Chapter 47 – Jockey Chloe Likes Interesting Horses

Mornings come early at a training center.

Well, mornings come early almost anywhere connected to horse racing, but the kind of “early” here is a little different.

From the moment the day begins, everyone moves with a look that says, “Time to prepare more racehorses.”

There are horses heading for the uphill course first thing in the morning, grooms who still look half-asleep, jockeys wearing absurdly serious expressions as they hold cups of hot tea, and assistant trainers clutching crumpled newspapers while muttering things like, “He won’t move today.”

Everyone at a training center is completely serious, yet the whole place is also just a little ridiculous.

And I love places like this.

“HELLO, Okabe-saaaan!”

When I called out, a familiar, mild voice answered from farther inside.

“Good morning, Chloe-san.”

Okabe-san was as Okabe-san as ever.

His usual “seems like a nice man” air tends to hide it, but he is a frightening sort of top-class professional.

For the first time in a while, he had contacted me to say, “There’s a horse who hasn’t debuted yet that I’d like you to take a look at,” so I stopped by his stable.

When a trainer says, “I’d like you to take a quick look,” it usually means one of two things.

Sometimes, he truly only wants a little advice.

The rest of the time, it means, “I found something interesting, and you ought to see it.”

This was probably the second kind.

“So there’s an interesting horse here?”

I asked with growing excitement.

“Yes. I think he’s very interesting.”

I trusted Okabe-san’s definition of interesting.

He never exaggerated without reason.

Instead, only when something was genuinely interesting would he look just a little pleased.

That was the expression he wore now.

“Oh?”

I let my gaze drift toward the back of the stable.

Rows of stalls.

Plenty of horses snorting inside them.

But there he was.

“…That one, right?”

I pointed, and Okabe-san gave a small nod.

“You can tell?”

“Of couuurse.”

I could.

It would be a problem if I couldn’t.

In this profession, failing to understand horses can quite literally get you killed.

The horse in the stall I approached was a two-year-old bay.

I walked up to the stall.

The horse inside pricked his ears and stared at me.

Yes. Good eyes.

Beside me, Okabe-san shrugged.

“Sakurai Ranch owns him. He’s Stonebreak and Custard’s son.”

“Oh! I’ve ridden both of them.”

I had been Custard’s regular jockey.

He had been a strong one too.

Both in personality and on the track.

“You remember Stonebreak as well?”

Okabe-san sounded surprised.

“Of course I do. She was an interesting horse.”

I remembered that race quite well.

Nakayama in December.

The mare who opened an enormous lead, then somehow found another burst at the end that made me think, You still have more!?

With a faint smile, I added,

“Both an interesting horse and an interesting horse-owner boy.”

Okabe-san laughed aloud.

“He’s still ‘horse-owner boy’?”

“He’ll always be horse-owner boy. Even when he’s old, probably.”

“I can actually see that.”

You can?

He was the funny boy who had genuinely translated a horse’s warning not to get thrown off.

He’d simply walked up and said, “That’s what the horse says.”

That had been extremely entertaining.

There are a few people like that.

The sort the god of horse racing seems to favor, just a little.

And this two-year-old belonged to that horse-owner boy.

“So, what’s his name?”

When I asked, Okabe-san paused briefly before answering.

“Sakurai Rudolf.”

“WOW! They gave him one incredible name!!”

No, really.

A name is packed with a human’s hopes, prayers, ego, and all the rest.

And sometimes, people go a little overboard.

“Ha ha ha. They certainly did.”

Sakurai Rudolf.

What a name. A strong name. Far too strong a name.

It was the sort of name that would make nine out of ten racing fans respond, “Oh… wow.”

“That name carries the whole package: expectations, ambition, and romance.”

“It really does.”

I liked that sort of thing.

Giving a horse a grand name was a responsibility in its own way.

But horse racing was something you did while carrying both responsibility and romance.

So there was nothing wrong with dreaming big.

