64 - Episode 8: Fortitude Does Not Give Up ⑥ ~The Horse Once Called the Laughing Shock King~
"I wonder how this year's Arima will turn out."
"I heard the Magistrate is putting a lot of effort into it. The lineup is gorgeous, too."
In a corner of a public diner, two middle-aged men were chatting away while gulping down ale and nibbling on snacks.
Whether they were manual laborers or not, with their sturdy builds, tank tops, and twisted headbands, they looked exactly like men who had come for a drink after finishing work. In their hands were mugs of ale, and on the table were snacks and... a racing form purchased for two large copper coins. It contained information on the Arima, the highlight race of the coming weekend, as well as impressions from various related parties and estimated odds.
Not only tourists, but those living in Berture also enjoyed horse racing from time to time. Working, supporting a family, and taking a breather like this on an occasional day off gave them a real sense of living their lives. Even if they were busy, it was not stifling, but a fulfilling daily existence.
If they gambled every day, their funds would not last, but if they limited themselves to the big races, it was not that bad, and they could play sufficiently within the scope of their pocket money. If they won occasionally, they could treat their families to a luxurious dinner, and if they lost, they could just wait until next month, telling themselves it was their own pocket money and it could not be helped.
Regardless of their appearance, the two were engaging in gambling with a mature attitude.
"Yo, senpais."
"What is it, you?"
A voice called out to the two. When they looked, they saw a boy with long red hair tied like a horse's tail. In terms of age, he looked to be around fifteen, right around adulthood.
"I'm called Later. I arrived here a little while ago and was playing around with the highlight races, but I heard there is a big race this weekend. I wanted to hear some things from you experienced brothers. Hey, miss, an order please! Three ales and some recommended snacks!!"
It was Later. He quickly placed his order with a nearby server and took a seat at the table. The two middle-aged men gave a wry smile at his lack of hesitation, or rather, his practiced familiarity. They did not dislike this kind of brisk youth.
"You've got a good head on your shoulders, kid."
"Stop calling me kid, senpai. I'm an adult this year."
"Hah! Talking like a grown-up already. So? What do you want to know about the Arima?"
While sipping from the delivered mug, Later dropped his gaze to the racing form spread across the table.
"Let's see, first, what kind of race is it? I heard it is a Graded Race."
"Oh, if you're asking that, first we need to talk about the third son of Margrave Triad, the founder of horse racing, Lord Geoglyph Triad."
"Ah, I know about that. I heard something about military horse training as part of a push for urban development."
"You're surprisingly well-informed..."
"Eh? Well, just rumors. Now? Tell me about the Arima."
In reality, he had heard it from the man himself, but there was no need to say it aloud, so Later urged him forward.
"Originally, there was talk that it should be called the Geoglyph Cup, a commemorative anniversary race to praise Lord Geoglyph for providing such entertainment to the masses, but..."
"Pffft...!"
"Huh? What's wrong?"
"N-no, the alcohol just got stuck in my throat. And?"
Later almost spat out his ale, thinking that his companion was about to be treated like a Derby or Arima figure, but he managed to hold it in, his mouth merely twitching.
"As expected, they couldn't do it without permission, so the Bethlehem Magistrate made an inquiry, but Lord Geoglyph modestly declined. There were various discussions about whether to name it after Lord Midglyph, the next lord, but in the end, they took a name from a great person of the past and it became the Arima Memorial."
He added that he didn't know what kind of person this Arima great was, but Later knew. He was a politician famous for being a philanthropist. I see, it might be a choice typical of a former politician. Well, according to the calendar of this world, this time of year would be the Yasuda Memorial or the Takarazuka Memorial.
"The course is the inner turf 2500m of this Makayana Racecourse. The distance is long, there are six corners, and a short final straight... no matter how you look at it, it is a race that is not straightforward."
(It's exactly the Arima, Sensei... Did you just get lazy halfway through?)
