No matter how many times, we will race toward the world

On the increasingly chilly straight at Churchill Downs, the horses' satin-smooth coats gleamed.

The setting sun stretched the shadows of horses and riders long behind them.

The finish line, filled with the promise of joy, was almost upon them, and the heartbeats they had held in check suddenly quickened.

"The field turns into the straight, Odin's Court has already surged forward, and there's one furlong left to run! Mejiro Hōso still leads, with Street Vow charging up on the far outside!"

There was no backing down. Amid the whistle of Ryan Moore's swinging whip, the dark bay looked only ahead, driving powerfully through every stride.

Through the endless wind sweeping past the grandstand thundered the hoofbeats of rising stars sworn to claim the pinnacle of their generation.

Among them, that vivid streak of black stood out with extraordinary clarity.

Like a gale sweeping in from the Pacific Ocean, Baozuo crossed the finish line at the head of the field.

"But Mejiro Hōso is simply unbeatable! Like Seleucus, he has conquered East and West!"

Larry's spontaneous call struck straight at the heart like the crack of a starter's pistol at a track meet. Beside him, the trainer had already clenched his fists and roared in celebration before the horse crossed the line.

A moment later, embraces pouring in from every direction swallowed him whole.

After a brief silence, applause rose from the racing fans like a tide—a tribute to the winner no one had expected.

"We... we really did it..."

Groom Ikeda clung tightly to the trainer's wrist, his tears falling without pause, every drop sparkling with joy.

Even Taniguchi, the farm representative who had only intended to stop by and watch the races before attending the Keeneland November Sale, excitedly pulled trainer Yoshida and groom Ikeda into a comical dance.