Saturday's bruises had settled deep into Takeshi's body by the time Sunday dawned. He woke early, listening to Kaori's soft hums blending with Kenji's deep laugh as they moved about the kitchen, trading quiet worries about him. Kenji's warm voice promised Takeshi a good breakfast and reminded him that Kaori was family too, not just his headteacher. The clatter of chopsticks, Yuki's chatter, Kaori's gentle laugh and Kenji's calm steadiness all wove together like a safety net, making the morning feel like it might hold him up. Takeshi almost smiled. Even with the ache in his chest, Kaori's warmth and Kenji's solid presence were like an anchor, planting the seed of hope where fear usually lived.
He caught the early train with his gear strapped across his shoulders, helmet clipped to his pack.
Riku was already there when he boarded, legs sprawled, one ski pole poking into the aisle.
"Hey! Mr. Lone Wolf actually shows up early," Riku teased, tipping an invisible hat.
Takeshi just sat down across from him. "Morning."
Riku studied him for a second, grin crooked. "You look less ghostly today. Progress."
Takeshi smirked, leaning his head back against the window. "Don't push it."
They watched the city slip by, all glass and steel softened by drifting Sakura petals. The quiet between them was easy — no pity, no pushing. Just teammates sharing the same tracks toward the same cold mountain inside the dome.
By the time they reached the indoor complex, the dome's floodlights glared down at the artificial snow like a harsh second dawn. Groups were already scattered along the perimeter, stretching, tying boots, tapping poles against the floor in nervous rhythm.
Hana trotted over, her snowboard boots clunky and half-laced. "Sleep okay, hero?" she asked, flicking a lock of hair out of her eyes.
Takeshi shrugged, rolling his shoulders. "Slept."
Hana cocked an eyebrow. "Your vocabulary's growing. I'm proud of you."
Ren drifted by behind her, already geared up for his ski jump session. He just offered Takeshi that same steady nod — a promise he didn't have to say out loud: I see you. Keep going.
Ayumi passed near the rink doors, pulling her gloves on one finger at a time. She paused when she spotted him, soft smile tugging at her mouth. She said nothing, but she slipped a can of hot tea from her pocket and pressed it into his palm.
He felt the heat seep through his glove, the sweetness of the gesture cutting through the morning chill.
They ran the same tight circuit around the dome's edge — past the alpine gates he still half-feared, past the freestyle jumps where Riku was already talking rubbish with a pack of snowboarders, past the glass wall where Ayumi's blades etched circles on fresh ice.
His thighs burned, breath clouding the air. Each footfall drummed in his ears like an echo of yesterday's doubts. You can stop. You don't have to push. You're not ready.
But he pushed.
Planks. Balance boards. Shoulder rolls that made old injuries sing. Daichi's barbs sliced through the noise:
"Try not to get lost today, Morin. Or do. Would save the rest of us the embarrassment."
Coach Igarashi shot Daichi a glance sharp enough to peel paint. "Save your breath for the gates, Daichi. You'll need it."
Riku cackled from the mat, sweat dripping off his nose. "Try not to sprain your tongue with all that trash talk."
Takeshi just breathed. In. Out. It was the one thing he still had full control over.
The conditioning ended. Poles clacked, helmets buckled. Takeshi's boots sank into the snow at the base of the starting area. He looked up at the run — the gates zigzagged down like a dare.
A bead of sweat, cold now, traced his neck.
Do I do it today? The real run?
His chest squeezed tight. He caught Riku landing an ugly switch spin off a rail — Riku laughed as he flopped onto his back in the snow, he thought it was funny how every time he looked over at Riku he stacked it, he thought maybe he should just stop looking at the poor guy, his arms were practically stained black and blue. Hana was already carving down the slope style course, board flicking up powder in smooth arcs. Ren's silhouette hovered at the top of the ski jump ramp, a calm figure against the harsh dome lights.
Takeshi, it's your run too.
Coach Igarashi's voice jolted him. She stood beside him, her gloved hands resting lightly on her hips.
"Your call," she said simply. "You can stand here and watch. Or you can run the gate, no one's gonna drag you."
Takeshi swallowed. One run at a time, he told himself again. He stepped forward.
