**Chapter 3: First Live Viewing of a Race**
The air vibrated with anticipation, a low hum that pulsed through the stands as the announcer's voice crackled over the speakers.
"The vanguard pushes from turn four toward the final straight! Seventh-place Stella holds the inside lane, but Fourth-place Eiichi is closing in from the outside!"
Around Kitano, the crowd erupted, a sea of horse enthusiasts waving lottery tickets like flags of fleeting hope.
It was just a local race—a modest event for three-year-old horses yet to claim a victory—but the fervor rivaled the year-end Arima Kinen. Gambling, Kitano thought, had a way of unraveling people, turning quiet spectators into shouting zealots. He sat still, his hands folded in his lap, watching the chaos unfold.
The horses thundered into view, kicking up clouds of white sand that shimmered like fresh snow under the floodlights. The sound was overwhelming—not the polished rumble of a televised broadcast but a raw, earth-shaking roar, like an F1 car tearing through Spoony Bend.
Before Kitano could fully process the sight, the horses blurred past, their hooves a fleeting drumroll against the track. Even someone who knew nothing of racing would feel their pulse quicken at the sheer force of it.
"Eiichi crosses the finish line first!" the announcer bellowed. "Second place to Biluvica, eighth, a length or two behind. Third place, Angel's Heart, third."
The notice board flickered, cementing the results. A cheer went up, followed by a cascade of torn tickets fluttering through the air like confetti for the defeated. Groans and curses mingled with the din.
The winning rider, Hattori Shigeshi, patted Eiichi's flank, pulled off his goggles, and waved to the crowd. Most were too caught up in their own disappointment to notice, and the few who waved back were quickly swallowed by the noise.
Kitano watched it all, a quiet observer on the edge of the frenzy. A strange feeling stirred in his chest—something between awe and longing. He'd grown up in a family steeped in horse racing, but this was his first time seeing it in person. The screen couldn't capture the dust, the sound, the raw energy of it all. It was overwhelming, yet it felt like the beginning of something.
[Watch a Horse Race Live: 1/1 (Completed).]
The system's notification flashed in his mind, a small victory in a day full of noise. He stood, the clamor of the stands fading into a dull hum as he made his way toward the exit.
Despite wearing his title—[Aspiring Horse Owner]—he hadn't made a single industry connection today. The system, like most things in life, wasn't generous with its rewards. Still, he couldn't bring himself to unequip the title. The faint bonus it offered was better than nothing.
By the time he reached his clinic, the sky had deepened to a bruised purple. Local races, even the early ones, spilled into the evening, leaving the track bathed in the harsh glow of floodlights. The stereotype of dusty tracks and drunken spectators wasn't far off, Kitano thought. He'd seen it firsthand now, and there was no denying the truth of it.
Local horse racing, once a vibrant thread in Hokkaido's culture, had faded since its heyday in the '80s and '90s. The horses, the facilities, the very spirit of it—all paled in comparison to the central circuits. Even the National Association of Local Racing Horses' website felt like a relic, its clunky interface a stark contrast to the polished JRA site.
Kitano had spent far too long navigating it, hunting for details on owner registration. He wasn't ready to take that step—not yet. He knew too little about racing, and diving in blindly could ruin him.
"Selecting a racehorse is its own problem," he muttered, rubbing his temples. His [Horse Selection] skill sat at a dismal C-rank, and his [Inspiration] was an even worse E. With his eye for horses, he'd be lucky to pick a decent one in a decade, let alone a lifetime. Improving [Inspiration] was a mystery he hadn't cracked.
He opened the system panel, its faint glow illuminating the dim clinic. After a moment's hesitation, he traded a week's worth of green amulets for a [Detector]—a tool that could reveal a horse's basic or reproductive attributes. It wasn't cheap, and with only three uses, it felt like a gamble in itself.
[Maximum three uses per horse,] the note read. He studied the panel, searching for more guidance, but found none. The [Detector] was his only real shot at choosing a horse, but its cost made his stomach twist. One use could probably buy a horse outright.
Flipping through [Excellent Horse] Kitano scanned the pages for anything that might help. The clinic was quiet—no calls for house visits tonight, a rare mercy.
He locked up and walked the short distance to his house, a single-family home that felt too big for one person. It had passed through many hands, its fixtures worn but functional. Hokkaido's thinning population meant the air was crisp and clean, and even Kitano, who cleaned only when the mood struck, managed to keep the place tidy.
"I'm back," He said to the empty house, more out of habit than expected. He slipped on his worn slippers, fumbling for the light switch. The room bloomed into brightness, chasing away the shadows. The kettle hissed softly as it warmed, and Kitano stood by the window, staring into the mottled night.
A yawn escaped him, then another. The day had been long—loud, chaotic, and strangely exhilarating. He thought of the race, the thundering hooves, the fleeting thrill of possibility. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
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