Takeshi woke to the familiar, persistent weight of something small and lively bouncing on his back.
"Wake up! We're going to be late! You promised you'd help me with my boots!" Yuki's voice was bright and urgent, impossible to ignore.
He groaned, face pressed into his pillow. "Yuki… it's still dark outside. And you don't Even have training till after school."
"It's not! It's morning, and today's important!" she declared, flopping beside him like a small whirlwind, tugging at the blanket as if it were the last thing standing between her and adventure.
Takeshi cracked an eye open. Pale, gentle light filtered through the curtains, stretching across the room, promising the start of a spring morning in Tokyo. His muscles ached, and his head still carried the dull fog of yesterday's long day filled with school and training and the fun he had in the evening. Normally, he would have been the first one awake, but today, his six-year-old cousin had already won that race.
"It's my first real training day," Yuki added proudly, sitting up with her small chest puffed out. "We get to try everything this year. Snowboarding, skiing, skating — all of it! It's like gym class, but way cooler."
That made Takeshi smile softly. "You sure you're not dreaming? Sounds like a lot for a bunch of six-year-olds."
"We're not just a bunch!" Yuki said with mock offence, sitting up straighter, chin tilted. "We're the Junior Snow Hawks! My mum said it's like testing all the sports before we pick one when we're ten."
He rubbed his face and swung his legs off the bed, the blanket falling away like soft snow. "Alright, alright. You win. Let me get dressed and I'll walk with you. And I'll stop by after school to watch too."
"Really?" Her eyes sparkled. "You're not training today?"
Takeshi stretched, feeling the stiff pull in his muscles. "How can I train when you gremlins are on the slope? I've got class today but nothing after. So yeah, I'll come watch for a bit."
Yuki jumped off the bed and ran for the hallway, calling back over her shoulder, "Don't take a million years!"
Takeshi smiled, feeling lighter despite the lingering exhaustion. Something about her excitement made the morning air feel warmer, as if spring had arrived not just outside the window, but inside his chest.
The city felt softer in the early light, as if it was still waking up alongside them. Takeshi and Yuki walked side by side, her tiny feet skipping ahead every few steps before darting back to take his hand in hers. Her backpack bounced rhythmically, and the faint smell of fresh bread floated from a bakery on the corner. Delivery trucks hummed past on the quiet streets, mingling with the gentle murmur of other students in uniforms and training gear making their way to school.
Despite the heaviness in his limbs, Takeshi kept pace easily. The exhaustion from yesterday still lingered like a thin film, but it was lighter now — a reminder of effort, not a weight of despair. His thoughts drifted back to last night — the quiet bench outside the locker room, the sprint down the street, Hana's silly invisible ski tricks, Riku's wild grin, Ayumi's quiet steadiness, Ren's calm presence. They had pulled him out of his solitude without asking for anything in return.
He hadn't realized how much he needed that.
Yuki glanced up at him, her brow furrowed in innocent concern. "Are you nervous about school after your training yesterday?"
Takeshi blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
"You're quiet," she explained simply. "Like when I get nervous before a test."
He shook his head, a slow smile spreading. "Not nervous. Just… thinking."
She accepted the answer with the solemnity of a small judge, nodding without pressing further.
The school gates rose ahead — wide, familiar, and somehow more welcoming with every passing day. The Tokyo campus was always a little surreal — a winter sports academy tucked into the vibrant hum of the city, blooming with cherry blossoms and spring flowers. But Takeshi had started to find a rhythm here, a quiet place to belong.
"See you later!" Yuki called, already running toward the elementary school block. She glanced back once to wave, her face flushed with excitement. "Don't forget to come watch!"
He waved back, watching her small figure disappear into the crowd of eager children and teachers. Their voices echoed like birdsong in the crisp morning air — bright, quick, and full of hope.
Takeshi turned slowly toward the main building, moving with the steady stream of students passing through the wide glass doors. His steps were more measured than usual. Something inside him felt steadier. The fragile healing of the last few days was still present, fragile but real.
Maybe this place really was somewhere he could grow.
The day unfolded with a quiet rhythm, beginning with Japanese Language. The lesson centred around sentence structure and refining short narrative passages. Takeshi took careful notes, though his thoughts drifted now and then.
In Science — today focused on Biology — they studied the circulatory system, tracing the pathways of blood through diagrams and annotated charts. Takeshi found the precision oddly calming.
Mathematics was all about applying geometry to real-world problems. He solved each equation steadily, his pencil moving with deliberate patience that was new to him.
Social Studies explored themes of civic responsibility and ethics in leadership. The discussion turned unexpectedly animated, and Takeshi listened more than he spoke, absorbing different viewpoints.
Lunch brought a welcome pause. He sat with Riku and Hana on the rooftop, it seemed that Ren and Ayumi were away working in the library, their conversation light and familiar, the midday sun glinting off their trays.
English was a poetry analysis session — a slow dive into metaphor and imagery. Takeshi read the lines more than once, struck by how a few carefully chosen words could stir something deep inside.
