**Chapter 21: Morning Training**
The sky was still brushed with the soft gray of pre-dawn when the day's work began at Nishiken Ranch. The air carried a crisp bite, and the faint rustle of hay underfoot mingled with the distant crow of a rooster. Ogawa Take and his son, Masaru, stepped into the stable, their breaths visible in the cool morning light.
Take entrusted the yearlings' training to Masaru—a lighter task suited to his son's growing skill—while he turned his attention to the boarding racehorses. For now, that meant just one: Mejiro Pegasus, the gray horse whose spirit seemed to fill the entire stable.
As Masaru approached the iron gate, a sharp whinny cut through the quiet. Mejiro Pegasus, already awake, pawed at the ground, his ears twitching with impatience.
"Alright, alright, I'm coming," Masaru said with a chuckle, unfastening the chain. The gate creaked open, nudged wider by Pegasus's eager muzzle. As he stepped out, the horse flattened his ears at the group of foals ambling ahead, his tail flicking like a whip.
"You've got quite the attitude today, Pegasus," Take said, his calloused hand gliding over the horse's sleek black mane. Since returning from the race yesterday, Pegasus had been a whirlwind of mischief—kicking a partition, upending buckets, and even tearing Masaru's new shirt. Masaru, still brushing hay from his sleeves, shook his head. He'd seen Pegasus's antics before, but this was a new level of fire.
Take mounted Pegasus, guiding him in a slow loop around the stable. The "riding exercise," as he called it, wasn't just a habit—it was a chance to feel the horse's mood, to gauge the subtle shifts in his gait. Pegasus's steps were sharp, almost restless, his muscles taut with unspent energy.
"He's got fight in him today," Take murmured, patting Pegasus's neck as they finished the loop. The horse's eyes, bright and beady, stayed fixed on the horizon, as if daring the world to keep up.
"Let's get to it, then." Take nudged Pegasus toward the round pen—a modest patch of leveled sand ringed by fences, far humbler than the polished arenas of big training centers. It served its purpose, though, especially for young horses being broken in or those with tempers like Pegasus's. Today, the goal was simple: loosen the tension in Pegasus's frame after the race and refine his balance in the tight circles of the pen.
Pegasus paused at the pen's edge, lowering his head to sniff the sand, as if sizing it up. Then, with a loud snort, he signaled his approval. Take smiled. That snort was Pegasus's ritual, a green light before every session. When he was in the mood, Pegasus threw himself into training with a focus that needed no coaxing. On off days, though, his half-hearted steps spoke louder than words.
Today, he was all in. Pegasus surged forward, his strides so eager that Take had to tug the reins to keep him in check. In the small pen, speed was a risk—too much, and they'd both regret it. "Easy, Pegasus," Take said, his voice steady but firm.
The horse complied, but only just, his energy crackling like a storm barely contained. After the planned laps, Take called, "Stop, Pegasus." No response. The gray horse kept moving, his hooves kicking up faint clouds of dust.
"Stop, Pegasus!" Take's tone sharpened. Reluctantly, Pegasus slowed, tossing his head as if to argue. Take laughed softly, patting the horse's sweat-dampened back. "You can't overdo it in one go, you know. Those hooves of yours need a break."
The session had been enough—enough to ease Pegasus's post-race tension without pushing him too far. As they left the pen, Pegasus gave a sudden buck, nearly sending Take sprawling. He caught himself, gripping the saddle, and shot the horse a mock glare. Pegasus blinked back, his dark eyes wide with innocence.
"Willful as ever," Take said, shaking his head with a grin. "You'd drive any trainer bald if you were at a big stable."
Handing the reins to Masaru, Take dismounted, his legs heavy from the effort. "He's all yours, Masaru"
"Got it, Dad," Masaru said, clipping the lead rope to Pegasus's bite. The horse nudged his hand, smearing it with damp warmth. "You worked hard out there, didn't you?"
Back in the stable, Pegasus didn't head straight for the water bucket. Instead, he dropped to the ground and rolled, coating his gray coat in a layer of hay. Masaru sighed, watching the horse rise and saunter to the bucket at his own pace. "All that for a quick turn in the pen?"
Brushing the hay from Pegasus's flanks took time, especially with the horse's playful nudges interrupting every few strokes. Masaru wiped his damp palm on his pants and knelt to check Pegasus's hooves, guiding him through gentle stretches.
He'd learned the routine from Kobayashi—massaging the legs to boost circulation, starting at the thigh and working down to the hoof. By the time he finished all four legs, his back ached, and sweat beaded on his brow.
Pegasus, meanwhile, flicked his tail, looking as fresh as ever.
"Rest well, Pegasus," Masaru said, packing up his tools and stepping through the iron gate. He glanced back, watching the horse settle into the stall, hay still clinging to his mane. For a horse, those legs were everything—their strength, their life. Even the smallest improvement felt like a victory, and Masaru's chest warmed with quiet pride as he walked away.
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