KTSR | Chapter 9

A little later, Ijin stood in the paddock. If this had been an official racetrack, the audience could have adjusted their bets based on the condition of the horses, but that wasn’t possible here. Only additional betting was allowed, and the amount had to be higher than the initial bet.

However, despite such rules, additional betting was quite frequent.

Ijin reached out and stroked Clover’s rump. The muscles moved evenly without any bulging. The amount of sweat was also just right.

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“It’s okay. Instead of worrying about what I said a little while ago, just keep your eyes forward and run. Just do what you’ve been doing.”

Ijin whispered gently, worried that he might have put too much pressure on Clover earlier.

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And there was a gaze carefully following Ijin.

“Is your seat comfortable, sir? Are you comfortable?”

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The boss, whom Ijin had never seen before, bowed his head and whispered to Hyungdo Kwon, who was wearing an Aloha shirt and looking somewhat tense. Hyungdo, who could easily be the age of the manager’s eldest son, lowered his small binoculars and leaned back slightly.

“Do you usually spend this time so boringly?”

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“Excuse me?”

“It’s the time when the jockeys and horses walk slowly. You should give us something to see at this time.”

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Hyungdo rubbed his chin and then smiled broadly.

“Show the riders, for example.”

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“That… there’s room for cops or the riders’ acquaintances to interfere.”

“Who said anything about faces?”

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Hyungdo thought that it was almost impossible for the boss to think something would go wrong here without his knowledge. Since he had been sent here suddenly from above, the boss would be obedient on the surface but cautious underneath. Thus, Hyungdo decided to appear like a savior sent from above to make this place even more prosperous. He tapped the binoculars with his index finger.

“The body is the product. And the jockeys’ bodies are well-built. Cover their faces. It’s better to cover them. And make the jockey outfits tighter.”

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“Well, we tried to do that, but those bitches complained it was too hard…”

“Hey.”

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Hyungdo flicked his thumbnail at the boss’s idle chatter.

“Can’t you speak without swearing? We have to move to bigger waters, and if you stink from your mouth, even in a suit, you can’t get rid of the cheap vibe. I can’t help you that far.”

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Despite wearing a frivolous shirt instead of a suit, Hyungdo was giving advice.

“Yes, sir. I’ll correct it.”

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The boss, standing straight with his arms and hands at his sides, quickly answered. Then, after gauging the mood, he cautiously asked.

“Then… about the plan the previous boss had, shall we sell the rider tickets…?”

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“No.”

Hyungdo mumbled with a cigarette in his mouth.

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Even from a short conversation, it was clear that the boss had ambition and greed. Well, why would a gangster be one if they didn’t have those? They live by their bluff and die by it. The more greed, the more points there are to exploit, so Hyungdo quietly smiled, thinking the work would go smoother.

The red light of the cigarette flickered as he leaned to light it, creating an even more dangerous atmosphere.

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“Spread the rumor that we’re selling them. It’s nonsense, but let the less reliable people spread it to give some hope. Don’t actually sell the tickets. How long are we going to keep smelling like horse dung? We should sell other things with the riders.”

Leaning back, Hyungdo lifted one corner of his mouth in a mocking smile and exhaled smoke with a ‘huh’.

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“Once there’s a possibility of a product, interest will gather. They’ll buy other tickets while waiting for these uncertain ones. Well… we could sell things other than tickets. Don’t you think so, boss?”

Hyungdo threw out the bait subtly.

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The boss nodded enthusiastically. His eyes were full of envy and jealousy towards the much younger man. As Hyungdo tapped his foot on his thigh, the muscles around his ankle moved elastically. Humming an outdated pop song, he picked up his binoculars again. In his view, the toned thighs of a man wearing a black helmet came into focus.

A lot of procedures were omitted. First off, there’s no drug testing. What does honesty matter here? If you want to use drugs, go ahead, but be prepared for the aftermath if you get caught, and deal with losing your horse because of it. That’s how it was.

