"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?"

"None of your business."

"Does this have something to do with you in our team? Did your dad ask Coach to train you?"

Fujiwara was smart. Of course he'd see it. "Father thought I inherited his talent and convinced Coach to take me in. As you can see, I can't play. It was too late for Coach to realize this, but he was too proud to admit to my father that I'm a lost cause."

"Because it will make Coach look like a loser too," Fujiwara bobbed his head in understanding. "Tachibana and the others bullied you because they thought you bought your way into the team."

"They're actually right. I don't deserve to be on the team. They've been telling everyone at school that I cheated and my father bribed Coach to accept me."

"You could've just tell me this instead of acting salty all the time, Hirose. And you did nothing wrong. You should explain this to Tachibana."

"Okay. Enough talking." I stepped aside and faced him. "What brought you to my house, Fujiwara?"

Fujiwara put his hands in his pockets while jogging on the spot. "You haven't showed up for practice in a week. Your dad didn't know about this. He said you've been going every single day. Wonder what he would do if he knew you've been lying to him."

"You threatening me?"

"No threats, Hirose. Just worried. Haven't seen you around the rink, that's all."

"I don't need your attention. Thanks."

"I asked Otaki for your address," Fujiwara continued, ignoring my annoyance. "I know I should've given you a heads-up before dropping by but nobody at school knows your mobile number. I understand if you don't feel like going to practice. And just so you know, I'm not siding with Coach, Tachibana or the others."

Oh, now he wanted to play the hero? Just because I accepted his help once, did he think he had the right to mess with my life?

"I don't like hockey," I stated plainly.

Fujiwara sighed, silver puff trailing out of his mouth. "Then quit."

"My father will kill me if he finds out."

"Have you even tried talking to him about it?"

"It's no use." I wanted to argue with Fujiwara, but suddenly felt too tired. "Look, Fujiwara. Just leave me alone, will you?"

"Why?" Fujiwara's hand reached for my shoulder. "We're friends, aren't we?"

"You're not my friend." I pushed his hand away. "We've only spoken twice!"

"Well, at least we've spoken. Nobody else talk to you at school unless they want to insult you, which I never did. And you never talk to anyone else either."

"Glad that you finally notice."

He let out a heavy, old-man like sigh. "I really want to help you, Hirose."

"I don't need your help!" I yelled so loud that a few pedestrian shot me looks. "I've seen you play, Fujiwara. You're going to be a brilliant player, we both know that. But me? I suck. I can't play. There's nothing you can do to help me, I wasn't cut for hockey. Just deal with it!"

"Now, hold on," Fujiwara changed his tone gently. "I disagree. All you need is the right coach. My coach in Sapporo told me—"

"I don't care what your coach said!" I snapped, exhausted by his persistence. "Yamada's the coach here, and he thinks I'm the worst hockey player in Japan!"

"Let me train you."

"For what? To make yourself look like a hero?"

"No. To prove Coach and the others that they're wrong about you."

I gasped. The thought of proving myself worthy had never crossed my mind before. All I did was absorb every sneer, insult, and mock they threw at me, letting them sink in. Unbeknownst to me, all that negativity had corrupted my mind and affected my performance. I knew how to play; I just couldn't perform at my best in front of Coach and the others.

But no, I didn't know this guy. I didn't trust him. Who knew, Tachibana and the others could've sent him, asking him to play the good Samaritan only to trick me in the end. Those guys are truly evil; they had a list of plans on how to torture me and make me look like a total loser in front of everybody else. And they were never satisfied. It was true what people say: once you go bad, there's no way back.

"Let's head to the lake for practice," Fujiwara suggested, stretching out his hand. "Just you and me. Nobody else will know. Once you feel more confident, we can—"

"Go screw yourself!"

Fujiwara gasped. The words slipping out of my mouth before I could stop them. Seeing the look on his face, I felt a twisted sense of satisfaction. Maybe now he'd stop bothering me.

I adjusted the strap of my sagging bag and turned away.

"Hirose!"

For crying out loud. Was he deaf? What else did he want?

No. Don't say anything. Remember, you just cursed him out!

"You're totally wrong, Hirose!" Fujiwara's voice echoed down the street. "You belong on that rink. You're as cold as the ice, you know?"

...

I hadn't really talked to Fujiwara since then. His popularity skyrocketed at school, just as everyone had predicted. His easygoing and always-ready-to-help nature made him incredibly charming. The girls were head over heels for the new kid from Sapporo, and even the seniors were in fierce competition to recruit him for their clubs. The teachers couldn't stop praising him — his name seemed to pop up in every conversation. Even Tachibana managed to keep it together when talking to Fujiwara. With senior year looming, everyone was placing bets on Fujiwara becoming the student president.

