KTSR | Chapter 23

He wasn’t sure about the condition of the arena, where the sand had been freshly laid, but one thing was certain—today was definitely not an auspicious day.

The humidity was high. That was rare for a day teetering on the edge of winter.

As Ijin exhaled, he absentmindedly wondered when his breath had started coming out visible in the air. Then another thought hit him—had it really been almost three years since he was dragged into this place? The realization left him feeling strangely unsettled.

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Clover didn’t like humid weather.

It seemed like the other horses felt the same. The arena felt damper than the outside, filled with the sound of their restless pawing against the ground in protest.

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“Why the hell are they doing a doping test all of a sudden?”

Ijin mumbled, stroking Clover’s neck as if comforting both the horse and himself.

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Peeking around Clover’s hindquarters, he caught a glimpse of Woo Cheolyong’s head just barely visible on the other side.

Even after checking and replacing Clover’s worn-out horseshoes, Woo Cheolyong still wasn’t leaving. That was strange enough, but even stranger was the sudden pretense of integrity in this shitshow of a horse racing colosseum, where everything usually ran on chaos.

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Ijin had never even thought of drugging his horse, so he wasn’t worried about the test. But still—it was unexpected.

“Hey, hyung, seriously. Why the sudden test?”

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One of the jockeys raised his voice. He was the rider of Mai Dolpung, a horse that had recently been on a winning streak.

“The higher-ups changed. Underlings just do what they’re told.”

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An older jockey, one of the more seasoned ones, puffed on his cigarette and responded indifferently.

Ijin absently fidgeted with his pocket. There was a pack of cigarettes inside—one he’d gotten from Kim Jaeman. After some hesitation, he pulled one out and placed it between his lips.

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The older jockey gave him a glance before stepping over and lighting it for him.

“Look at you. You never used to smoke. Guess you’ve finally gotten soaked in this place.”

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“Don’t say something so damn depressing, ajusshi.”

Ijin snapped back, but then mumbled under his breath, “…Thanks for the light, though.”

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Kim Jaeman smoked the strong stuff.

Ijin coughed as the harsh smoke punched his throat, but still, he smoked the entire thing to the end.

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“Done, Ijin. You can take him to the parade ring now.”

Woo Cheolyong peeled off his gloves and tossed them into the trash, then called out to the other jockeys.

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One by one, the riders ran to their horses, patting their necks. One of them, a jockey a year younger than Ijin, was practically shaking, like he’d just been reunited with a loved one after being separated in a war.

Ijin caught sight of the scene for just a second before turning back to Clover.

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“You did great.”

He whispered softly, and as if understanding, Clover’s delicate ears twitched.

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“It’s a hassle to piss when nothing comes out, huh? And having to do it in front of people, no less.”

Whenever he said things like that, the stable workers would laugh, saying, What would a horse know about shame?

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That was a long time ago. Back when those kinds of jokes came with genuine laughter.

The aftertaste of those memories was bitter.

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Seon Ijin, assigned number 5 today, was the fifth to lead Clover out. Clover’s weight was the same as last week. However, when measured together with Ijin in the saddle, the combined weight had decreased ever so slightly. That meant one thing—jockey Seon Ijin had lost weight.

Maybe that was why. The tight, uncomfortable riding suit that had always felt restrictive now fit him like his own clothes. The jockeys ahead of him still seemed uncomfortable, wriggling their hips and thighs as they walked, trying to adjust their tight pants.

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As soon as they entered the parade ring, a storm of frenzied shouts erupted.

“Number 5! I bet on Number 5 today! You better run well! Do it right!”

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“Number 1! My grandpa, who passed away last night, picked this number! You bastard, if you’re wrong, you’re dead!”

“Number 7’s got the best-looking ass today!”

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Horses were sensitive creatures. If people screamed like that, they got stressed. Ijin’s face scrunched up in annoyance.

Clover, whose hooves were especially hard, seemed to like his new horseshoes but was still getting used to them, stopping and starting as he walked. That immediately triggered a wave of cursing.

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“You son of a bitch, Number 5! What the fuck is wrong with your condition?! If you’re messing with me, you’re dead! I’ll chase you to the ends of the earth and turn you into paste!”

“Ahahaha, Number 5 is screwed. What kind of horse is that? Looks like a damn slug!”

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As if they even had the money to chase him to the ends of the earth.

Ijin whispered to Clover, Don’t listen to them. You’re the best horse out here.

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Leaving behind that garbage parade ring, they stepped onto the racetrack.

Today, Ijin’s target rank was fourth place. Not last, but also not in the high rankings that Kwon Hyeongdo had mentioned—just the perfect spot. Of course, races never went exactly as planned. Aiming for fourth place was actually harder than aiming for first.

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Still, Ijin had an advantage. Despite being taller than most jockeys—a physical disadvantage in the sport—his instincts were razor-sharp. He had an uncanny ability to determine the perfect positioning and route for his horse. And he could sense the right moment to spur forward with incredible precision. In his debut year, he hadn’t set the best record with the strongest horse—he had done it with a no-name horse.

In other words, he could make sure Clover didn’t win first place but still placed in the upper middle ranks.

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“Fourth place. Clover, let’s go for fourth. It’s easier than first, and at least it’s not humiliating like last. You can do it, right? Hm?”

