Father and Son

Even the gloomy weather, with this morning's forecast putting the chance of rain above 60 percent, could not stop racing fans from streaming into the parade ring.

Tokyo Racecourse was always packed on graded race days, but perhaps because of the long holiday commonly known as Golden Week, it felt like more than twice as many fans had gathered by the railings.

Not to mention the veteran fans clutching racing papers—though it should not yet have been time to leave work, there were already men in ties, fashionably dressed women, and students on holiday.

What an incredible turnout. The moment I followed the other owners out of the owners' room and stepped outside, a wave of heat wrapped around me.

The familiar noise hammered against my eardrums.

I turned toward the source of the cheers.

Walking unhurriedly along the ochre-colored strip in the center of the parade ring track was a bay horse with sharply defined muscles.

"Do your best today, Duraran!"

Beneath the thick gray clouds, a familiar voice shouted an encouragement as if straight out of a manga.

The owner of that voice was a gentleman wearing morning dress that was perhaps overly formal even for this occasion.

His hair had clearly been meticulously arranged before leaving home, only to quickly become disheveled in the atmosphere of the racecourse. His expression was more fanatical than even that of a gambler placing the biggest bet of his life.

—and a cane in his hand.

Whether he was simply too invested in the racehorse or neglecting his proper duties, Sugiyama, whose company had important business underway recently, had still come to the track as the breeder's representative.

I quickened my pace slightly and approached.

"The Derby is right around the corner, Kou!"

Sugiyama's excited voice reached my ears.

"Isn't it