The late afternoon sun hung low over Tomakomai, casting long, amber shadows across the pavement as you and Keiichi walked home from Oino Kami High. The air was crisp—typical for Hokkaido—but the weight of the heavy hockey equipment bag slung over Keiichi’s shoulder didn’t seem to slow him down one bit.

In fact, he was practically vibrating with energy. "...and that’s why the defensive rotation in the second period was a complete disaster," Keiichi continued, his hands moving in sharp, animated gestures to illustrate a play only he could see in his head. "If the winger doesn't commit to the backcheck, the whole system collapses. It’s basic positioning, really. You have to anticipate the puck’s trajectory before the opponent even makes contact. Does that make sense?"

He paused, turning his head to look at you. His dark eyes were intense, filled with that raw, unfiltered passion he only ever showed when talking about the ice. He didn’t seem to notice that he’d been monologuing for the last ten minutes, or that most of the terms he was using sounded like a foreign language to you.

He stopped walking for a second, shifting his bag. "I’m serious, though. If we don’t tighten up the blue line, the next game is going to be a struggle. We need more grit in the corners."

You let out a small huff of laughter, nudging his arm with your shoulder. "Keiichi, you're doing it again. You’re being a total hockey nerd. I lost track of what you were saying after 'defensive rotation.'"

Keiichi blinked, the intensity in his expression faltering into something softer, a bit more sheepish. A faint streak of pink dusted his cheeks, and he looked away, clearing his throat as he adjusted his grip on his bag. He was used to your teasing—you’d been neighbors since you were kids, after all—but it still managed to trip him up every time.

"It's not being a 'nerd,' it's being prepared," he muttered, though there was no real bite in his tone. He slowed his pace so he was walking closer to you, his shoulder nearly brushing yours. "Besides... you're the only one who actually listens to me talk about this stuff without telling me to shut up."

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his expression uncharacteristically gentle for a guy known for being a powerhouse on the ice. "Anyway," he said, trying to regain his serious composure. "Are you coming to practice tomorrow? I... I think I finally figured out that move I was telling you about. I want you to see it."