The train rocked gently beneath them as the city slowly gave way to the more open, green-lined stretches of the suburbs. Takeshi sat beside Yuki, his map of the school clutched loosely in his lap. His long black hair fell around his face like a curtain, a quiet shield against the world outside. Yuki chattered next to him, barely pausing for breath, but never too loud. She seemed to sense the tension in him.
"You've got your map? Don't worry, the school isn't that confusing once you've been there a few days. Besides, it's just orientation."
He gave a quiet nod, glancing at the station signs as they passed. His fingers tightened briefly on the edge of the map.
"You don't have to talk if you don't want to," Yuki said softly. "But try to make some friends. You might like it. Maybe not right away, but…"
He nodded again. The train slowed. The school was in view now, a large modern structure nestled near the base of a forested hill. Students flowed through the station, some in uniform, others with snowboards or ski gear slung over their shoulders. They were headed into their dorms and were required to have these on hand in case they had indoor training at the school's indoor ski field.
When they arrived at the school gate, Yuki pointed to a smaller building on the right. "That's elementary. I go there. You're in the main building. I'll see you after school, okay?"
She gave him a tight hug before darting off with a wave. Takeshi stood for a moment, watching her disappear into the crowd. Then he turned toward the main building. The courtyard buzzed with students, a current of movement and conversation. He kept his head low and slipped inside, invisible.
After checking in at the main office, Takeshi was led into the auditorium for the orientation speech. Students of all grades filled the room. At the front, a woman in a navy suit with her hair tied in a sleek bun stepped up to the podium. It was Kaori.
Her voice was calm but strong. She spoke about excellence, about discipline, and about the power of perseverance. She reminded the students that their passions—whether alpine skiing, slope style, snowboarding, or the sciences that supported those disciplines—required commitment. Her final words lingered: "Success is not the summit. It's the climb that defines us."
When the speech ended and the students began filing out, Kaori found him.
"Come with me," she said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder.
She walked him down a quiet hallway to a classroom on the second floor. A few students had already gathered. She opened the door and gestured.
"This is your home room. I'll introduce you."
Inside, the classroom buzzed with subdued excitement. Kaori spoke to the teacher briefly before turning to the class.
"This is Morin Takeshi. He's new, he will be joining the second year intake. I trust you'll make him feel welcome."
She gave him a small, reassuring smile before stepping out.
The home room teacher, a bespectacled woman with warm eyes, pointed to an empty seat near the back. As he sat, a girl just a seat away turned and grinned.
"I'm Ito Hana," she said. "I'm your guide today. Come on, I'll show you around."
After the introductions and schedule distribution, the two of them walked the halls together. Hana was tall, with windswept brown hair and a bandage on one knuckle. She moved like someone who belonged outdoors.
"So what do you do? I mean, on the snow?"
He hesitated. "Nothing any more. I used to do alpine."
Her eyebrows rose. "Used to? Wait—you're that Morin? The one that just vanished? Junior Giant Slalom champ?"
He nodded, gaze fixed on the floor. "That was a long time ago."
She replied cheekily, "Not really though—it was only two years ago. I'm sure you've still got all that talent coursing through those veins, no matter how long they are, you giant."
She didn't press, just nodded. "I'm park. Snowboard. Rails and jumps. It's fun. Scary sometimes. But fun."
They passed students whispering as they walked. Takeshi heard his name spoken more than once. Rumours moved fast.
They sat through several classes—Japanese literature, mathematics, science. In English class, they worked in pairs to introduce themselves using short interviews. Takeshi barely spoke, but Hana covered for him, making jokes and smiling at the teacher.
In sciences, a wiry boy with perpetual bedhead named Riku flung a paper frog across the classroom during the teacher's introduction. It landed squarely in the teacher's mug. The class burst out laughing.
"Riku!" the teacher groaned. "What did I say about projectiles?"
"Sorry, Teach, it was a test. For…. Uhmm yeah, gravity," Riku said with mock seriousness, bowing dramatically.
During break, Riku sidled up to Takeshi near the lockers.
"Hey. Morin, right? You're kind of a legend. I watched all your runs when we were twelve. You skied like you were carving lines in the sky, man. Words can't describe how jealous I was of you."
Takeshi looked up, a flicker of a smile playing at his lips. "Thanks."
"I mean, you were everywhere. Then poof! Like a ninja. Just vanished. You working on some secret comeback?"
"No," Takeshi said gently, his voice neutral but not unfriendly.
Riku paused, scratching his head. "Alright, alright. Mysterious vibe. I get it. Just know if you ever wanna race down the stairs at lunch, I'm your guy."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Seriously though, we need a secret handshake or something. Like, I dunno, the Legendary Takeshi Fist Bump of Doom?"
Takeshi gave a small huff of breath. It might have been a laugh. Might.
Riku grinned, but the glimmer in his eye shifted to something softer. He picked up on it—the way Takeshi didn't brush him off, but also didn't reach back. Something had happened. Something deep.
By lunchtime, the pressure in Takeshi's chest had built too high. The cafeteria was crowded and noisy. He grabbed a bento—something with rice and egg and seaweed, he barely noticed—and slipped away. He ducked through the hallways, down a quieter corridor, and found the back stairwell listed on his map.
The rooftop was quiet and still, with a few benches and a view over the trees. He sat, opened his lunch, and picked at it with slow, distracted bites.
