No Longer Alone

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On the first day of August, the cicadas had been chirping since dawn, loud enough to drive anyone mad.

Whenever auction season approached, things somehow became busy, and this year was no exception, even though it had been announced early on that there would be no auction outings.

No matter how warm-hearted people were, once this season arrived, neighbors and acquaintances gradually became too tied up with various matters to spare themselves.

Relying solely on the limited staff at the farm, progress on developing North Barn had visibly slowed.

Fortunately, the initial goal had been to "build out one area as much as possible first," so the dedicated pasture for yearlings was at least nearly ready.

There was still some time before it officially went into use, but with the help of agricultural machinery, the grass within the pasture had been planted quickly enough.

—Though the price was that North Barn had smelled absolutely awful these past few days.

After finishing the inspection and crossing the road back toward South Barn, I instinctively quickened my pace.

Once the sun came out, the temperature began to rise as well.

I wiped the sweat covering my forehead with the back of my hand and let out a soft breath.

On the day I returned from Sapporo, I brought up the proposal of registering Golden Horn as a Breeders' Cup stallion with Ms. McGivney and Mr. Oppenheimer.

"Breeders' Cup? Are you serious—"

As expected, Ms. McGivney quickly replied that it was impossible for her to invest in such a project.

Mr. Oppenheimer, meanwhile, said it might be slightly harder than damming the Thames River with a teaspoon, but he still promptly sponsored one thousand pounds of the registration fee in his personal capacity.

The first time I opened the Breeders'