On the eve of the race two weeks later, as expected, the excellent performance of Uchiage Hanabi had garnered enough fans for Kitasan Black.
Not only enough—the song had gained over 20,000 new fans by the third day after being posted on the event’s official account, immediately surpassing the 24,000 required for the conditions race.
In the following days, the number continued to climb until it reached the capped limit of 30,000, giving Kitasan a total of over 40,000 fans.
Naturally, the black-haired girl was thrilled by such rapid growth.
Whenever she was seen holding her phone and giggling absentmindedly, murmuring to herself, there was no doubt she was checking her fan count or reading through praise-filled comments.
Yasui Makoto himself wasn’t particularly moved, knowing better than anyone how much attention that song could attract.
If anything, he felt slightly regretful—it seemed wasteful that such an extraordinary song was limited to gaining only 30,000 official fans.
Yet that was merely a fleeting thought, as his mind swiftly turned toward preparations for tomorrow’s race.
That evening, in Yasui Makoto’s personal living room—
Kitasan gazed thoughtfully at the diagrams and notes scribbled on the whiteboard beside Yasui.
“…So, this time I’ll be running closer to the front compared to my debut?”
Makoto nodded.
“That’s right. I’ve evaluated the conditions, and the tactics from last time won’t work again. We’ll need to adjust.”
He pointed to the handwritten list on the left side of the board, explaining clearly:
“If there are no withdrawals, these will be your opponents tomorrow. Unlike your debut race, all of them raced their debuts last year. In other words, you’re the only rookie here who’s just debuted this year.”
“This means they’ve received professional guidance from trainers much earlier, and many have top-class trainers as well.”
He deliberately paused, quietly glancing over at Kitasan’s expression.
The girl nervously bit her lower lip, brows furrowing slightly. Her hands resting on her knees unconsciously clenched tighter, clearly tense.
Yasui Makoto didn’t attempt to reassure her.
Races weren’t child’s play.
On the surface, each competitor might appear as a cheerful teenage idol, yet beneath that veneer, at speeds nearing 60 kilometers per hour, competition was intense, even dangerous, no less fierce than any other sport.
A certain degree of tension was beneficial—when handled properly, stress could push Uma Musume to exceed their usual limits.
This was precisely why Makoto deliberately detailed tomorrow’s challenges.
Bearing this intention, he continued:
“In addition, your opponents have significantly more race experience. Only one has just raced her debut like you, though that was last year. On average, your competitors have raced three times each, with the most experienced having raced six.”
Clearly, Kitasan grew even more anxious. Seeing this, Makoto smoothly shifted the conversation.
Pressure was good, but it had to be moderated.
“But don’t worry too much—their abilities aren’t necessarily higher than yours, though they aren’t much lower either. Otherwise, you wouldn’t all be competing together.”
“You don’t need to keep track of every single opponent either; there’s no time for that. Just pay close attention to these ones.”
As he spoke, Makoto circled several names on the whiteboard with a marker.
Just as he capped the pen, before he could begin explaining, he heard Kitasan quietly mutter:
“…Satono Gallant-san?”
Glancing briefly at the circled name, Makoto looked over with a smile.
“Oh? You know her? I recall you two aren’t in the same class?”
“Mm, Gallant-san is in another class,” Kitasan nodded. “But when I’m out with Dia-chan, or when we’re visiting Crown-san, I often run into Gallant-san. I’ve met her several times when visiting their home, too.”
“Gallant-san… If I remember correctly, she’s participated in a lot of races already, and she’s been performing quite well.”
Makoto didn’t deny Kitasan’s words.
“Five races so far—one first place, two seconds, and two thirds. She raced three times at 1800 meters in Sapporo, then moved on to 2000 meters at Chukyo and Kyoto, improving each time. Satono Gallant really is impressive, especially in adaptability.”
He then smoothly shifted topics again:
“But let’s hold off on discussing her for now. First, let’s talk about these two—Saint Martin and Battle Flag. Saint Martin is the second-most popular choice for tomorrow’s race and is also the only one besides you who’s raced only once.”
“Second-most popular… Wow, she’s amazing.”
Kitasan leaned forward slightly, before sheepishly scratching her head.
“I’m only ranked ninth in popularity…”
Makoto pretended not to hear, pointing instead to some noted statistics:
“Saint Martin’s debut at Niigata—1600 meters on turf, with a finishing time of 1 minute 36.7 seconds, averaging about 17 meters per second. But the crucial part is her late kick: the final three furlongs at 33 seconds flat, translating to a speed of 18.18 m/s.”
“If she manages to perform at this level again, she could easily challenge higher-tier, OP-level races. Similarly, the number-one ranked favorite, Crushing Raise, had a final three-furlong speed of 17.9 m/s in her last race—another outstanding late kick.”
“What do you think, Kitasan?”
He watched her carefully.
Despite her visible anxiety, the dark-haired girl’s red eyes brightened thoughtfully.
“I remember Daiwa-senpai saying once, when facing opponents with powerful late kicks, I should try harder to maintain my accumulated speed and create more distance early on.”
“So, Trainer… You’re saying I should use this tactic against them?”
Makoto inwardly nodded, pleased by his Uma Musume’s insight.
Despite what Kitasan often said about herself, she wasn’t slow-witted at all. In racing matters, she quickly grasped essentials.
For example, seeking Daiwa Scarlet’s advice on front-running techniques—Makoto had originally planned to remind her himself but hadn’t needed to. She had proactively asked for tips and remembered them clearly.
Even more reassuringly, she’d already realized the strategy’s implications.
And indeed, her conclusion was exactly what he intended to tell her.
“That’s right. It’s one reason I want you positioned closer to the front this race.”
Makoto began jotting down more numbers on the whiteboard again.
“Besides opponents with strong late kicks, two others need attention. One is Battle Flag. Although she’s only ranked tenth in popularity, out of her six races, four were at 1400 meters and one at 1600. She’s used to a much quicker pace. I expect she’ll probably end up setting the early lead, intentionally or not.”
“That’s another reason I want you up front.”
“If my predictions are correct, tomorrow’s race pace will be much faster than your debut. And one of your weaknesses is slow acceleration. If you’re positioned too far back, you’ll struggle to read the situation and miss the moment to accelerate. If you hesitate even slightly, the championship will slip away.”
Guided subtly by Makoto’s prompts, Kitasan’s thinking deepened visibly.
“Oh, I see… Then the key for me tomorrow is to pinpoint exactly when to accelerate, even more precisely than before. In that case…”
She looked expectantly toward Makoto.
“Trainer, you must know exactly when I should speed up, right?”
—
T/N: okie satano gallant is a real horse! though not an uma musume
This is a fan translation of 赛马娘：从被撞飞十米开始 by 百升飞上天 All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!
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