Starting a new chapter in his life as a student in Tokyo, Haru never expected his world to be turned upside down. Across the street, he encounters Fujiwara, an aloof and enigmatic young man with a mysterious past. As Haru grapples with unfamiliar em...
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"Takeru! Your friend's waiting!"
Father's voice echoed from downstairs. I closed the book I was reading. A friend? I didn't really have friends. I knew some kids at school, but none of them were close enough to just drop by my house like this supposed "friend" downstairs. Could it be Tachibana, showing up to tell Father how I suck I was on the rink the other day?
I hurried downstairs, thinking how to respond to Father. I could hear his laughter boomed through the corridor, indicating he was in a good mood.
In the living room, I spotted Fujiwara lounging on the sofa, chatting with Father. That scene looked surreal.
"Hey!" His grin widened as he saw me. "You ready?"
Ready for what? "I beg your pardon?"
"This guy, I tell ya!" Father chuckled and gestured toward the gear bag and hockey sticks by Fujiwara's side. "Fujiwara-kun's here to take you to practice, son. It's not polite to keep him waiting. Now, get moving!"
Father shooed me before continued chatting with Fujiwara. I caught Fujiwara smiling when Father bombarded him with questions about his family's recent move to Misawa.
"Knock 'em dead!" Father hollered as we stepped out from the house. "Furiibu's calling! Just two more years, boys!"
We bid our farewells and hit the street. The sky above was washed-out blue, near white – winter had washed off its vibrancy. The air stung, every breath shapeshifted into a frosty puff lingering in the chill. As we marched along the sidewalk, a subtle crunch resonated beneath our shoes—the sound of frost breaking on the pavement. Rows of boxy houses stood up like tiny fortresses against the cold, their walls mostly painted in muted shades of beige and grey, as if someone had decided that only those colors could exist in this town. Misawa was always this quiet and it felt both familiar and foreign. I couldn't quite figure out whether it was the weather, the people, or the quirky combination of both that rendered this town so... mundane.
In the red light, Fujiwara grabbed a bag of sand from the sandbox and sprinkled it on snow, so we could walk without slipping. He let me walked first.
"What's Furiibu?" he finally spoke.
"Tohoku Furiiburaizu. Father shortened it to Furiibu."
"Big fan of that team, huh?"
"Fanatic. He used to be a pro player, playing alongside Coach Yamada. They went to regional championship twice. Now, he's all about getting me to join the Furiibu junior team scouting when I'm old enough."
"Interesting," said Fujiwara. The pedestrian light flashed on, and we hurriedly crossed with a group of moms. "Do you actually like playing hockey?"
