At Least It Won't Be Europe Again

The morning after taking a nighttime red-eye flight back to Hokkaido.

Still bleary-eyed, he looked around. Perhaps it was an illusion, but the entire ranch seemed to be veiled in soft gauze.

The moment he opened the entrance door, sunlight streamed in through the glass window at the end of the corridor, casting a brilliant patchwork of colors across the floor.

The low table in the lounge remained silent for a long time that morning, as though yesterday's Hong Kong Sprint victory had been nothing but an illusion.

At this time in winter, sunrise was still some time away, but the bright indoor lights kept the room from feeling dim.

The instant curry by the entrance seemed tastier than usual. Even the miso soup made from instant soup packets seemed to carry a slightly different flavor.

Monday morning, the start of the week.

More precisely, the morning of the first day of the fourth week of December.

He opened the system panel before his eyes and read through it while eating breakfast.

The Advisory Team had submitted breeding recommendations for all the broodmares under his ownership in one go, including several mares already pregnant, with the exception of Zhibao, whose reproductive organs had yet to fully mature.

Several successive notification chimes drew curious looks from the staff around the table.

He unlocked his phone, then tapped the suddenly appearing red unread notifications.

As a result, none of the planned partners for the mares already in breeding had changed, including Anna and Moon Shadow, who were scheduled to be bred the following year.

So Golden Horn would at least remain the choice next year.

Aware that he would probably be criticized by outsiders, he continued reading.

Not only did the first two partners recommended for Clever Stratagem have low explosiveness, but