“Are you sure about it? If he loses his maiden race with that name, it’ll be a little embarrassing.”

“That’s exactly the problem.”

Okabe-san scratched his head with a laugh.

He had probably thought the same thing before.

The colt saddled with that name stared at us as though he understood that we were discussing him.

He was trying to look polite, but the words I am magnificent practically poured out from inside him.

I rested an elbow on the stall door.

“Hello, Rudolf.”

The bay gave a short neigh.

“Neigh!”

A fine answer.

Not that I understood the words.

I wasn’t horse-owner boy, after all.

But I understood the feeling.

It probably meant something like, “A pleasure to meet you. As you can see, I am an exceptionally well-mannered horse.”

You can tell a surprising amount from a horse’s ears, eyes, the angle of its neck, the way it stands, and the rhythm of its breathing.

“You seem more like a tyrant pretending to be polite.”

“Snort!?”

That reaction definitely meant, What are you talking about!?

I liked him.

I liked him very much.

“That expression is excellent.”

“Brrrr.”

“Yes, yes, I understand. You want to say, ‘Surely you don’t mean me?’”

“Neigh!”

“But deep down, you’re thinking, ‘Naturally, I stand at the very top,’ aren’t you?”

“SNORT!!”

His reactions were becoming more dramatic by the second.

Okabe-san laughed beside me.

“What do you think?”

“I like him.”

When I answered honestly, Rudolf gave a quiet snort.

He looked just a little prouder than before.

What was this? He was adorable.

“A horse like this is worth riding.”

“Isn’t he?”

A touch of pride entered Okabe-san’s voice.

Trainers almost always look a little pleased when someone praises a horse in their care.

I liked that too.

“And?”

I asked while watching Rudolf’s muzzle.

Okabe-san shrugged slightly.

“If you’re interested, we’d like you to be his regular jockey.”

“Oh.”

I’d assumed that was where this conversation was going.

Even so, hearing him say it aloud gave the offer a little more weight.

“Where will he debut?”

“We still need to discuss it with Saku-kun—no, with the owner—but the current plan is Niigata next month.”

“Niigata, huh?”

Not bad.

It was a place where horses who were still nobody could abruptly become somebody.

“Why don’t I ride him once first, then decide?”

Okabe-san nodded gently.

“That sounds fair.”

“It would be rude to Rudolf-kun if I said, ‘I’ll be your regular jockey,’ then rode him and thought, Oh, he’s more ordinary than I expected.”

“You’re very conscientious about things like that.”

“That’s because I’m top-class.”

“You say that about yourself?”

“Of couuurse.”

Rudolf interrupted with a low snort.

“Brrrrrr.”

Hm?

What was that one?

Probably something like, “What do you mean, you’ll decide after riding me? Surely one look should be enough.”

I couldn’t help laughing.

“See? He’s already complaining.”

“You feel it too?”

“Yes.”

“But I think that’s part of his appeal.”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

A horse who expects something from you is just about right.

Yes. Interesting.

Of course, horses who carry this kind of air sometimes finish their careers without ever winning a race.

That was horse racing.

But whether he succeeded or not, he was interesting.

Very.

Getting to ride interesting horses was a jockey’s privilege.

“There’s a dream in him.”

The words slipped out.

Hearing them, Okabe-san smiled again.

“A dream, huh?”

“Isn’t that what horse racing is, more or less?”

“Well, yes.”

Okabe-san smiled wryly too.

Without dreams, nobody would sacrifice this much money, time, or stomach lining.

There were plenty of other professions where you could wear yourself down, of course, but horse racing offered romance and dreams.

A quiet horse could turn into a monster.

A violent horse could become a sensitive champion.

A model student loved by everyone might stop improving.

And an obviously troublesome tyrant might travel farther than anyone imagined.

Which kind would Rudolf-kun be?

I still didn’t know.

But not knowing was what made him interesting.

To no one in particular, I murmured,

“I’ve met another strange one.”

And most likely…

I had a terrible weakness for horses like him.