The sun seemed almost eager to meld into the ocean as it dipped toward the horizon. The taxi driver, accustomed to the sight, scarcely spared it a glance. Yet, there was an inexplicable serenity in the simplicity of this nightly ritual.

Exhaling a stream of cigarette smoke, he flicked away the spent butt. The distant wail of another ship's siren reverberated, reminiscent of a slumbering behemoth.

Beside him, his passenger remained fixated on the ocean. Initially vacant, Nishii-san's gaze gradually transformed, as if the dance of sunlight on the water's surface had breathed vitality back into her eyes.

"You still want to hear the rest?" the driver asked.

"Let me guess, Takeru's team lost the match?"

The driver offered a cryptic smile. "Sorry for letting you down."

"I'm more interested in what happened to your son, Hirose-san."

"Well," the driver mused, pondering his passenger's continued curiosity, "what followed wasn't all that splendid."

...

White Fangs players seemed to lose their momentum after Ryoji's elimination. His replacement, Nakajima, hailed from a family entrenched in the seafood trade at the port, lacking the luck Ryoji seemed to possess. Although Nakajima displayed skill on the field, he couldn't quite match Ryoji's level of play. His mistakes led to consecutive penalties for the opponent.

Takeru's concentration shattered as well. His punches missed the mark, his coordination faltered. He empathized with his son's struggle – losing a pivotal player like Ryoji mid-game felt like breaking a leg during a race. Tachibana, too, grappled with frustration, and that boy decided to channel into reckless play. He clashed twice with Takeru and engaged in a heated dispute with Endo, the goalkeeper. Amidst the chaos, the two defenders remained resolute, though their efforts were hindered by the lackluster chemistry among the forwards.

Their hopes soared as Machida scored the third goal for the Wolf, equalizing the score at three apiece. Stormterror swiftly responded, capitalizing on the disunity among the Wolf forwards. They targeted Takeru with relentless tackles, displaying newfound boldness in their attacks. Takeru's slender build, typically an asset for agility, now became both a blessing and a curse. He managed to evade their attempts with nimble dodges.

In the ninth minute of the third period, Stormterror surged ahead with another goal, altering the course of the game in their favor. Yamada made a strategic substitution, replacing the aggressive Tachibana with Hattori, a tall player known for his exceptional leg reach. However, Hattori's lack of agility as a forward hindered him, highlighting a common challenge for taller players. Stormterror swiftly exploited this weakness, intensifying their attacks. In the eighteenth minute, Kobayashi's shot from the right flank was deflected by his teammate into Endo's goal.

As the third round concluded, Stormterror emerged victorious with a score of five to three against White Fangs. Disappointment etched across the faces of the Wolf supporters, with half the stands falling silent while the other half celebrated in the euphoria of victory. Keina released a weary sigh, Seiji-kun's irritation evident in his scoff, and the expressionless Jin-san dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, silently betraying her emotions.

"We lost," Keina murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Hachinohe's team is really good."

"But Takeru played well," he replied, his tone tinged with admiration. "Not perfect, but quite charming. Yokomizu-san should have seen that and recruited Takeru to the junior league."

Keina simply nodded in agreement, a casual acknowledgment of his observation.

They were forced to swallow another bitter pill as they remained seated, watching Stormterror being awarded the gold medal. As gracious hosts, the people of Misawa displayed sportsmanship by applauding as the names of the Stormterror players were announced. Yokomizu-san laughed heartily as he exchanged words with Coach Hasegawa and tightly shook hands with center Kobayashi. He whispered something to the young man, and although they couldn't hear the words, he knew exactly what they were: an invitation to the junior league. He was willing to bet his head on it.

With the match finally over, White Fangs' supporters formed a neat line at the exit. Meanwhile, the winning team and its fans reveled in their victory on the field.

"I'll ask if Seiji-kun needs a ride," Keina said, breaking the silence. "Our van could fit a lot. I've got some food prepared in the trunk. We were supposed to celebrate if the Wolf won, but..." her voice faltered, and she forced a weak smile. "We can wait for Ryoji-kun and take them home together."

He mumbled his agreement as Keina approached Seiji-kun and the enigmatic girl. With a renewed sense of purpose, he pushed himself up from his seat and set off toward the changing room. He had to find a way to help his son.

