America and stirring up such a storm.
Her thoughts settled. Her gaze sharpened.
She picked up the folder, opened a drawer, placed it inside, and gently closed it.
The soft click of the lock seemed to seal her decision.
The Kentucky Derby.
When the time came, she would go—not just as student council president, but to approach the mystery itself.
Sakuraba Ryo.
And perhaps, by then, she would get some answers.
...
Between the deafening aftermath of the Santa Anita Derby and the fast-approaching Kentucky Derby, only a single month stood between.
For most, it was just another turn of the calendar.
But for some, it was a furnace—every second enough to decide where glory would fall.
Nishikino Academy.
At that moment, because of Sunday Silence's sudden rise, the academy was wrapped in a tense, almost feverish atmosphere.
On the training grounds at the edge of campus, even the dust seemed to rise more fiercely. The air was thick with the hot scent of dirt and sweat.
And there was no doubt where all that heat came from.
Sunday Silence.
The Santa Anita victory. The thirteen-length gap. The media storm. The public uproar...
None of it seemed to leave a trace in her heart.
Or rather, all of it had been absorbed—refined into something sharper.
A near-burning focus. A pure, overwhelming desire to win—so intense it would grind praise and criticism alike underfoot.
And the spark that lit it...
Was that one helpless, offhand line Sakuraba Ryo had spoken while lying on the ground, looking up at her:
"You won... beautifully."
That single sentence had ignited something far greater than the roar of the crowd.
She wanted more.
She wanted him to look at her like that again. Say things like that again. Maybe even... more.
And for that, she needed to become stronger. Win more. Win in a way no one could deny.
So the training grounds became both her purgatory—and her sanctuary.
Tony Bianca and Obey Your Master—two experienced Umamusume with very different styles, yet equally strict—were pushed close to their limits by Sunday Silence's volcanic drive and near self-destructive intensity.
The training plans they had designed were already harsh, meant to refine a blade that had stunned everyone the moment it first showed its edge.
But Sunday Silence's initiative—and her ability to execute those plans—made even those regimens seem conservative.
Before dawn, she was already on the track, grinding through basic endurance and pacing drills.
At noon, while others rested, she hammered relentlessly at every detail—starts, sprints, cornering. Sweat soaked her training gear, clinging to her body and tracing lines of tightly packed, explosive muscle.
By sunset, she was still training—core strength, flexibility—stopping only when her body neared its limits, and even then only under Tony Bianca's direct orders.
Her eyes were sharper in training than in a race.
In those golden pupils, it was as if real flames burned—locked onto every weakness, every bottleneck.
Every small improvement became fuel, thrown straight into the next round of refinement.
"She's too much..."
Even Obey Your Master couldn't help but murmur to Tony Bianca in private, her expression a mix of amazement and concern.
"This drive... it's like she's trying to burn herself out completely. What's even pushing her?"
Tony Bianca only watched the figure on the track, throwing herself at her limits again and again. Her fingers tapped lightly against the record board before stopping in a quiet sigh.
"Maybe... for her, there's something she absolutely has to win for."
And all of this naturally fell under the gaze of the one who had set everything in motion.
Sakuraba Ryo stood in the shade at the edge of the training grounds, holding a cup of coffee that had long gone cold. His face showed little, but his eyes were complicated as he watched her tireless figure racing like she meant to spark fire from the track itself.
Inside, he was anything but calm.
If anything, it was closer to a storm on the edge of collapse.
No... you really do not need to go this hard!!!
He howled inwardly, fingers tightening around the cup.
Winning the Santa Anita Derby like that was already insane—and now you're training like your life depends on it?
Where is all this drive even coming from?
Was it because I said, "You won... beautifully"?
That line was supposed to calm you down so you'd stop using me as a landing mat in public!
It was not meant to turn into some battle cry that sends you into overdrive!
He watched Sunday Silence blast past the simulated finish line again at a terrifying speed, the wind she kicked up rippling even the grass at the edge of the field. The numbers being written onto the board marked yet another breakthrough.
Sakuraba Ryo lifted a hand to his forehead and shook his head slightly.
His grand "loss-making enterprise" was in serious danger.
At this rate, the Kentucky Derby...
Did he even need to think about it?
What, should he rely on some genius from the American Tracen Academy?
Against Sunday Silence—who was basically about to train herself into some kind of super-evolved state over a single compliment?
Did they stand a chance?
He could already picture it.
The Kentucky Derby finish line.
Sunday Silence crossing first with an outrageous lead—
Then launching herself at him like a cannonball.
Meanwhile, his wallet—and his dream of losing money—shattered quietly in the background.
"..."
A long sigh escaped him at last, full of helplessness, despair, and a touch of resignation, dissolving into the hot air over the training grounds.
There was just no living like this.
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T/N: WOMEN ONLY SLOW DOWN MY LOSING MONEY DREAM!