After Kitasan Black’s race concluded, five more races remained, but Yasui Makoto didn’t stay to watch.
Even though the announcers and spectators clearly recognized this race had been significantly faster than typical events at this level, Makoto was even more keenly aware of this fact.
He’d quickly calculated it: Kitasan’s finishing speed was fully 0.4 meters per second faster than her debut, a significant improvement in the high-speed world of Uma Musume racing. Moreover, this race was 200 meters longer than her first, naturally consuming far more energy.
Though well aware of his Uma Musume’s exceptional physique, concern drove him to head straight toward the medical area immediately after the finish line.
Daiwa Scarlet and Vodka accompanied him.
They’d come expressly to support Kitasan, and with their extensive experience, they were equally aware that such a taxing race might have taken its toll.
However, upon arriving at the medical area, the trio was surprised to find that Kitasan wasn’t there.
As confusion took hold, another Uma Musume happened to step out of the examination room.
“Daiwa-senpai? Vodka-senpai?”
Momentarily startled, she quickly bowed.
“Hello, senpais—and you as well, sir. I’m Satono Gallant. It’s a pleasure meeting you.”
After introductions, Satono Gallant glanced curiously at them. “Were you looking for someone here…?”
“Oh, Gallant-san,” Vodka greeted warmly. “Great job in the race just now—your final sprint was really sharp! Honestly, it’s a shame. If you’d accelerated just a bit sooner, you probably would’ve caught Kitasan.”
“Kitasan… Kitasan Black-san?”
Gallant froze for a moment, biting her lip, unconsciously clenching her hands tightly before quickly releasing them.
“You’re looking for Kitasan-san?”
As she spoke, her gaze involuntarily shifted toward Makoto.
“Yes. I’m Yasui Makoto, Kitasan’s trainer. Pleasure to meet you.”
Sensing her curiosity, Makoto nodded gently. “Has Kitasan already finished her medical check-up?”
Shock flickered briefly in Gallant’s eyes.
He’s Kitasan’s trainer? He really is as young as Crown-san and Diamond-san said…
“Ah…yes,” she replied, still somewhat startled. “The doctor said she’s in excellent condition—no issues at all.”
Again, Gallant reflexively clenched her fists before releasing them swiftly, then pointed toward the resting lounge.
“After leaving the exam room, she answered a phone call and headed off in that direction.”
“I have something else to take care of, so please excuse me for not guiding you personally.”
“Please take care.”
With a graceful bow, Gallant swiftly turned and walked away.
Watching her retreating back, Makoto paused thoughtfully and sighed softly.
At almost the exact same moment, two identical sighs sounded beside him.
Exchanging glances with Daiwa Scarlet and Vodka, he instantly understood they had come to the same conclusion. He sighed once more, then casually said:
“Let’s go. She should be over in that direction.”
Wordlessly, the two Uma Musume nodded, following Makoto toward the resting lounge.
They’d expected to search around upon arrival, but even before they reached the lounge entrance, a familiar, spirited voice rang out clearly:
“Aa Matsuri da! Aa Matsuri da! Aa sono hōnen no matsuri da! Heiya! Heiya! Heiya!”
Plain, honest lyrics; clear, youthful vocals; a lively, powerful melody.
Normally, these elements might clash awkwardly, but at this moment, the song carried an incredibly uplifting power.
It was unmistakably Kitasan’s voice, singing what was perhaps Japan’s most famous folk anthem—“Matsuri”.
Makoto knew the song well. Growing up, every year his family watched the Kouhaku Uta Gassen on New Year’s Eve, and “Matsuri” always closed out the program.
In a sense, Kouhaku was similar to Japan’s Spring Festival Gala, and “Matsuri” served much like its finale song—something akin to “Unforgettable Tonight.”
After Kitasan finished the verse, another voice seamlessly took over—deep, powerful, resonating strongly.
It belonged to an elderly man who looked to be in his seventies, but whose powerful singing voice was remarkably youthful and resonant.
If Kitasan’s singing was bright like a warbler’s song, this elderly man’s voice soared majestically, like an eagle’s cry.
And it wasn’t merely about volume or breath control. Even someone without musical training like Makoto could clearly sense how utterly this elderly singer’s skill eclipsed Kitasan’s in every aspect.
Yet Makoto wasn’t particularly surprised.
Because this elderly man was none other than the original singer of “Matsuri,” a legendary figure who had performed on Kouhaku for fifty consecutive years—Kitajima Saburou.
Makoto immediately recognized him, as did the two Uma Musume beside him.
“…Kitasan’s grandfather?” Daiwa Scarlet murmured in astonishment. “Why is someone like him here—ah, right! Kitasan did mention at lunch that her grandfather would come watch her race today.”
“What an incredible surprise!” Vodka said excitedly. “I’ve only ever heard him sing on TV. To hear Kitajima-san live today…this is an amazing stroke of luck!”
Makoto nodded silently in agreement.
He’d researched Kitajima Saburou briefly while reviewing Kitasan’s personal information.
Even without knowing much about music, it was impossible not to respect this elder’s contributions.
It was thanks to artists like Kitajima Saburou that Japan’s traditional “enka” folk songs had flourished and reached audiences worldwide, with “Matsuri” standing as one of its greatest masterpieces.
Moreover, Kitajima-san’s life deeply moved Makoto.
From interviews, Makoto had learned this legendary singer came from a small, impoverished fishing village in Hokkaido, born into a humble fishing family.
Since childhood, he had a profound passion for singing, and after graduating high school, he boldly left for Tokyo to pursue his dreams alone.
He never gave up, steadily overcoming endless obstacles to become the iconic singer he was today.
Even without detailed explanations, Makoto could easily imagine the hardships Kitajima-san had faced.
In one memorable interview, when asked about the secrets of success and talent, Kitajima-san had said:
“I’ve never considered myself especially talented or gifted, much less a genius.”
“There are far more talented people out there—I’ve seen countless examples throughout my life.”
“Compared to those true geniuses, all I’ve done is sing day after day, tirelessly, relentlessly.”
“At times, I’ve felt bitter resentment towards those with more talent, skill, energy, and time. Why do they waste what they’ve been given? I wish they’d pass those wasted gifts to me—I still have so much I want to create with my songs.”
“Eventually, I realized something: talent, skill, genius—they’re things you discover little by little within yourself. Without persistence, even natural gifts fade.”
“So, I continued to sing.”
“And one day, almost by chance, I looked back.”
“My old friends, my rivals—I couldn’t find them anymore.”
“Only I remained, an old man standing atop this so-called mountain of Japan’s music industry.”
“And those bored, lazy people sat at the base, pointing at me and saying:”
“‘Of course—after all, he’s a genius.’”
Kitasan’s voice rang out again, filled with joy and youthful vigor, blending harmoniously with her grandfather’s powerful tone.
Makoto smiled quietly to himself.
This, he thought warmly, is the true winner’s stage.
—
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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