Dusk, Beef, and Smartphones

Evening in Nagoya.

After taking a rental car from Chukyo Racecourse and driving along the Shikida-Okuden Line for several minutes, they arrived at the Russian family restaurant they had reserved the previous week.

A Chinese-Russian restaurant called "SARABI," a name that practically begged to be roasted.

Still, as a family restaurant focused on value for money, it ranked fairly highly on map apps and local food lists, and it was easy on the wallet.

Though it was admittedly a little underwhelming for a G1 victory celebration.

When they entered, only one man was running the roughly twenty-five-tatami-sized space, with posters for popular films covering the walls.

Aside from the television playing the news, they could faintly hear upbeat Central Asian-style music. The two lazy sounds blended together surprisingly naturally.

Because the restaurant was some distance from the racecourse, it offered a rare different atmosphere for a gathering on race day.

The people from both camps quickly occupied half the tables and chairs in the restaurant—though in reality, that was only two standard four-person tables.

Everyone ordered the owner's recommended Russian beef stew set meal, along with ordinary low-alcohol beer.

Before the food was served, they first took a group photo with the Takamatsunomiya Cup to celebrate.

"I still can't believe it."

Uchida rarely spoke with such emotion, and the others nodded along in agreement.

For jockeys, winning was simply winning—a direct proof of their own ability and that of the horse they rode.

But for trainers, the joy of winning felt more like the emotion of finally seeing all their efforts bear fruit.

Even with that explanation, Uchida still scratched his head awkwardly as the others teased him, saying, "So you really did cry."

"Kazuo really is amazing. Even after winning a G1, he stayed so calm."

Remembering the moment