On the journey to the dressing room, he encountered several familiar faces. They greeted him warmly, offering words of praise. "Takeru-kun played well," remarked Sazae-san, her husband nodding in agreement. "Your son really gave it his all," added Kawamura-san. "You must be very proud of him."

He nodded his thanks, deciding not to relay all the praise to Takeru. He didn't want his son to become too conceited. Instead, he would simply acknowledge that Takeru had played well today, without embellishing the truth. That should be enough.

As he turned into the corridor leading to the changing room, he caught sight of Yamada. The coach and several players had already changed and were making their way towards the exit, bags in hand.

"Yamada!" he called out.

The coach looked over, his expression momentarily surprised before hardening into a frown. "Hirose."

He extended his hand for a shake, but Yamada let out a loud cluck and placed his hands on his hips. "I've been wanting to meet you for a long time!"

"Likewise! Haha! Look at those gray hairs of yours! Shameful!" he chuckled.

"It's your son who should make you ashamed!" Yamada retorted sharply.

The coach's reaction caught him off guard. "What do you mean by that?"

"I'm talking about Takeru!" Yamada growled. "Because of him, we lost today!"

"You can't be serious! Takeru played quite well," he defended.

"That's not what I'm talking about!" Yamada advanced, his teeth gritted. "He's the one who injured Fujiwara!"

"Hey, Genkei, have you had a bit too much to drink?" he retorted. "Our opponent played rough, they deliberately targeting Ryoji Fujiwara. We all saw it happen earlier."

"Listen," Yamada jabbed his index finger into his chest, causing the players behind him to eye them warily. "You don't get it, do you, Hirose? Something must be wrong with your eyes. From the beginning, Fujiwara tried to shield your son from the opponent's attacks! Those scoundrels knew Takeru was our team's weak spot, so they went after him."

"What do you think you're doing? You're the one who made Takeru a winger!"

"Takeru could have performed well if he hadn't... the... problem..." Yamada's hands twitched, at a loss for words. "But don't bring it onto the field! I've been cautioning him during every practice session! I've tried to overlook it – I swear to heaven, I really have. I wanted you to feel proud of your son today, Hirose! I know you have high expectations for him! That's why I placed Takeru on the first team. But instead, he showcased his... issue... affectionately on the ice, and look what happened to Fujiwara!"

"Problem?" he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Issue? What on earth are you talking about?"

"Your son has a serious issue, Tora," Yamada said, his face aligning with his. "I'm sorry but I had to kick Takeru of from the team, or he will turn every ōkami (wolf) into okama (sissies) like he did to that poor Fujiwara boy!"

He reacted instinctively. His fist flew towards Yamada's temple, but the players caught his hand and held it back.

"WHAT DO YOU CALL MY SON, YAMADA?" he roared.

"You're blind, Tora! How can you not see your own child's issue?" Yamada shot back.

"Watch your tongue, or I'll rip it out right now!"

The players pulled them apart, their collective strength breaking the confrontation. His fury boiled over. How dare Yamada insulted his son in front of everyone like that!

Yamada wrenched himself free, adjusting his disheveled shirt with a haughty air. The coach turned on his heel and strode away, each step a declaration of disdain.

He couldn't let it end like this. "Watch your back, you miserable bastard!" he shouted after his ex-teammate's retreating figure. "Dead man walking!"

The boys who had been holding him finally released their grip, allowing him to draw a deep breath. The fierce determination within him surged. Sissy? He needed to address this with Takeru. That cruel insult was simply intolerable. He wanted to prove Yamada wrong, to have a solid reason for confronting him later. His son was not a sissy.

Stepping into the dressing room, he noticed the eerie silence left behind by the players' departure with their detested coach. As he passed rows of lockers with their doors left ajar, the sound of dripping water from the bathroom stalls filled the air. Was Takeru still around?

A noise from the corner caught his attention. Turning towards it, he spotted a leg lying on the bench, its calf bandaged. It must be Ryoji who was injured.

"Takeru, earlier Yamada said—" His breath caught in his throat. A surge of disbelief swept over him, along with an inexplicable desire to rid himself of his own eyes.

In the corner, Takeru was locked in a kiss with Ryoji.