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Moreover, buying tickets without seeing the horse’s condition and then adjusting refunds or losses based on how the horse performed was significantly different. Despite this frustrating system, gamblers flocked because, despite the high minimum bets, the basic odds were much higher. Plus, like they were imitating the Colosseum, they gave out hotel vouchers and sauna tickets to those who lost everything, as if to say, “Come back again.”

“The number 7 horse looks good today, weight-wise. I thought it would struggle because it was lighter for the last few weeks.”

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“Is that the number 7? The one with the tight-ass horse and jockey?”

“The horses are good, but they’re a bit tricky. I bet on number 6 and number 1.”

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“I’m going with 7. It’ll come in second today as a late charger.”

The gamblers, hiding their slicked-back hair under deeply pulled hats, whispered. No matter how much they try to conceal the jockeys’ identities with uniforms, gamblers with keen eyes share certain information.

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Thus, the odds were set without the jockeys’ knowledge, and after their warm-up on the track, the jockeys and horses took their positions. Without any broadcast, the race was only conducted on-site, communicated through low-frequency radio communications. This was why gamblers each carried old radios.

“I can do this.”

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Ijin muttered. Just before the signal, his blood flow increased, and his heart raced like mad. His vision narrowed like the blinders on Clover, focusing only on the path ahead, his concentration peaking to the point where he could hear his own heartbeat.

“I can do this.”

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Ijin muttered again.

While the jockeys risked their lives running, the thug acting as the starter was chewing gum loudly. The guy, blocking one ear and standing crookedly, fired an absurd gun that spat out paper confetti. With a ‘bang’, the gate opened, and Ijin’s world became very simple. The only thing that mattered was reaching the finish line faster than anyone else.

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“Come in.”

With the taste of dust in his mouth, Ijin was pushed roughly from behind, making him stumble into the room.

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Ijin, nearly falling, managed to hold onto a sturdy table covered with green non-woven fabric and glass.

“Seon Ijin, are you out of your mind?”

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Ijin looked up at the team leader’s tense voice.

And unlike usual, instead of the usual thugs, he saw the boss and the man in the gaudy shirt he had seen before the race.

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“Why is he here…?”

Ijin muttered, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. The team leader asked, “Seon Ijin, what did you say?”

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“Nothing.”

Shaking his head, Ijin stood up straight, with a jockey on either side of him, the first and third place winners.

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Ijin had come in second today.

“Good job today. Choose your practice time.”

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The team leader threw a yellow folder. The first-place jockey quickly grabbed it and wrote his name first. Then came the third-place jockey. It was clear they were leaving Ijin out.

Ijin stood awkwardly in an awkward spot, flinching under the uncomfortable stares.

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Ijin snatched the pen from the third-place jockey and scribbled his name for the 4 PM practice slot, trying to ignore the stares.

“Hey, fuck, I grabbed it first.”

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“You should have the right to write second if you got second place.”

Ijin said calmly, turning his head to look into space.

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The man, seeing Ijin’s soldier-like posture, opened his mouth slightly and exhaled a donut-shaped puff of smoke.

His gaze slowly slid down from Ijin’s neck. Like a viscous liquid, it skimmed his straight neck, the collar of his jockey outfit, the fabric tight like a tailored suit but showing signs of wear, and then turned even more blatant and persistent when it reached the white riding pants. His gaze ground against Ijin’s thighs like sandpaper.

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“…”

Ijin swallowed dryly. Here, he was used to being watched by many, but this man’s gaze was different, making him highly uncomfortable. It felt like being stripped bare.

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Yet, it was different from the usual lustful looks of the thugs, making it hard to pin down exactly what it was.

‘What the hell is with that guy?’

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If he were just a gambler or a tout, there’s no way he’d be here. Only those who’ve borrowed money here and ruined their lives end up here, and they wouldn’t be as relaxed as this man.

Ijin, despite the many people in the office, found himself only paying attention to this man.

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The man had his arms over the back of the sofa, one leg crossed so his ankle rested on his thigh, revealing part of a tattoo under the hem of his pants. When their eyes met, Ijin quickly turned his head away, followed by the sound of the man’s laughter.