On a relatively quiet stretch by the track edge, Duramente repeatedly practiced stabilizing herself after sprints.
She strove for perfection in every push-off, her body line astonishingly steady. Her lips seemed to be silently murmuring as well, as though she were calculating the most precise rhythm.
Every now and then, she raised a hand. As if inspired by Wanlai Zhengming, her fingers lightly traced the gesture of pulling strings through the air, as though searching for the most perfect, most powerful musical note for the ultimate movement in her heart.
Not far away, Adayar sat alone on a bench in the Rest Area, wearing noise-canceling headphones that shut out all the noise of the outside world.
Race footage appeared to be playing on her tablet screen.
Her expression was as still as water, without the slightest ripple. Only her fingers unconsciously tapped against her knee, incredibly lightly and quickly, as though analyzing her opponents' stride frequency, habitual overtaking routes, and Subtle Posture Adjustments in the footage.
That focused gaze resembled that of a chess player immersed in a small chessboard, calculating the killer moves for not only the next turn, but the ten turns after it as well.
Farther away, Bafur's small figure was undergoing short-distance Explosive Power Training.
The instant the signal sounded, she shot forward like a cannonball fired from a barrel, filled with a near-Primal Wildness and sense of power. The enormous contrast with her usual somewhat shy and quiet appearance made the Trainers and horse girls passing nearby unable to resist Glancing Sideways, Surprised Expressions on their faces.
And it was not just them.
Over these past few days, the Training Area of the entire Tokyo Racecourse had resembled a vast, precise machine. Every component—every horse girl and her team—was carrying out its final debugging for