Rather than getting lazy, the first reference had been Nakayama Racecourse. In that flow, he hated the idea of a Grand Prix named after himself being created, and the moment "Then make it Arima" slipped out of his mouth, his luck ran out.
Before he knew it, it turned into an anniversary race, and the participating horses were decided by fan votes or Hall of Fame Horses from previous years, transforming it into an all-star race full of fan service.
"Hmm. So, what kind of horses are running this time?"
"Oh, it's gorgeous this year. There are various ones, but above all, this guy... 'Absolute'."
"Absolute?"
"Yeah. The second six-crown horse in history, who has won every main Graded Race since last spring. The 'Absolute Emperor'... Rotringen."
As the two middle-aged men pointed to the racing form, a catchphrase read, 'Absolute Emperor Rotringen, will he achieve consecutive Arima wins!?'
"Is he strong?"
"Strong? That's an understatement. He's ridiculously strong."
The two middle-aged men, smiling wryly, spoke of his record.
In his debut race, he won with a brilliance that looked like he was just cruising. In the following condition races, he ignored the jockey's instructions, yet won easily, cutting through the front-runners as if to say, 'This is how you run.' In Graded Races, he won by showing a tremendous closing speed, shifting gears as if he knew exactly where the goal was.
And he was an absolute being who remained undefeated. Yet, he showed no signs of being a wild horse, and because of his usual quiet and elegant behavior, he was called the Absolute Emperor in emulation of the Imperial Family... and 'Absolute' as a nickname.
"Hahaha, that's incredible. Then, naturally, he's the favorite."
"Exactly, he's the overwhelming favorite. Honestly, for the past year, races he enters are called races to find the Himo."
There were still three days until the event. Since advance tickets were not yet on sale, the estimated win odds... and since it was in a medieval style with no accuracy to speak of, it was essentially a fantasy, yet it was 1.2. That is how many people believed he would win. And the middle-aged men were the same.
"So, have you decided, senpai? The Himo?"
"Hmm, let's see... I think Ascand would be good. The jockey change is a worrying factor, but Datt has a decent hand. After all, he somehow managed to ride that Fortitude."
Later reacted to the words that slipped out.
"Fortitude? What is it, a wild horse?"
"Look, this one. Estimated popularity, 18th."
"He's dead last. Then why is he even entering?"
"The Arima is said to be the grand stage for horses that are retiring, and horses that left good records in the past... those called Hall of Fame Horses have an unconditional right to enter. Well, it's a commemorative race."
Strong horses that colored that year are given a title and an invitation slot for the anniversary race by the organizers in Berture. That slot remains valid until the target horse retires, and once a retirement declaration is made, the conditions for entering the Arima are automatically met.
"Why did he become no good?"
"The year before last, his main jockey fell off... and died."
In a certain Graded Race the year before last, Rag Barclay, Fortitude's main jockey, fell. Because Fortitude was a front-runner, it worked against them, and Rag, who fell, was buried in the following pack of horses, trampled, and kicked, and by the time the race ended, it was already too late.
The cause was said to be a broken stirrup strap, but...
"There is a lot of darkness surrounding that incident. For some reason, even the Imperial Administrative Supervisor stepped in, and before we knew it, it became a fall during the race. But that was..."
It is a common occurrence. Yes, it is a common occurrence. Troubles during a race, not limited to falls, are common.
Accidents related to equipment abnormalities were not unheard of until now. However, the middle-aged men who saw it on site knew. That blood was flowing from where the broken stirrup was, namely, Fortitude's right flank. The reason they linked it to an attack from someone was that, being locals, they felt with their own skin that people called Saboteurs had become rampant.
However, such voices of doubt were erased by a single word from the supervisor.
There are questions. Doubts remain even now. But the truth is in the darkness.
"Was he a good horse?"
Later asked as if to shake off the atmosphere that had momentarily turned dark, and the two middle-aged men forced a smile.
"Oh, he's a rare Aria Horse even now. He's the other six-crown horse. He was the Hall of Fame Horse the year before last."
