How Much It Mattered

A clear Monday morning in May.

Sunlight streamed into the bedroom.

The morning after the rain was exceptionally bright. The sun, having only been up for a short while, sent its light through the sheer curtains.

The Honshu owners' trip had come to an end yesterday.

The 142nd Meguro Memorial had ultimately been won by the favorite.

On a track worsened by the rainy season into yielding ground, Atalanta galloped as lightly as a fawn through the woods. She showed superb form from the start, steadily taking the lead along the inside.

With the pace relatively quick for yielding ground, the horse chasing in second, Seiki, fought desperately but still could not close the gap to the frontrunner.

One length, two lengths—the margin continued to widen even after they entered Fuchu's long home stretch, leaving racing fans in awe. Those in the owners' stands had begun offering their congratulations early.

—An easy victory built by an escaping mare, overcoming top weight and unfavorable ground.

With that, May's three central turf races had all concluded, producing a record of two wins from three starts that made many connected to the stable envious.

Honestly, his energy was about spent too.

He pulled the phone from beneath his pillow. After unlocking the screen, he saw that it was already eight in the morning.

—A rare chance to sleep in after becoming a breeder.

Although he had slept deeply, the first thing he felt upon waking was muscle soreness, especially the pronounced fatigue around his lower back.

After taking several flights back and forth between Honshu and Hokkaido in just a few days, anyone would have felt that way. A sore back was only natural.

Still, it was time to pull himself together.

He threw back the covers, hurriedly washed up, and stepped out