But it was Sports Science that anchored the afternoon. Today's focus: physiology and nutrition for winter athletes. The class examined case studies of elite skiers and snowboarders, charting how their training diets supported different phases of the season. Takeshi was surprised by how intricate it all was — the balance of carbohydrates, proteins, hydration, rest cycles. The teacher explained how even a small nutrient deficit could throw off recovery time, and for the first time, Takeshi realized that this subject wasn't just abstract science — it was about him.
He jotted notes faster than usual, eyes steady. In learning how to take care of his body, he felt like he was also rebuilding something else — slowly, carefully.
By the end of the class, the fatigue that had weighed him down all morning had begun to lift. What remained was something gentler: a quiet focus, and the sense that maybe — just maybe — he was starting to come back to life.
After his final class, Takeshi made his way across campus, the buzz of school giving way to the quieter energy of the training dome. The wide structure loomed ahead, snow-cooled air wafting faintly through the open entryway.
Before he could even finish his sip of water, a blur of movement darted toward him.
"Takeshi! You're here!" Yuki beamed, her cheeks flushed pink from excitement and exertion. She grabbed his hand without hesitation and tugged him through the side door. "C'mon, c'mon! Help me get ready!"
She led him to the small prep room where instructors did equipment checks. Rows of neatly lined-up helmets, gloves, and boots made the space smell faintly of clean rubber and wax.
Takeshi crouched down in front of her, holding out the ski boots she'd pulled from her spot on the rack. "Alright, foot up."
She placed a tiny boot-socked foot in his hand, and he guided it gently into the boot, adjusting the straps and buckles with careful fingers. It reminded him of when he was younger — when his mother and father would help him put on his boots before heading out to the mountains for a day full of skiing.
"Too tight?"
Yuki shook her head vigorously. "Perfect. You're the best big cousin ever."
He chuckled lightly. "That's an official title now?"
"Yup. It comes with responsibilities," she said seriously, puffing up with pride.
He stood and tousled her hair. "Well then, Madam Snow Hawk, good luck out there. And have fun. That's the most important part, okay?"
Yuki gave him a double thumbs-up before scampering off to join her group.
Takeshi stepped out and made his way toward the observation deck, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. The wide window offered a clear view of the training area where stations had been set for the junior program — a skating track, a small ski incline, and padded zones for tumbling and jumps.
To his left, someone cleared their throat. "You here for your cousin?."
Takeshi turned and blinked. "Ren?"
The ski jumper stood beside him, arms folded loosely, his gaze on the children below. "My little brother's in the same group."
"I didn't know you had a brother."
"Different last name. Half-sibling," Ren replied. "He's more into skating than anything else. But like all of them, he's trying everything. That's how it should be."
Takeshi nodded. "They choose later, right? When they're ten?"
"Yeah. Until then, it's a rotation — skiing, snowboarding, skating. A bit like PE, but more structured. And graded. Helps them figure out where they belong."
Below, Yuki moved down the slope with surprising control for someone so small, her knees bent in a practiced stance, arms slightly out—not flailing, but steady. She shifted her weight into a gentle turn, carving a shallow arc across the snow. Another child followed close behind — Ren's younger brother — though his approach was far less fluid. His skis pointed slightly inward, creating a cautious wedge as he shuffled his way down. He leaned a bit too far back, and his arms windmilled once before he caught himself, clearly more comfortable with balance on solid ice than shifting snow.
Still, he didn't stop. He pressed on with determined little hops, even grinning when a coach offered a tip he could apply immediately. It was clumsy, yes, but not timid — the kind of effort that came from a skater's core strength and coordination trying to adjust to a slippery, unfamiliar medium.
Yuki, for her part, moved more cleanly — there was a fluidity there, the kind that came from years of family ski trips, of slipping into boots barely larger than doll shoes and toddling after grown-ups with skis twice her size. Takeshi watched, quietly impressed. For all her chatter and chaos, she had clearly been paying attention all along.
Takeshi smiled faintly. "They look like they're having fun."
"They're supposed to," Ren said softly. "That's the part people forget."
They stood in companionable silence for a few minutes, watching the children try jumps, cheer for each other, and tumble into cushions with laughter.
Then Ren glanced over at him. "You looked different yesterday. Like something shifted."
Takeshi didn't answer right away, just followed Yuki with his eyes as she took another cautious run down the incline.
"Yeah," he said eventually. "I think something did."
Ren nodded, still watching the slope. "I didn't catch your training yesterday, but I heard about it. And honestly — just getting back to the slope at all, after everything you've been through — that's huge. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, even if you didn't make it down."
Takeshi looked at him, quietly taking that in. "Thanks. I'm… trying."
"You're doing more than that," Ren said simply. "Keep going."
Just then, Yuki spotted him from the slope, beaming and waving both arms over her head. Takeshi waved back, warmth blooming in his chest. He didn't say it out loud, but he felt it clearly: maybe, for the first time in a long while, he was exactly where he needed to be.