Chapter 13: There’s No Such Thing as a Trick to Winning a Graded Race

The training center was strangely quiet at night.

Well, to be more precise, the humans were working hard to make it quiet. Inside the stalls, things were still pretty noisy.

“I’m hungry.”

“That bastard jockey—I’m throwing him off tomorrow.”

“Hey, hey, I got whipped a ton today. You think my butt’s swollen?”

“Even if it is, your ass is too huge to tell.”

And in the middle of all that—

“Ugh, I can’t sleep.”

I—Stone Break—turned half a circle inside my stall and stopped again.

The bedding was fine. I wasn’t hungry. My legs felt okay.

But I can’t sleep.

A teasing voice came from the stall across from me.

“Well, well. What’s wrong, Stone? Don’t tell me you’re nervous about your retirement race.”

Worst, I could hear laughter coming from the next stall.

“Doesn’t suit you, Stone.”

“Shut up!”

I pinned my ears back and barked at them. I knew it wasn’t like me.

“Seriously, you’re acting all restless.”

“Failed your diet again?”

 “Wouldn’t that just be normal for her?”

“I’ll kill you.”

When I let out a low growl, and laughter erupted from the other stalls.

“…Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“…Anybody know a trick to winning a graded race?”

For a moment, the entire row of stalls fell silent.

Then laughter exploded from every direction– next door, across the hall, and even further back.

“Like hell there is!”

“If there were, we’d all be winning!”

“Put that on a racing school poster: ‘Please teach me how to win graded races!’”

“The humans would learn it before we did.”

“Yeah… figured.”

I knew it. I knew the answer already, but I just had to ask.

Damn it, how embarrassing.

Just as I tapped the floor with a forehoof—

“…Yes, there is.”

A low, strangely calm voice rolled out of the darkness.

The atmosphere changed immediately.

All the horses who had been laughing hysterically just moments ago suddenly fell silent.

“Y-You’re…!”

“Big Bro Custard!”

“well, If a horse like you says so…!”

At the far end of the stable, in the largest stall, a dark bay horse slowly lifted his head from the shadows.

Custard.

The horse who had won two G1 races this year alone. The one all the humans at the training center couldn’t stop talking about. Saying things like,

”Custard is in a league of his own.”

”Gold Farm’s greatest masterpiece.”

That horse.

Custard slowly turned to me.

“There is. But first of all, old hag Stone, why do you want to win so badly?”

“Who are you calling an old hag? I’ll kick your head off.”

The insult came out automatically, but Custard didn’t react at all.

Were all G1 winners like this? No. This guy was probably just weird.

“Answer me.”

Damn, what a pain.

But since I was asked, I might as well answer.

I snorted and looked away.

“Well… whether you idiots believe it or not.”

I could feel the other horses leaning forward.

“The kid who inherited my ranch can hear us.”

A pause.

Then, exactly as expected, laughter erupted.

“No way.”

“Humans don’t speak horse.”

“If that were true, I’d fight with my jockey a lot less.”

“Stone, did dieting fry your brain?”

“Shut up! I said you didn’t have to believe me!”

I feinted a kick, and more laughter followed.

But Custard remained silent.

Just watching me.

So I continued.

“That’s why I made up my mind.”

The stable grew quieter.

“When he translates our words, I’m going to make sure nobody laughs at him.”

“…”

Silence again.

Even the ones who had been mocking me stopped talking.

Well, yeah.

Even I thought it sounded corny.

But there’s nothing I can do about it.

It’s how I really feel.

“Is that all?”

Custard asked.

“Huh?”

“Just for the kid?”

God, this guy was annoying.

But there wasn’t much point pretending.

I snorted again and looked away.

“And, well… you know.”

Man, saying it out loud sounded lame.

But there’s no turning back now.

“My ranch is tiny and falling apart! If it doesn’t make money, it’ll disappear! And it’d suck not having a place to come home to!”

The words came out in a rush.

An awkward silence settled over the stable.

A horse across from me snorted softly.

“…well yeah.”

“I don’t like the idea of not having a place to go back to.”

“I remember when my first ranch shut down, it felt strange.”

“I remember things like the smell of the food and the feel of the straw we slept on.”

What the hell.

You guys felt that way too?

Custard narrowed his eyes slightly.

“…Not bad. Then I’ll tell you.”

“Really?!”

I practically lunged forward.

The entire stable erupted.

“WOOO! Big Bro’s Winning Seminar!”

“I need notes! I don’t have notes, but I need them!”

“I’m ready to become smarter!”

Ignoring everyone completely, Custard spoke.

“To win, you must become stronger at racing.”

“…What?”

The entire row of stalls seemed to make the same face at once.

I mean, sure.

Obviously.

But wasn’t that completely missing the point?

“Be faster. Be stronger. Be luckier. It doesn’t matter. Have more speed than anyone else. Crush the field with endless stamina. Control the race with overwhelming intelligence.”

Custard continued calmly.

The tone of his voice didn’t sound like he was joking.

“B-But that’s not all—!”

I try to protest, but Custard simply nodded.

“Of course it is. And that’s exactly what we’ve been evolving toward all this time.”

The stable became strangely quiet.

Nobody laughed.

When a horse with two G1 victories says something like that, it stops sounding like a joke.

