On the night of the 22nd, Kitano suffered from insomnia for the first time in a long while.
The last time he had been this nervous was the day he received his veterinary license.
Ever since learning the results of the gate draw from Teacher Tanaka a few days ago, his thoughts had begun spreading like wild weeds.
Closing his eyes, Kitano repeatedly reminded himself, If I keep staying up late, my hairline will eventually recede higher than those guys in the medical department.
The bedroom quickly returned to silence.
Ten minutes later, Kitano opened his eyes again.
Though he knew that pouring himself a glass of warm water, taking a sleeping pill, and going back to sleep would undoubtedly be the wisest choice, he still reached for the phone beneath his pillow.
The glow from the screen made Kitano squint instinctively.
To protect his eyes, he turned on the bedside lamp.
Using his phone while lying down was bad too.
Then he might as well sit up.
With that, the little sleepiness he had left vanished completely.
A sudden urge to say something rose within him.
He opened the app called "X."
A notification for an update popped up.
While the app updated, Kitano struggled to think of what to post.
He was not the sort of person who casually put his life on display on social media.
Nor was he particularly gifted with words.
He could not naturally type out a long string of predictions or expectations before a race like other horse owners did.
Even as the screen gradually dimmed, Kitano still had no idea what to write.
"How do you become a qualified horse owner?"
In the end, he wrote down his question.
As a rookie horse owner in his first cycle, he genuinely longed for an answer.
He tapped send.
Though it was already late at night, the post quickly received likes.
Besides his university mentors and classmates, quite a few livestock industry workers and people affiliated with veterinary associations followed his account.
From time to time, he answered medical questions about livestock on X.
Perhaps because of that, he had accumulated a certain number of followers among breeders and veterinary students.
But Kitano had no intention of using that to make a name for himself. Even his profile remained blank, just as it had been when he first registered.
Apart from the casual likes, the post itself soon fell silent.
The few scattered replies were merely words of envy or flattery from juniors and underclassmen who were still awake.
Kitano suddenly felt sleepy.
Just as he was about to lie back down, a notification popped up saying he had received a reply.
It was a somewhat lengthy post.
[@seiun0005: As far as being a horse owner itself goes, isn't having money enough? (lol) But if you want to go further and become what people call a "qualified horse owner," that probably starts getting difficult. You have to seriously consider not only the Racehorse themselves, but also the farms, Jockeys, Trainers, stablehands, farriers, and even the fans. Just figuring out how to deal with all those people with different demands would probably be enough to rack your brain.]
Judging from the profile picture, he was clearly an elderly man.
Impressive that you can still stay up this late.
"Then how should one act like a qualified horse owner on race day?"
With a humble desire to learn, Kitano continued asking beneath the post.
A reply came quickly.
[@seiun0005: When my father was still alive, he often taught me to show respect for the race itself. If you do not have much of an idea, why not try approaching it with as sincere an attitude as possible?]
After thanking the old man, Kitano lay back down.
"A sincere attitude..."
It was 4:53 the next morning.
Before the alarm began making noise, Ochiai opened his eyes.
Local Jockeys usually did not need to worry like their central counterparts about oversleeping and missing a race.
Even so, on race days, he always set an alarm for exactly five in the morning.
Then woke before it went off.
Standing before the mirror with toothpaste squeezed onto his brush, his brain, which had only just started functioning again, immediately began considering today's races.
The first race was a two-year-old mixed maiden race starting at 2:35 in the afternoon. His mount was the slightly lazy type.
The distance was exactly one thousand meters. Without an advantageous gate, he might have to use the whip early and apply an appropriate amount of pressure.
Then came the second race, restricted to two-year-old fillies.
The distance was a somewhat longer eleven hundred meters, and his gate was number ten on the far outside.
The horse had plenty of fighting spirit, but its ability was not especially outstanding.
After discussing it with Trainer Oguni Hiroyuki, they had decided on a somewhat aggressive strategy.
The third race was also a two-year-old maiden, over one thousand meters, with gate number six toward the outside of the middle.
There was nothing in particular to worry about regarding the horse itself. Judging from its training, it was even better prepared than quite a few undisciplined three-year-olds.
But its ability was likewise not particularly exceptional, and its physical development had fallen short of expectations.
With a gate like this, he would have to stay fully alert from the opening moments.
If the pack squeezing in from both sides delayed it at the break, it could easily turn into a crushing defeat.
Fourth race, fifth race, sixth race... Only after going through all nine of today's races did Ochiai's attention return to reality.
The foam in his mouth had dwindled to the point of being barely noticeable.
After spitting out the remaining foam, he quickly wiped his face with a towel that was not fully wet yet.
He ate a plain sandwich with half a glass of ice water.
Then he began his morning workout.
During a break, Ochiai scrolled through his phone.
Most of his feed was filled with information related to Racehorse.
He casually reposted Derby predictions from his idol, Jockey Andohara.
After showering, he changed into a rather serious-looking black tracksuit.
Then he put on a black trench coat over it.
Before leaving, he meticulously checked his shoelaces.
This sort of attire often drew teasing from his colleagues.
Even central Jockeys dressed fairly casually before officially starting work.
Quite a few of them even left home wearing slippers.
Changing between several outfits was completely unnecessary trouble.
In that regard, local Jockeys, who only needed to wear the same racing silks even when riding several races in a row, occasionally drew envy from their central counterparts.
Picking up his bag, Ochiai left the Jockey dormitory.
He rode his bicycle, and the already short distance to the track passed in the blink of an eye.
After changing into his gear and briefly greeting the staff in front of the preparation room, Ochiai chose a spot where he would not be easily disturbed and sat down.
Some people chose to ease their pressure or pass the time by chatting, but he was not that type.
When race time came, Jockeys in colorful silks rose one after another and began heading toward the parade ring.
Ochiai's yellow-and-black silks blended into the crowd as well.
Amid the commentary and camera shutters, he vaulted onto the horse's back.
Feeling the jostling beneath him, Ochiai pressed his lips tightly together.
The race was about to begin.