The door clicked behind him. Hana stepped out, holding her own lunch and a bottle of tea.
"Figured you might be up here," she said.
He didn't respond.
"Mind if I sit?"
He gestured vaguely to the bench. She sat.
They ate in silence for a while. She unwrapped her onigiri and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. After a pause, she spoke again.
"I actually had a meeting with the headmistress this morning," she said casually, glancing at him. "She was giving me some student guide notes—since I'm supposed to be your buddy for the week—and she let something slip. Said your mother was Emiko Takahashi."
She looked at him gently, watching his expression. "I've heard about her. I mean, everyone in snow sports has. What happened to her… I'm really sorry. She was kind of a legend."
He said nothing.
"You don't talk much, huh?"
He shrugged.
"I get it. People can be exhausting. And new places… it's like everything's too loud and too bright."
Another shrug.
"But sometimes you need someone to push through that silence. So here I am," she said with a half-smile.
He gave the faintest tilt of his head. She pressed on.
"I lost someone too," she said quietly. "My brother. Avalanche. Two years ago. I chose the park. So I could do what he loved, but I could distance myself from the back country which took his life from me, you know? I want to be close with him now but too close and it's over for me."
Takeshi turned slightly.
"Sorry."
"Yeah. It sucks. But I don't want pity. Just… I understand that some things don't go away. Even if you don't talk about them."
More silence.
"My mother was a great woman not a day goes past where I don't miss her, but it's the sight of her death that prevents me from skiing you know in a way I sort of resent her for that, in a way she took my sole passion her death broke me, but it was nothing compared to my dad."
He stopped. His voice cracked.
"My dad… he broke. In a way I didn't know a person could. He disappeared into himself. I disappeared too. And then I saw his lifeless body hanging from a post in the shed of our chalet."
He inhaled sharply, steadying himself.
"And my grandmother. I said things I shouldn't have. I was angry. She was all I had left, and I pushed her away."
"I don't know why I'm telling you this," he said, voice hollow. "I hardly even know you."
"Sometimes that's why it works," Hana said. "I don't have your past. I'm just here. Listening. That's all."
The wind stirred between them.
"You're not like most people," he said.
"Neither are you."
The bell rang. They stood, slowly.
"Come on," she said. "Let's go."
Art class came last. The teacher, a soft-spoken woman with long silver earrings and a fringe that kept falling in her eyes, stood at the front.
"I'm not one for strict beginnings," she said. "No syllabus speech today. Just grab a canvas, choose a medium, and create something that speaks to you."
Takeshi gravitated to the watercolours. He dipped his brush with slow deliberation and began painting. His strokes were precise but fluid, controlled but expressive. A mountain range emerged—dark, jagged peaks against a sky streaked with crimson. Below, a shadowed figure stood alone, facing the wind. Mont Blanc. The mountain that had taken his mother. His brush seemed to know what his heart hadn't voiced all day.
Nearby, Hana settled with charcoal and a large sheet of paper. She sketched quickly but with little concern for precision, the lines wild and messy. "Don't expect masterpieces," she laughed, smudging half the paper with her sleeve. What had started as a snowboarder mid-jump was now more of an unidentifiable scribble, resembling something between a stick figure and a potato with wings.
Riku plopped down next to them, grabbing a brush and palette with a grin. He quickly slapped down a wild watercolor of a skier, limbs flailing like a cartoon gone wrong. The figure was leaning so far forward it looked like it might fall off the paper. "Behold!" he declared, "The legend of the Flying Flailing Skier!"
Hana burst out laughing. "You're awful! But I love it."
Riku shrugged, adding a bright purple hat and a taco stand in the background. "Symbolism," he said seriously. "The eternal battle between snow sports and lunchtime hunger."
Takeshi looked up briefly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before returning to his painting. Hana elbowed him gently. "Come on, Morin, Don't leave us in the dust with our terrible doodles."
He glanced at them, then back down at his canvas, adding a few more careful strokes—a shadowed path winding down from the mountain.
Riku peeked over his shoulder and gave a low whistle. "Whoa. That's heavy. And really good. You some kinda secret art ninja too?"
Takeshi kept painting. "Just something I do."
Riku studied the painting for a beat longer, his brow furrowing. Then he looked up sharply.
"Wait... is that Mont Blanc?" he asked, eyes narrowing with recognition. "I've seen photos from the documentaries. That ridge line—it's unmistakable."
Takeshi didn't reply, but the tightening of his jaw said enough.
"Yeah," Riku said softly. "Thought so."
The teacher passed by, gave Riku's painting a dubious look, then moved to Takeshi's. She paused longer there, nodding slowly.
"You've got a good eye. Honest lines. You've felt something, haven't you?"
Takeshi didn't respond. But his brush didn't stop.
As they cleaned up, Riku nudged him. "Mont Blanc. It's not just a mountain to you, is it?"
Takeshi gave him a glance but said nothing.
Riku nodded to himself. "Yeah. Thought so."
When the final bell rang, Takeshi packed his things slowly. Outside the building, Kaori stood waiting with Yuki by her side.
"How was it?" she asked.
"It was alright," he said.
Yuki beamed. "Told you it would be!"
They walked to the station together, the late sun casting long shadows on the pavement. Yuki chattered about her day while Kaori listened, occasionally glancing at Takeshi with a soft, knowing expression.
Outside, the cicadas sang. The city was alive. And for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was, too.