Damn it.

It was annoyingly convincing.

“…Then…”

I growled.

“Then you’re saying there’s nothing I can do.”

“Correct.”

Custard nodded immediately.

No sympathy. No comfort. Just fact.

“But thankfully, we’ve built a world that connects to the next generation. Haven’t we?”

“…”

The next generation.

The phrase snagged in my chest like straw.

Until now, I’d only thought about my own racing career.

Well, I still did.

But back at the ranch, the foals were always making a racket and next year there’d be new foals, and the old man would probably be yelling: “Would you brats shut up already?!”

I found myself imagining it.

Custard then let out a snort of laughter.

“So do your best to earn tonight’s dinner money, old hag.”

“What did you say?!”

The emotional atmosphere shattered instantly.

Laughter erupted again.

“Big Bro’s ruthless.”

“Dinner money is important.”

“Our food comes out of human wallets.”

“It’s too realistic, I don’t like it.”

I flattened my ears in annoyance.

A shortcut to winning graded races really didn’t exist.

“…Then why do you race?”

The question slipped out.

There must be a very good reason why a horse like Custard would. Something noble like;

It’s the pride of Gold Farm, the future of Japanese horse racing, the pinnacle of bloodlines, and so on.

Something like that.

Custard lifted his chin.

“Me? Well, I owe the old men at Gold Farm. And I also enjoy winning.”

“That’s beautiful!”

“I’m in love!”

“Everything a G1 horse says sounds profound!”

The atmosphere suddenly became lively.

See? I knew it.

This was what I expected.

Class.

Dignity.

But then Custard destroyed it all.

“And most importantly, I want to become a stud stallion!”

…What?

Everyone froze.

The serious atmosphere died instantly.

Custard continued.

“Apparently if your record’s good enough, you get to pick from all the best mares! I’m gonna breed with tons of cute gray fillies!”

“…Excuse me?”

“…”

“…Ugh.”

A young colt nearby sounded genuinely horrified.

“You were so cool just a moment ago, but now you’ve ruined it.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve been consistent from the start.”

“Consistently the worst!”

“Give us our emotional moment back.”

“Yeah, refund our inspiration.”

“it’s all ruined”

The horses who had been admiring him moments ago now sounded completely disgusted.

Rattle!

What was wrong with this guy?

Weren’t G1 horses supposed to be noble creatures?

“Big Bro, you’d be more popular if you kept that to yourself.”

“Why would I need to be popular? Once I’m a stallion, they’ll come to me.”

“Ugh, the worst.”

And yet, despite everyone’s horrified reactions, I almost laughed.

All that pretentious talk about evolution and future generations, this is what we get.

But maybe this was more horse-like, in a way, than constantly trying to act cool.

Food, mares, and running.

Most of our lives revolved around those things.

CLATTER!

A door opened somewhere down the corridor.

An instant later, an outraged stablehand shouted:

“HEY! YOU LOT! HOW LONG ARE YOU GOING TO KEEP MAKING NOISE?!”

“Crap! The old man’s here!”

“Pretend to be asleep! Pretend to be asleep!”

“I’m already asleep!”

“You were literally talking just now!”

“Shut up, you’ll blow our cover!”

Straw rustled everywhere.

Every horse that had been chatting immediately froze and adopted expressions that screamed: I’ve never done anything wrong in my life.

You guys are good at coordinating when it counts.

Glancing over, I saw that even Custard had half-closed his eyes and was pretending to sleep.

Hey, you’re a G1 winner. At least have some dignity.

The stablehand walked down the aisle.

“Seriously… you’ve got training tomorrow. Keep it down.”

He grumbled to himself as he checked each stall.

Nobody moved.

Nobody made a sound.

It’s hard to believe how noisy it was just a moment ago.

Eventually, his footsteps faded away and it was just silence that remained.

After a while, the horse next to me murmured softly.

“…Gone?”

“Probably.”

“We’re safe?”

“Probably.”

“You guys really never learn, do you?”

Quiet laughter rolled across the straw.

I slowly lifted my head again.

The ceiling is still dark.

A small voice came from across the aisle.

“Stone.”

“Yeah?”

“Good luck in your next race.”

“Shut up. I don’t need you to tell me that.”

“Heh.”

Another horse spoke up.

“Go earn enough to pay for dinner.”

I couldn’t help laughing.

Damn, I thought I wouldn’t be able to sleep, but now I feel a little better.

From a distant stall, Custard’s deep voice echoed.

“Old hag Stone.”

“Stop calling me that!”

“I’m not saying you have to win. But run in a way that allows you to proudly say ‘I’m home’ when you return to your home.”

For a moment, I couldn’t answer.

Damn it.

He had to say something cool right at the end.

“…Obviously.”

I muttered quietly and closed my eyes.

In the end, I never really figured out the secret to winning a graded race.

But maybe that was fine.

There was only one thing I could do.

Run.

Run as hard as I could.

In my own way, to the limits of my own abilities.

I don’t know if it’s sushi or steak, but I’ll treat the old man and the kid to something delicious.

And then I’d go home.

Hold my head high.

And say:

“I’m back.”

Yeah.

Maybe that was enough.

No—

It was probably exactly what I needed.