"He ran well, and his synchronization with the main jockey at the time, Rag Barclay, was perfect, a duo that truly suited the words 'horse and rider as one.' Since they both ran away while laughing loudly and looking like they were having fun, the name given was 'Laughing Shock King.' If that fall accident hadn't happened, he probably wouldn't be letting 'Absolute' act so high and mighty even now."
However, since that accident, Fortitude's condition had dropped visibly, and although the jockey was changed several times, no improvement was seen, and now he was regarded as a completely finished horse. In fact, even after the accident, he entered several Graded Races with different jockeys but suffered crushing defeats across the board.
And this time, using the Hall of Fame slot, he entered the Arima to make it his retirement race... but the two middle-aged men thought the result was likely already visible. Not just these two, but all the fans paying attention to the Arima. On top of that, right before this, the main jockey is riding another horse. If a substitute cannot be found, there might even be a scratch.
Still, they spoke.
Of those vivid races that Fortitude ran through with Rag Barclay.
As if to say that if it is the duty of horses to run and create legends, it is the duty of the spectators to pass those legends down.
"...Thanks, senpais. Let me settle the bill with this."
After hearing about Fortitude's past and several of his heroic tales, Later placed a few silver coins on the table and stood up.
"Oh, thanks, Later. I had fun too. It's been a while since I could talk about that Fortitude."
To that somewhat lonely tone, Later spoke without looking back.
"...Hey, senpais. As thanks for the good stories, I'll give you one piece of advice. If you buy betting tickets for the Arima this weekend, please use this as a reference."
"Hmm? What is it?"
He hadn't intended to say this. His involvement with them would surely end here. Because he didn't know what the person... no, the horse himself would choose from here on. But still.
"Fortitude will not give up. I'm sure of it."
He wanted to show a small salvation to those who had been shown the absurdity of the world.
●
Fortitude, who was dozing off while lying down in his own stable, felt a human presence and woke up for a moment. But, thinking it was probably one of the stable hands, he almost let go of consciousness again...
"Yo, Forti."
...Ah, a new person... uh, was it Later?
When he was called and looked over, there was a red-haired boy.
"I'm taking this."
Ah. My carrot!
Later, wearing a smile like the usual brat, borrowed a carrot from the feeding box placed at the stable entrance and began to munch on it.
"Don't be so stingy. If you win the next race, you can eat as many as you want."
It's impossible... for the next race, there's no one to ride me.
That was the truth, and that was the reason he was sulking.
No matter how much Fortitude prepared himself, he could not enter if there was no jockey. Unlike ordinary horses, they, the Aria Horses, who have thought-transmission abilities, can understand human language and, consequently, understand the rules of horse racing laid down by humans. That is why he knew that, in the current situation, he could not enter the Arima Memorial.
Misora was running around considering this, but it had not led to favorable results. Three days left until the Arima Memorial. By then, he needed to find a jockey and, at the very least, have them adjust to his way of running. However, a substitute was not easily found, and the influential jockeys were already preparing to challenge the Arima with their own horses.
Even for jockeys who were not, they would not want to ride Fortitude, who was considered a finished horse, and needlessly damage their own careers.
And Fortitude had no means to change this current situation. Having reached a point where there was nothing left to do or that should be done, he was sulking.
"Do you really think so?"
Because... even if I could run, I...
Later sighed at Fortitude, who hesitated. He had made preparations for the race. He had the record, and the understanding and resolve provided by an Aria Horse's intelligence. But, in some part of his heart, he was currently relieved.
Because.
"...Are you afraid of killing your jockey?"
...!
Because if he didn't run, he wouldn't make them fall.
"I heard. The jockey before the previous one... Rag Barclay died in a fall accident at the Arima two years ago."
No! That wasn't an accident!
"Heh?"
At Fortitude's strong denial, Later crossed his arms and urged him forward.
At that time, the stirrup suddenly snapped and flew away. Magic was fired. I knew it from the flow of magical power.
"A Saboteur, huh?"
