Saturday came with the hush of snowfall in Takeshi's head — even though the city was warm and blooming outside. The sky was pale grey when he woke. He lay still in his futon, staring at the ceiling as the world around him breathed — faint kitchen noises, the thud of Yuki's footsteps as she danced down the hall with her boots half-fastened. His phone buzzed on the nightstand.
"7:00 AM — Conditioning Drill At 8:30 — Don't be late." Coach Igarashi's reminder. Short, unpolished. He could almost hear her voice in the way the words landed like a ski edge biting into ice.
Takeshi sat up slowly, shoulders stiff. In the half-light, his breath came shallow. Today was different. No escaping behind excuses. The full weekend schedule was pinned to the kitchen corkboard in Kaori's careful handwriting: warm-up, snow drills, mock races. The slope again.
A soft knock. Yuki poked her head in, already half-wearing her oversized Snow Hawks beanie. "You're gonna do great today! I wish I was in Senior High so I could train on weekends too." she chirped. He offered her a tired smile, but she just beamed brighter, planting a charm — the same braided one she'd already given once before— back into his palm. "Keep it close, okay?"
He slipped it into his jacket pocket before she skipped away, her small voice echoing down the hall, "Don't forget your breakfast!"
They gathered on the edge of the indoor snow dome. The big slope glittered under the harsh lights — freshly groomed corduroy lines waiting to be carved apart by hungry edges and eager legs. Around him, the other students buzzed with soft chatter. Boards clipped into bindings. Poles rattled against metal benches. Coaches moved in clusters, checking helmets, adjusting DIN settings.
Riku bounced on the balls of his feet, spinning his poles like batons. "You look like you slept, at least," he said to Takeshi, nudging him lightly in the ribs. Hana gave him a sly smile, tugging her helmet straps snug. "You better not ghost us again. We're all out of convenience store melon pan bribes." Ren offered nothing but his usual calm nod — enough to say I see you. Try. Ayumi, tying her skates tighter before heading for the rink, glanced over her shoulder. Her gaze held a quiet promise: You're not invisible here.
Daichi was already making noise further down the line, barking about edges, his posse snickering behind him. "Morin!" Daichi called, voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Hope you don't need a GPS to find the finish line this time."
Sasha, tightening his boots nearby, turned. His eyes narrowed just slightly. But Takeshi just looked at Daichi — no venom, just a flat, tired calm. He didn't bother answering. Sometimes silence was the sharper blade.
It was 8:30 Conditioning was about to start
They ran the dome's perimeter first, a tight loop that took them past every training section — the steep gates, the jump hill, the freestyle park where Riku's laughter bounced off the walls, the rink where Ayumi floated like she was born to defy gravity.
Takeshi's legs found a rhythm that was unfamiliar but steady. He remembered his mother's words — "Strength lives in repetition." He counted the beats of his footfalls, syncing them with the faint thrum of the dome's cooling fans overhead. When they dropped for planks and balance drills, he locked eyes with Mei across the mat. She smiled at him, sweat beading on her forehead.
Daichi, halfway through lunges, shot him another barb. "Enjoying the warm-up? Maybe you'll even finish this one."
Coach Igarashi barked, "Focus on your form, Daichi. You look like a newborn deer."
Sasha nearly choked laughing.
When the last whistle blew, Takeshi's pulse was high but his breathing was steady. He bent over, palms on knees. He was still here. One foot, then the other.
As 10:00 approached Takeshi knew it was time to hit the slopes.
They gathered at the top gate. The big run stretched down — icy, manicured, bright under the dome's lights. Takeshi's hands twitched at his sides.
Coach Igarashi blew her whistle once, then spoke low and calm, almost conversational. "Morin — with me."
Daichi's smirk said it all. Coward. Takeshi felt it dig in, sharp under the ribs. But Coach's hand on his elbow was firm, unyielding. She led him away from the gate, past the noise, through a side tunnel that opened onto a smaller, quieter run. This slope was shallow — a beginner incline to the untrained eye. But to Takeshi, it looked like the cliff face he hadn't dared to touch.
She knelt and checked his bindings herself. He stood there, stiff as the snow beneath him. "You know," she said, voice low as she brushed snow off his boot, "when I broke my knee at Worlds, it took me two years to get back on this stuff. It wasn't my leg that was the problem. It was this." She tapped her temple with a gloved finger.
Takeshi swallowed. His throat felt raw. "I'm not scared of falling," he whispered. "I'm scared that if I fall… I'll just stay down."
She sat back on her heels. "That's honest. You know the difference between cowards and champions, Morin? It's not medals. It's that champions fall a hundred times and crawl back up every single time, its a coward that falls once and never climbs back up."
She stood. "You don't have to carve gates today. You don't have to win. You just have to glide. Ten metres. Then twenty. Then we go from there. Got it?"
He nodded — but his body still felt frozen.
This should be easy. Ten metres. But it's not.
Because the last time I tried, I saw her. Her edges slicing clean. Her smile when she turned to wave me down. The sound of her laugh through the radio. Then static. Then silence.
When you lose the people who taught you to fly, the wind doesn't lift you the same way.
They all think I'm scared of skiing again. But I'm not. I'm scared of not feeling her there. Of doing it alone. Of losing her twice.
But I'm tired. Tired of this slope owning me like a grave I can't leave flowers at.
So. Ten metres.
