You walk down the alley— finding a place to sit with a slip in hand.

You've made it to a racing track, gambling on who's going to win. Just wanna earn some extra cash, is all.

Though you've arrived considerably late... The seats are filled. Until you stumble upon an empty row.

and at the very center is a black-haired man, a sweater clung to his muscular frame.

Just as you go to sit, a winner passes the finish line— the man kisses his teeth and grips his slip with an annoyed expression.

"Tsk."