Clover must have understood his desperate whispering. He could be a little picky, but he had always understood Ijin’s feelings.

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Ijin slowly scanned the racetrack. The doping tests weren’t the only new addition. A few rookie gangsters stood at intervals, holding cameras.

That was new.

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Something was definitely changing.

And the one pulling the strings was probably that man.

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Ijin’s eyes locked onto the VIP box. From here, he couldn’t see the other side, but from over there, they could definitely see him. He could practically picture Kwon Hyeongdo sitting like a king, lording over everything despite being a piece of human trash.

Fine. He’d place fourth just to shut that loud mouth of his.

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Ijin gripped his riding crop tightly.

***

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[Number 3, Number 3 is leading the turn! At the front, it’s Number 1, Number 3, and Number 8. Hot on their heels are Number 9, Number 2, and Number 7. In the lower ranks, the standout horse is Number 5, Number 5!]

As the rapid-fire race commentary blasted through the speakers, the crowd erupted in cheers. Clutching their betting slips, they screamed out their chosen numbers, practically spitting with excitement. Their eyes looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets.

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The noise was deafening, but none of it reached Ijin’s ears.

Hanging back in the lower ranks, he watched for an opening. Then, with the finish line just ahead, he made his move. It was like seeing a highlighted path marked out in neon—his route was clear. Ijin gritted his teeth and urged Clover forward. With a snort of hot breath, Clover kicked off the packed dirt and surged ahead.

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[Oh! Number 5! Number 5 is suddenly shooting forward like crazy! It’s like someone fed him an aphrodisiac—he’s running with drool dripping from his mouth!]

Of course, the crude commentary came from none other than the team leader of Colosseum.

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[Look at that! The jockey must be desperate! Number 5—everyone, watch Number 5! The way he’s swinging that riding crop, I’m starting to worry he’s going to smack his own ass instead of the horse’s!]

But the chatter was oddly excessive today.

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The VVIP section listened to the commentary with sneering smirks. Bringing up a jockey’s backside in the middle of a race? That had to be linked to the recently circulated photo catalog.

[Ohhh! Number 5 overtakes Number 7! He’s passed Number 2 as well! Will he pull off a miracle and come from the lower ranks to take first place?! Or will his streak end here?!]

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Ijin clenched his teeth.

A nose difference—that’s what determined victory in horse racing. The deciding factor was which horse’s nose crossed the line first.

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His fingers went numb from gripping the reins, and his thighs screamed from pressing down on the stirrups as he practically stood on the saddle. And then—he shouted.

“Uwaaaah!”

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A nose difference.

[Number 3, Number 1, Number 9! And in fourth place—Number 5! The winner is Number 3! Second place goes to Number 1! Third place—Number 9!]

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And just like that, Ijin finished in fourth place.

***

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Upon seeing Ijin’s final ranking, Kwon Hyeongdo burst into a long, roaring laugh.

The chief executive officer watched him with wide eyes, waiting for the laughter to die down, but it showed no signs of stopping. Kwon Hyeongdo slapped his rock-hard thighs as he laughed, then suddenly shouted—

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“Where the hell did something like that come from?!”

His eyes gleamed as he spoke. The chief executive officer looked bewildered.

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“Uh… Who? You mean Number 3?”

“Seon Ijin!”

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Kwon Hyeongdo leaned forward, his eyes practically glistening.

“Are your eyes just for decoration? Who else in that race was a real thing besides Seon Ijin?! Number 5!”

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“Seon Ijin? But that bastard only managed to come in fourth place.”

“Exactly. And that’s what makes it impressive.”

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Slumping back into his chair, Kwon Hyeongdo rubbed his chin.

There was a reason no one had found something like this before. He had been locked away in this godforsaken prison of a place—hidden from sight.

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Kwon Hyeongdo understood perfectly why Seon Ijin had lingered in the lower ranks for most of the race, only to surge forward at the last moment and then stop at fourth place.

He had been watching Ijin the entire time. The way his riding crop hesitated except when chasing. And when he had the perfect chance to aim for third place, he pulled back again.

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By avoiding the lower ranks, he stayed clear of Ppochi’s betting schemes. But by also avoiding the top ranks, he made sure not to attract too much attention to himself. That level of scheming was impressive on its own—but the fact that he actually pulled it off was what made him the real deal.

“…Damn. That’s the first time I’ve felt bad for someone.” Kwon Hyeongdo muttered sincerely.

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Growing up in an orphanage where the director’s “discipline” had been nothing more than a cover for brutal abuse, he had never pitied anyone before.

“He’s got talent. He’s got brains. But he’s broken. His life is already fucked.”

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He sighed, then turned to the chief executive officer.

“So? Where the hell did you find a guy like that? Colosseum’s more interesting than I thought. Yeah. Much more interesting.”

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Kwon Hyeongdo’s eyes gleamed. He had come to this place expecting a boring detective game—but now, he was intrigued. So much so that his excitement looked almost innocent.

“T-Thank you, sir. Then… about the next time the Chairman visits… If that happens, could I possibly…?”

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But before the chief executive officer could even finish his sentence, Kwon Hyeongdo shot up from his seat and strode out of the VIP box.

“…That little punk has no manners.”

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The chief executive officer grumbled at Kwon Hyeongdo’s retreating figure. But at this point, he was just a dog chasing after a chicken—left empty-handed and with nothing to do.