Coach Igarashi stepped back, arms folded. "Whenever you're ready."
Takeshi planted his poles, breath shaky. He stared down the gentle pitch. The snow was just snow — not the Mont Blanc run, not the run that stole his mother. But his legs quivered like it was a sheer cliff.
He inhaled. The air tasted like steel. He let the poles drag behind him. One foot forward — the edges caught. His weight shifted. For a heartbeat, he felt that old spark — the bite of gravity, the push against it.
Five metres. Ten. He flinched — mind flashing with memories of bindings snapping, of his mother's helmet split open like an egg. His knees locked. He stopped.
But he hadn't fallen.
Coach's voice carried across the snow. "Again."
He turned clumsily — not the tight slalom pivot he used to nail, but a shaky, beginner's turn. The second run felt the same. Ten metres. Fifteen. A little faster.
This time, when the memory clawed at him, he spoke under his breath — the words almost a prayer. "I'm still here. I'm still here."
One run. Two. Five.
Sometimes he froze halfway down. Sometimes he made it further. Once he toppled into the snow, knees giving out under him. Coach Igarashi didn't flinch. She just walked down, planted her boots beside him, and waited.
"You're not done until you stand," she said, voice soft but iron-hard. "Up."
So he stood.
He returned to the cafeteria alone at first, shoulders burning, mind hollowed out like an old chalet. His tray sat untouched for a minute until Riku dropped into the seat across from him, his plate piled with curry and fried chicken.
"You look like you wrestled a bear."
Takeshi managed a light laugh. "Feels like it."
Hana flopped into the next seat, hair damp from sweat. "You did good, you know."
He shook his head. "I didn't even make it halfway down."
"Yeah," Riku said, mouth full. "But you didn't run away either. That's the bit that counts."
Ayumi sat down gently, folding her napkin, looking at Takeshi with that open, clear gaze. "Healing's not pretty. It's showing up ugly and scared and doing it anyway."
Ren, leaning over from the next table, murmured, "Any progress is progress."
For the first time all day, the knot in Takeshi's chest loosened just a fraction. He ate. It tasted like salt and rice and something warm.
1:00 – 3:00: Watching the Races
After lunch, the full team gathered at the big slope again. The gates were up. The carved snow glowed under the dome lights. Daichi and Keiji ran the course with all the swagger they could muster — tight turns, slashes of spray at each pole.
Takeshi stood at the edge, skis off, arms folded. Coach Igarashi stayed beside him, pointing out the tiny shifts in balance, the mistakes hidden in Daichi's flamboyant style. "See that sliding finish to make himself look cool? He loses half a second by doing that, that half a second can make all the difference in competition, he's just to stubborn ."
Beyond the alpine slope, Takeshi's eyes drifted to the freestyle park across the dome. Riku was easy to spot — tearing down a rail line on his twin-tip skis, launching into a cork 720 with a whoop that echoed off the dome's walls. He landed crooked, slid out, and popped up laughing, brushing snow off his jacket like it was nothing. His group cheered, another kid lining up behind him for the jump.
On the other side, Hana cut through the snow on her snowboard, her freestyle crew scattered across the park's boxes and jumps. She hit a kinked rail, threw in a quick backside boardslide, then popped off into a smooth cab 540. When she spotted Takeshi watching, she threw up her arm in an exaggerated wave before disappearing back into her line.
Farther off, at the ski jump hill, Ren stood poised at the inrun, helmet glinting under the floodlights. His group waited quietly behind him. Takeshi watched him push off — that calm, coiled power exploding into a clean flight off the small hill. Ren's form was tight, body folded just right for lift, the landing neat and unshaken. He skied to a stop, glanced briefly toward the alpine run as if sensing Takeshi's gaze — and gave a subtle nod from across the distance. I see you. Keep trying.
Takeshi felt something warm settle in his chest. They were all where they were meant to be — carving their lines through snow, in their own way, together yet apart.
"Think you'll join them tomorrow or even next week" Coach asked, not pushing, just wondering.
"Maybe," Takeshi said. And he meant it.
The last hour was quiet stretches and slow breathing on the rubber mats. Takeshi lay flat on his back, staring up at the dome's ceiling — a wash of metal and light. The cold bit at his skin through the mat. But the ache in his muscles felt… earned.
Riku tapped his shin with a foot. "You look half-dead."
"Better than Wednesday" Takeshi shot back. The group laughed. Even Daichi, lurking at the edge, didn't have much to say.
When Coach Igarashi gathered them at the end, her eyes settled on Takeshi just for a heartbeat. A nod. Not praise, not pity — but recognition. You showed up. That's enough.
Evening
By the time he stumbled into the locker room, the warmth of the showers almost stung. He closed his eyes under the water, letting the spray drum against the base of his neck. He heard his mother's voice again — not the echo of her last day, but the gentle laugh that filled the kitchen in winter, her hand ruffling his hair when he'd done well.
He could almost say it back now. I miss you. I'm trying.
When he left the dome, Hana was waiting by the exit, a plastic bag of vending machine melon pan in hand. "Bribe for tomorrow. Just so you turn up." He managed a weary grin. "There's no need, I'm not giving up even if its the death of me, but who am I to turn down a perfectly good bag of melon pans"
She bumped her shoulder against his, light but steady. "One run at a time."
Outside, the Tokyo dusk wrapped around him — a little brighter, a little kinder than it had been before.