His skills on the ice only added to his reputation. To Coach Yamada and our hockey team, Fujiwara was like a redemption for my otherwise sad existence. Every time he played, it was like the puck was glued to the end of his stick, only releasing itself at the opponent's goalie. He quickly gained the captain title. Coach Yamada had been throwing around predictions that we'd won the high school championship this season, because of him.

But I still wasn't convinced that he was a good person. He seemed too good to be true. Perhaps I had been under Tachibana's tyranny for so long that I no longer believed in kindness.

Coach Yamada was getting nosy about my absence, so I had to go back practicing. to. Father and Coach used to be teammates in high school, and they still maintained this no-secrecy-among-team nonsense after all these years. I knew the only reason Coach Yamada hadn't kicked me out of the team was because of his own reputation; he didn't want people to know he couldn't train me.

During practice, Fujiwara kept following me like a lost puppy. He was relentless, like he had some kind of saint complex. No matter how many times I told him to leave me alone, he just shrugged and walked away. To be honest, I was tempted to keep rejecting him, just to see how long he could put up with me.

Today was Valentine's Day. I didn't get a chance to hit the ice—guess everyone had enough of me and couldn't fake it anymore. Coach asked me to sit on the bench and keep an eye out for the girls because they had been trailing us. They wanted to give chocolates to Fujiwara but weren't allowed in the rink or the locker room. So, I had to be the receptionist for Fujiwara's gifts.

"Don't you forget, Hirose," Otaki talked to me in a tone I swear she used with her pooch. "This red box with the yellow ribbon is mine. Fujiwara should open it first. Don't let it get buried under the pile, okay?"

I just nodded, I wasn't a Valentine's Day aficionado.

As time passed by, the chocolate heap beside me grew. Otaki's red box got swallowed by the latter presents—just as she predicted. I didn't bother putting it back on top. These weren't mine, and Fujiwara didn't pay me to do this for him.

By the time practice wrapped up, the sky outside had turned ink black. Players, draped in their gear, streamed into the locker room while chatting friendly. Coach Yamada praising everyone and thanking them for their hard work. I could sense the vibe of camaraderie in the air, the kind that solidifies when a team senses they're on the verge of something big.

I spotted Fujiwara walking at the end of the line. He saw me too, sent a big wave, and approached me on the bench.

"Yo."

I motioned toward the heap of colors beside me. Fujiwara glanced at his presents and sighed. What an ungrateful brat; he didn't even looked excited.

"The one wrapped in red with the yellow ribbon is from Otaki," I told him, although I hadn't the faintest clue where that box was. "She said you should open it first."

"Thanks," he muttered.

I nodded and made for the exit. I hadn't changed uniform.

"Hirose!"

Oh, come on! Not today, too! I just wanted to head home and tell Father I'd trained, even though what I did was sitting around and looking after chocolates, like a watchdog.

"I know you can hear me, Hirose! Don't ignore me!"

I turned around, irritated. "What do you want?"

Fujiwara tossed something. I caught it. It was a present, wrapped in yellow-red-striped paper, with big bow of ribbon on top. Otaki's present. "You can't just pass off people's presents like that. It's rude. Didn't they teach you manners in Sapporo?"

"They're all mine now, right?" Fujiwara retorted, smugly. "I can do whatever I want with. And I choose to give that one to you."

This guy... words couldn't describe him. "You're seriously messed up, you know that?"

Fujiwara scratched his padded chest. "Actually, I'm allergic to chocolate."

"Nice try. I don't buy it."

"I'm serious." He grinned. "A single bite and my face would swallow like a balloon and my whole body itches. You should take them."

"No way. That's a ton of chocolates!"

"Exactly. Just take them," Fujiwara said politely. "I helped you once. Now help me."

"I didn't ask for your help. You helped me on your own. And it was two months ago."

Fujiwara pretended a disappointed sigh. "If those girls knew I'd toss these presents..."

"Right from the start, you should've told them about your allergy!" I yelled. If there was an award for the most annoying person, Fujiwara would definitely won. "You knew they'd give you stuff, but instead, you kept quiet. You brought this on yourself. You lied to them."

"Me? Lying?" His right brow arched, giving me a disdainful look. "And you're scolding me for lying when you lied to your dad?"

"I didn't lie to my father!" I flung Otaki's gift back, hoping it would smack his head, but Fujiwara dodged swiftly. "I'm still going to practice!"

"You lied to him about liking hockey."

"I'm out," I said, putting an end to this patience-testing conversation. "Enjoy your presents!"

