Kitano's palms were damp with sweat.
His tie was so tight he could barely breathe.
As a veterinarian, there were rarely occasions that required him to dress so formally.
"Number six, Hokuto Rakusetsu—Hokuto Rakusetsu! Chris Lena can't catch up!"
"He's opened up a three-length lead in one go! Hokuto Rakusetsu takes it!"
"A fair and square victory!"
Snow-white betting slips fluttered through the air, and against the equally white dirt track, they created the fleeting illusion that the seasons had changed.
Kitano swallowed nervously, his shirt clinging tightly to his back beneath his black suit.
The next race was Mejiro Tenma's.
"D-Don't worry, Mr. Kitano. Pegasus will definitely be fine!"
Although he was trying to reassure him, Ogawa Masaru, who was attending as Nishiken Farm's representative, spoke with an unmistakable tremor in his voice.
Kitano nodded silently.
It was time to go.
He headed toward the parade ring.
Other than the stablehands leading horses, he encountered very few people along the way.
Without any strict requirement, not many owners came to watch races in person.
Two or three local reporters outside the rail cast curious looks his way.
After accepting the race card from a staff member and thanking them, Kitano stopped by the entrance to the preparation room.
Before long, the Jockeys emerged while loosening up their bodies.
Ochiai quickly spotted Mejiro Tenma, who stood out conspicuously among the horses.
Then he lightly swung himself into the saddle.
"This kid was a little mischievous when he first arrived, but today he settled down right away, as if he knew he was racing."
"He's in excellent condition!"
Kobayashi, the stablehand holding the lead rope, smiled as he patted Mejiro Tenma's dusty gray head.
They had received a suggestion from the breeding farm during the handover: this Racehorse might be the type to get sensitive about racing.
So before the race, he put a pair of green ear covers on Mejiro Tenma.
"Understood."
Ochiai gave a slight nod from the saddle, then made no further movements.
Kobayashi led the Racehorse into the walking parade.
Despite it being his first race, Mejiro Tenma remained remarkably composed. When passing the press area, he even tilted his head curiously toward the cameras.
A reporter seized the chance to press the shutter, snapping several photos in rapid succession.
Even if they could not be used for the assignment, they were still worth keeping.
The reporter inspected the photos with a satisfied expression.
"Please take care of him!"
As Mejiro Tenma passed before him, Kitano solemnly bowed to the figure in the yellow-and-black racing silks on his back.
After a brief pause, Ochiai finally understood and returned the gesture with a slight nod.
By then, Kitano had already disappeared behind him.
Taking a deep breath, Ochiai tucked his whip beneath his arm and headed toward the track.
Mejiro Tenma shook his head now and then as they moved along, but the instant he entered the gate, he took on a far more serious air.
As he adjusted his posture, Ochiai's inner thigh muscles tensed slightly.
The final Racehorse entered the gate as well.
In the stands, Kitano and Ogawa held their breath almost simultaneously.
The instant the gates sprang open, Mejiro Tenma broke.
His center of gravity shifted slightly backward, but Ochiai quickly corrected himself.
Then he swiftly assessed the situation on the track.
Just as he had worried before the race, horses on both the inside and outside were squeezing toward the middle.
The former wanted to avoid the deep loose dirt piled up along the rail, while the latter sought to reduce the distance they would lose.
For the horses starting from the middle gates, that meant facing pressure from both directions at once.
Fortunately, Mejiro Tenma's break in his first real race was fairly good. Though it was not enough to open a clear advantage, it gave Ochiai a degree of initiative in the early going.
Abandoning the conservative plan of edging slightly inward and conserving stamina near the front, Ochiai increased the force of his urging.
He tried to seize the lead.
Mejiro Tenma immediately responded beneath him, accelerating early.
"Monbetsu's third race... has begun!"
Only then did the commentator, half a beat slow on the call, speak up.
"Number nine, Fura Flying Steed, had a poor break. Number one, Rag Supreme, is out in front, while number six, Mejiro Tenma, just behind him, is also contesting the lead."
Mejiro Tenma's head bobbed violently back and forth in rhythm with Ochiai's urging, great bursts of hot breath blasting from his nostrils.
With rider and horse chasing without regard for stamina, the distance between them and Rag Supreme visibly began to shrink.
Before the early pace had even fully unfolded, a noticeable gap had already opened among the ten Racehorses.
Ochiai turned his head slightly to observe the pack behind and quickly faced forward again.
The situation was already quite clear.
In short dirt races, accelerating generally took more effort than it did on turf.
Unless there was an obvious horse far above the class, those that gained an advantage at the start could usually fight for a good placing.
At present, the greatest threat to Mejiro Tenma was Rag Supreme, who had fallen behind them.
However, Ishikawa, riding Rag Supreme, soon gave up on reclaiming the front and shifted slightly outward to follow behind Mejiro Tenma.
Only after noticing Ishikawa's change in strategy did Ochiai stop urging through the middle stages as well.
Before he even pulled the reins, Mejiro Tenma stopped accelerating on his own.
The numb soreness rising from the base of Ochiai's thighs grew stronger, and he hurriedly raised his hips to adjust his center of gravity.
While the Jockeys engaged in their tactical battle, Kitano absentmindedly drifted off at a rather inappropriate moment.
From where he stood, all he could see were rows of backsides raised high like monkeys'.
It was not a particularly pleasing sight.
Even straining his eyes, he could make out little beyond blurry silhouettes speeding past, much less analyze anything useful.
In the brief moment he lost focus, the field had already reached the third and fourth turns.
Ochiai turned his head, and the Jockeys behind him were all swinging their whips back and forth.
Even amid the thunderous pounding of hooves, every sharp crack through the air could be heard clearly.
Rag Supreme, who had been conserving strength for so long, finally began his attack.
Ochiai instinctively clenched his teeth.
His backside struck the saddle more and more frequently, while it became difficult to maintain strong urging motions with his hands.
Gripping his whip in reverse, Ochiai held the reins one-handed and flicked it beside Mejiro Tenma's ear.
After that warning flick, Mejiro Tenma tilted his neck slightly.
As if he had sensed Rag Supreme running alongside him, his little ears beneath the green ear covers flattened noticeably.
Then, before the signal came, he began accelerating.
Ochiai, who was about to follow up with a real strike, dropped hard into the saddle.
There was no room to calmly adjust.
He could only go with the flow, launching into the final straight in an awkward riding posture nearly parallel to the horse's back.