I knew. I could see it. A little more. If I could have warned Rag just a little bit sooner. Just one step, one step would have been enough. If I could have shifted to the side... Rag wouldn't have died. The one who shot was a Saboteur. But the one who let him die... the one who killed him, was me.
In that race, at the third corner, he received attack magic. After all, it was during a race, and for him, a front-runner, the part until the final corner was the decisive part. Therefore, Fortitude's body, which had gained too much speed along the way, could not perform a delicate control to avoid it immediately, yet he somehow twisted his body.
Was it because of that, or was it despite that... he didn't know now.
But, as a result, the stirrup leather strap was cut, and Rag Barclay, who lost his support, fell and disappeared into the following pack of horses.
It was me... the one who let Rag die.
When they met next, his lifelong partner had become a silent figure. The sense of loss, the regret, the resignation of that time, Fortitude could still remember them as if they were yesterday.
"So, a 'murderer', huh. Is that why you're losing on purpose? Because if you lose, the jockey won't be targeted."
...
When asked if it was on purpose, Fortitude did not want to nod. But, in reality, it was as if he were losing on purpose. Every time that corner approached, every time he was in the lead, that scene from that time inevitably flashed through his mind.
He wondered if he would lose them again. Hesitation steals speed. Therefore, the advantageous distance he gained halfway was useless in the final straight, and Fortitude would sink into the pack of horses. He had been repeating such things for over a year. He could not give it his all. If he did, he might lose them again. If the spectators knew he was decelerating, the Saboteurs might not lay a hand on him. That is why he could not run seriously.
"You're a kind guy. But, aren't you frustrated? ...Laughing Shock King."
That, is...
That was the proof of life given to Fortitude.
The pride of having met Rag Barclay, after being abandoned by the herd because he was born with a weak body, and then fighting together.
"I heard about your footprints. You were winning quite flashily, weren't you? Together with Rag Barclay."
A rare Aria Horse. And a horse that had a chance at the first seven-crown in the history of Berture horse racing.
"It's unfortunate, but Rag Barclay is no longer here. No matter how much you wish, dead people do not come back to life."
Everyone had expected him. They had believed in him.
"But, you can offer something to him. What about you, Fortitude? Can you show your current self, that appearance, to your former partner with your chest held high? Do you still want to keep losing?"
It had been a long time since he could no longer run seriously. Even next time, there was no guarantee he could run properly.
Still.
I don't want to lose...
He didn't want to lose in the only field he could be proud of.
I don't want to tell a lie...
He didn't want to betray everyone's expectations and trust.
I don't want to be unable to laugh...!
And above all... he didn't want the story that Fortitude and Rag had built together to end in this way.
"Do you not want to give up?"
Yes...
The trend was already being decided.
"Do you want to run seriously once more?"
Yes...
Malice originating from desire becomes absurdity and breaks them like glass, and if one tries to draw a picture again with the gathered fragments, it will likely bare its fangs in the same way.
"For the very end, do you want to win with a laugh?"
Yes...!
If he still did not want to give up and intended to resist the absurdity...
"Alright, decided! I've decided, Forti!"
W-what is it?
An idiot who couldn't stand by and watch decided to participate.
When Later struck his fist against his palm, it echoed loudly in the stable. Fortitude recoiled at the sheer volume, and the surrounding horses also began to make a fuss, wondering what was happening. As if it were some kind of signal, Later's presence changed greatly.
"In the retirement race four days from now, use me as your roof. If this is the last one, so that you can run through the final flower path with a laugh..."
Fortitude, who was born in the wild, knew that presence. The storm-like roughness seen when a usually quiet large herbivore is enraged because the herd was messed with. That shudder-inducing ruthlessness did not back down at all even if the opponent was a carnivore, overturning the absurdity of being eaten and imposing the absurdity of the weight difference.
"The absurdity that stands in your way, I'll smash it with our absurdity."
But the storm he saw in his childhood was, this time, something that protected Fortitude and pushed his back.