"Hirose, wait!" Fujiwara grabbed my hand suddenly. "Don't leave yet!"

"What else do you want? Let go or I'll hit you!"

He clutched my hand, forcing me onto the bench. I resisted, but he had overpowered me. I was already exhausted with his silly chocolate talk after all. He slipped my skates on and pushed me onto the ice. Then he placed Otaki's present in the mid circle.

"If you can get that present past my defense, I'll eat all the chocolates and leave you alone," he declared, dead serious. "But if you lose, you confess to your dad that you hate hockey, quit training, and do whatever the heck that you want."

"No way, that's insane. You'll die."

"So you're just a coward like everyone says," he taunted.

"I'm not a coward!"

"Then prove it!"

Now that I thought about it, this was the chance I'd been waiting for. Strike the present past Fujiwara, and this nosy guy would stop meddling in my life forever. Fujiwara didn't realize he was offering me a ticket to eternal peace.

"You better keep your word, Fujiwara."

"I swear."

Well, if he meant it...

I adjusted my position and started gliding. Fujiwara shot forward and immediately gained control of the present. He executed a big spinning maneuver, as if he were mocking me. I pursued him; he was incredibly fast, his legs swooshing as if made of wind. In a split second, he reached my side of the rink. I cornered him on the left, thinking I could take possession of the puck. I poked my stick, but Fujiwara spun over me and bounced back from behind.

He was really good.

I moved away from my goalie, pretending to chase him. He noticed my movement and started gliding towards my goalie.

Ha. He took the bait!

I executed a half-circle movement, popping up on his right side. Just inches before colliding with him, I slid away and carefully used the tip of my stick to hook the loop of ribbon on Otaki's parcel. Fujiwara yelled in surprise, but it was too late. I swiftly maneuvered the gift to his part of the rink and pushed it with all my might. The present shot across the ice like a red bullet, heading straight into his goalie.

"Score!" I shouted in excitement.

Fujiwara was shocked. He just stared at me for a few seconds, and headed towards his goalie to pick up the parcel. Then without saying a word, he left.

...

The following day, the entire school was buzzing about Fujiwara. Turns out, he ended up in the hospital last night. He almost died of chocolate poisoning.

...

Fujiwara laughed when I entered the room. "You come to see me, Hi-wo-se."

"Just to see what an idiot you are."

His tongue was still swollen, and his words sounded funny. "Thanks for coming."

"How are you?"

"I can eat chocolate again."

"You want to die, huh?"

Fujiwara let out a playful fake cry. I couldn't help but wonder why he was acting so goofy while almost died. The hair on the back of his head stood on end because he had spent too much time lying in bed.

"Why did you eat all that chocolate, Fujiwara? Were you trying to kill yourself?"

He just shrugged casually. "I kept my word, didn't I?"

"That's not keeping your word, that's just plain stupid! Your mother told me. She said your whole body was blown up so bad, almost blocking the airways in your throat!"

"So you're worried about me."

"Of course I—I mean, you could've died!"

A smile rose on Fujiwara's face. A cheeky one, and I didn't like it. "So you're not as cold as I thought you were."

He had no idea how freaked out I was when I heard he landed in the hospital. I mean, the amount of chocolates he had yesterday was mountainous — every girl in Misawa cleared out all the chocolate shops just for him. I'm allergic to cats too, so I know the whole deal with nasty reactions. But seeing Fujiwara back to his nosy old self, I was relieved.

"Why is your face red, Hi-wo-se?"

"Your face is red too."

"It's the allergy. Are you having allergy too or are you about to cry, Hi-wo-se?"

"Why would I cry?"

"Aren't you glad that I'm not dead?"

This cocky, self-absorbed bastard! I punched his shoulder—gently (he was a patient). Fujiwara made a fake wince, pretending it hurt.

"Don't do anything crazy, Fujiwara. Everyone's waiting for you to come back."

I made my turn to leave, but he pulled my hand.

"Hi-wo-se?"

He looked straight into me, and I just realized that he had big, full eyes, like a child's. His gaze made my heart skip a beat.

"What?"

He didn't let go. His grip climbed slowly from to my wrist. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words could not seem to come out.

"If you stopped going to practice," his voice became soft and dreary. "I don't want to play anymore. I'm gonna quit the team."

My heart was throbbing wildly. What did he mean? Was he threatening me?

Fujiwara pressed my wrist, waiting for a response. "What do you say, Hi-wo-se?"

"Just get better first, will ya?"

"Great!" Fujiwara burst into laughter and released my arm. "Because I still have to get revenge for that goal yesterday!"

I punched his shoulder again. This time, with all my might.