**Chapter 17: Towards a July Night**
A light rain drizzled from the sky before dawn, misting the empty Monbetsu Racecourse. The daytime clamor of the track had faded, leaving only the soft patter of rain on the silent grounds.
But the quiet didn't last. At 3 AM, the training ground lights flicked on, one row after another, piercing the early morning haze. From the direction of the stables, the crisp sound of hooves broke the stillness.
Yawning, Tanaka ambled toward the grandstand. "I'm surprised you're still so energetic, Senior Sato," he called out, spotting the solitary figure seated above.
Sato, sixty-three, his white hair neatly combed, gave a wry chuckle. "It can't be helped. At this age, sleep's become even more detestable."
Tanaka, fifty-three, nodded, feeling the same restless pull. The two trainers settled side by side, their eyes on the track where the first horses were emerging.
Horses gearing up for races trotted out to adjust their preparations, while others, fresh from competition, came to shake off fatigue and rebuild strength. Jockeys rode alongside trainers, some of whom mounted horses themselves to gauge their condition firsthand. Tanaka, never a jockey, preferred to observe. His sharp eyes caught every detail—stride, posture, spirit.
"His gait looks a bit tired," Tanaka said, jotting in his notebook. "Might be better if he rests a little longer."
He'd pass the evaluation, along with race suggestions, to the Horse Owner. But the owner's final decision? That was out of his hands.
Ochiai led a Kurige horse to the edge of the grandstand. "His condition isn't very good," he said plainly.
"That can't be helped," Tanaka replied, closing his notebook and studying the horse. The kurige had shone brightly at his debut, but after turning three, his physical growth slowed.
A nine-month recovery hadn't helped much—his first race back on a heavy track was a struggle. The Horse Owner's patience, already thin, had vanished entirely. Tanaka didn't need to ask to know the horse's likely fate: keep running, or nothing at all.
Ochiai's hand tightened briefly on the reins, then loosened. He patted the horse's head. Since he was a boy, he'd been captivated by horses—their beauty, their ethereal grace. It's why he hated horse racing sometimes. And why he hated himself as a jockey.
---
Later, the Horse Owner, Trainer, Jockey, and ranch representative gathered at an izakaya called Hidaka in town. It was their first meeting since Mejiro Pegasus's debut, and the topic was his next race.
Kitano, the Horse Owner, ordered four servings of the Genghis Khan barbecue set meal (Jingishukan). The group's postures were relaxed, as if they were about to discuss something light, like the weather or baseball. The sea urchin appetizer disappeared quickly, devoured in moments.
To start the discussion, Tanaka laid out the plan: "The Makayama Special, a two-year-old limited race on July 16 at Monbetsu Racecourse. 1200 meters on the outer track, with a first-place prize of 500,000 yen."
Kitano set down the race card, brow furrowed. "1200 meters… Isn't that a bit too long?"
Ogawa Jo, the ranch representative, waved off the concern. "It's fine. Even with the extra 200 meters, Pegasus can handle it."
"And by next month, his body should be stronger," Ogawa added. Mejiro Pegasus's appetite had been growing, his weight steadily climbing.
Tanaka nodded. "For a two-year-old, it's crucial to figure out his range early. 1000 meters, 1200, 1500, 1700—we test them in order."
Ogawa agreed. "Given Pegasus's fighting spirit, he should manage 1200 meters at least."
Ochiai spoke up. "He'll be fine."
Mejiro Pegasus wasn't just spirited—he had his own principles. In races or training, he moved based on his own reasoning, not just following orders. When his choices paid off, he'd prance with a triumphant glint. When they didn't, he'd sulk briefly, then rally to try again. "Distinct personality" described him better than the vague "fighting spirit."
Ochiai, who'd noticed this early, backed Tanaka's decision.
"In that case, I have no problems," Kitano said, his concerns eased. He approved the race plan with a nod.
"Let's all work hard toward next month's race!" Tanaka said, raising his beer glass.
"I'm counting on everyone!" Kitano stood and bowed.
The beer was cool, its faint bitterness spreading like citrus peel across their tongues. A glance from the next table flicked their way but quickly moved on. Just another small group, probably some local company's casual night out.
The salted Genghis Khan lamb arrived, sizzling on the charcoal fire. The meat browned quickly, its rich aroma filling the air.
"Let's eat!" the four said, almost in unison, reaching for their chopsticks.
It wasn't a complex flavor, but it didn't need to be. The tender lamb, bursting with juice as they chewed, was enough to spark quiet joy. Barbecue had that power—simple, satisfying, unifying.
Kitano drained his last beer and stood first. As he walked home, he unbuttoned the second button of his collar. The cherry trees' lingering snow should've melted long ago, but a faint coolness lingered on his tongue, like a half-melted sliver of ice.
What would July bring, just weeks away? A quiet anticipation stirred in him.
---
RIP My Daughter Haru Urara 🫂😭