At the gate, the slope seemed longer than it was. Each gate a marker, each turn an echo of the cliff that haunted his memory.
One push. Ten seconds. Breathe.
His skis bit into the snow. He bent his knees, poles planted just so.
What if I freeze? What if I fall?
Then another voice: What if you don't?
He heard his mother's laugh — not the silence that came after. He forced himself to remember the sound of it. The warmth in it. The way she'd ruffle his helmet before a run.
I'm still here, he thought. One run at a time.
He pushed.
Edges chattered under him. The first turn was ugly — he almost leaned too far back, but he forced himself to lean in, to trust the carve. Snow spat up, cold spray across his shin. The second gate flashed past.
He missed the third. He didn't stop. He bent low, skis slicing through the slope — clumsy, but clean enough.
When he skidded to a stop at the bottom, he was breathing hard, chest burning.
I didn't fall. He looked up — Daichi's scowl was sharp and sour. Coach Igarashi cracked a grin that was all teeth.
"Again," she called. No pity. No softness. Just Again.
Across the dome, Ren soared off the bigger jump, landing in a flurry of powder — a clean arc, a small wobble. He skied to a stop and looked down slope, catching Takeshi's run with a tilt of his helmet — the nod of someone who knows what it takes to fly again.
Riku was wiping snow off his goggles, laughing at himself after a spectacular wipeout. "Oi! Morin! Next time you'll be chasing me down the rails, yeah?"
Hana kicked up a heel from her board, spinning a quick backside trick before she yelled across the snow, "You're getting there! Try to look less terrified though, it's bad for your image!"
Ayumi, glimpsed between the moving bodies at the rink's window, caught his eye for a heartbeat and raised her hand — a small wave, a tiny blessing: Keep going.
The second run came easier — he clipped the last gate but stayed up. The third — his legs burned, edges bit deeper. He stopped too short at the finish, his boots trembling. He wanted to scream and laugh at the same time.
He didn't. He just pulled in a breath so cold it felt alive.
They gathered in the cafeteria, trays of steaming curry and bowls of soup. Takeshi sat with his shoulders hunched until Riku knocked his forehead with a can of soda. "Hey. Not bad, King of the French Alps."
Hana handed him a bun from her plate. "Bribe for next week. You did the real run. Daichi's gotta be nervous."
Ayumi didn't say much — she just slipped her sketchbook to him under the table. A quick charcoal scribble: a figure on skis, small but steady against a vast white slope. Keep going, it seemed to say.
Ren passed by, his tray half-eaten, and squeezed Takeshi's shoulder once. No words needed.
Takeshi returned to the Dome. He stood with Coach Igarashi at the edge of the big run, boots half-buried in fresh snow. They watched Daichi blaze through the gates — too flashy, burning speed but sloppy at the edges. Coach's mouth twitched. "That style won't survive real powder."
Beyond that, the freestyle park pulsed with energy — Riku's crew yelling as he attempted a new trick. He crashed. He laughed. He tried again.
Hana's snowboard, carved low across a box, popped into a neat spin that made her whoop like a kid with a new toy.
Further, the ski jump hill gleamed under bright lights. Ren launched again — perfect form, tighter than before. He landed, his arms steady. The distance wasn't huge, but the control was everything.
Takeshi watched them all — the ones who fell and got back up, the ones who flew.
He closed his eyes. The fear was still there. But it was smaller now. And he was bigger than it — if only by a little.
Stretching on the mats, he lay flat, breath rising and falling in slow waves. Hana teased him about snoring. Riku snapped a photo mid-stretch — "Proof Morin isn't a ghost after all."
Coach Igarashi caught his eye before they left. "Next week. The same gate. But faster."
He nodded — really nodded — and for once it didn't feel like a lie.
When he stepped out into the dusk, the cold air kissed his bruised shins. The charm Yuki had given him was still in his pocket, warm from his palm.
He could still hear her voice: "One run at a time, Takeshi."
He glanced back at the dome — inside, the lights were dimming, the snow still whispering promises of tomorrow's work.
He pulled his scarf higher, shoulders sore but strong beneath it.
One run at a time, he thought.
And for the first time in years, he could almost see where the next one might lead.