By this time, Tetsuo was nine, and I was ten. I was a hundred sixty seven centimeters tall, while Tetsuo was a hundred and fifty-eight. Even though I had the height advantage, it always seemed like I was the one fighting to win the game.
The concrete court radiated heat beneath our sneakers, turning each step into a slow burn. The air shimmered in waves, and sunlight glared fiercely off the white-painted lines. A faint chemical smell rose from the ground—burnt rubber, old asphalt, dried sweat. Tetsuo's fingers dribbled the basketball in a rhythmic bounce, each thud echoing between the cracked chain-link fences, sharp and solitary. His eyes, alert and focused, tracked Kogure's every twitch.
Kogure crouched low, wiping his sweaty palms against the sides of his shorts. He shifted his weight slightly, knees flexed, beads of sweat trailing down the sides of his face. His back was soaked, shirt clinging uncomfortably as he squinted at the sunlit court. The heat stuck to his skin like a second layer. Every muscle in his legs buzzed with tension.
For just a second, as Kogure studied Tetsuo's expression, he noticed something strange. A flash of emptiness, just behind the eyes. Like someone looking through him instead of at him. It passed quickly, replaced by the usual fire. But Kogure's heart skipped.
"This is game point, Kogure. I'll win again," said Tetsuo, lips curling in a confident smirk as he lunged forward and took his first layup step.
"I won't let you score the winning basket," Kogure thought, his heart thumping in his chest as he sprang forward, trying to mirror Tetsuo's move.
But then—Tetsuo pivoted sharply, his foot slapping in the opposite direction with a sudden splash of force. The move was too quick. Kogure's body hesitated, just a fraction late, and his sneakers scraped uselessly on the hot court.
"What the… Those movements… I couldn't react," he thought, blinking hard, chest tightening.
Tetsuo slipped past him with deceptive ease. The ball tapped the backboard and dropped into the net with a hollow thud that seemed louder than it should've been in the sweltering quiet.
"And that's game! Yes!! I win! I win! I win again!" Tetsuo shouted, jumping with a wild joy. His shoes slapped against the pavement, arms flailing as his face beamed with pride.
Kogure bent over, panting, his hands braced on his knees. Sweat dripped from his nose and chin, falling onto the court in tiny, glimmering drops.
"This is so not fair. Your dad taught you a new move again," he managed, voice rough.
"So what? The fact is, you still can't beat me."
"You're right. I'll never beat you at this rate." Kogure wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. The salty sting of sweat lingered in his eyes, and he blinked it away.
"I can teach you that move if you want. It's called the Euro step. My dad learned it when he went to America."
"What? Really? That's so cool! What are you waiting for? Teach me right away!" Kogure's voice lifted with excitement, a childlike spark lighting up his face. His arms twitched at his sides, ready to absorb every detail.
"Okay, but it's going to cost you," Tetsuo teased, eyes narrowing mischievously.
"But that's no fair! I always do you favors for free!"
I thought we'd have long years of friendship and rivalry ahead. I dreamed of us facing off in high school championships or laughing together as teammates. But that dream ended the day our lives shattered.
There was a loud crackle in the distance, followed by the piercing scream of sirens. The air tasted bitter, and smoke thickened the sky with a choking haze. The house blazed in an orange inferno, its windows bursting outward with popping snaps as flames swallowed the wooden walls. Black soot coated the grass, and the fire's heat rolled out in suffocating waves.
"This fire is quite a big one. I hope no one's in there," a policeman murmured. Ash rained gently from above, dusting his shoulders like gray snow.
Miyazato, Kogure's father, who had just returned from a business trip, arrived to find his best friend's home engulfed. His steps slowed to a stagger as the scene registered. His breath caught, and his lips parted in disbelief.
"What the hell!! Kogure!! Hisashi!!" he roared. His body lurched forward, but he slammed into yellow caution tape. He pressed against it, fists clenched, arms shaking.
"This area is off-limits. Stand back, sir!" an officer barked.
"That's my best friend's house! He was inside—with his wife, my son, and his kids! Let me through! Let me through!!" Miyazato's voice cracked and broke. His throat strained, veins in his neck bulging.
Two officers blocked him. One grabbed his arm as he resisted, eyes bloodshot, face streaked with sweat and grief. His knees buckled. He collapsed to the asphalt, palms scraping against the rough grit. He knelt there, hunched and shaking, tears tracing lines through the ash on his cheeks.
"I can't believe this is happening… Hisashi…" he whispered. Each syllable trembled.
That same afternoon, Tetsuo and Kogure were walking home from school. His bag bounced against his back, and the sun hung low in the sky, painting everything in amber.
"School was a pain today," Tetsuo muttered, arms stretched wide as he yawned.
"How's that?" Kogure asked, shifting his own bag across his shoulder.
"We had to learn some new kind of math, and I didn't understand a single thing."
"I think I know exactly where you got that slow brain of yours from," Kogure smirked.
"Hey, what do you mean?" Tetsuo asked, raising an eyebrow.
"My dad said your dad was a numbskull who barely made it through school. Maybe his brain rubbed off on you."
"Why, you—!" Tetsuo stooped down and scooped up a fistful of wet mud. He flung it hard.
The cold, slick muck splattered against Kogure's chest. "Hey! Cut it out, Tetsuo!" he shouted, dropping his bag.
"You can't catch me!" Tetsuo yelled, laughing as he bolted down the path, arms pumping wildly.
"Big brother, wait up!" Usagi cried from behind, her voice trembling as tears clung to her lashes. Her little feet slapped the path frantically.
Tetsuo turned at the sound of her voice—but his foot slid. He fell face-first into the mud with a soggy splat.
Kogure saw his chance. He grabbed a handful of sludge and smeared it across Tetsuo's cheek.
"Haha! How do you like me now, mud-faced Tetsuo?"
"Fine, you got me," Tetsuo chuckled, reaching up. Their filthy hands met in a tight, laughing grip.
"Tetsuo, I see smoke… It's coming from Dad's house," Usagi said softly, pointing.
Kogure's stomach dropped. A plume of black smoke coiled into the sky like a warning.
Tetsuo stared, unmoving. The color drained from his face, and his body swayed. His mouth moved, but no words came out. Then he ran.
When they reached the house, the fire had already devoured most of it. The air was thick, acrid, painful to breathe. The fire crews stood around the smoldering wreckage. Two stretchers lay nearby, white sheets covering still forms.
"Kogure, Tetsuo, Usagi! Thank God!" Miyazato ran to them, pulling them into a fierce embrace. His grip was desperate, shaking.
"A fire broke out. Hisashi and his wife… didn't make it."
"No… Dad… Mom…" Tetsuo whispered. His hands trembled at his sides, then curled into fists. He staggered backward. His breathing quickened, wild and shallow.
"Where's Mom and Dad?" Usagi asked, her voice cracking. Her lower lip trembled.
"I refuse to believe that he's gone!" Tetsuo screamed, lunging forward—then collapsed. His body hit the ground with a dull thud. His limbs twitched once before falling still.
The next day, my father and I visited the hospital.
"I'm here to see Tetsuo and Usagi Kawaguchi," Miyazato said firmly, the hallway smelled of antiseptic. The walls were pale and cold, buzzing faintly under fluorescent lights.
"I'm sorry, sir. You cannot visit them at this time," the receptionist said, not unkindly.
"And why the hell not?" Miyazato snapped, stepping closer.
"I'll get the attending physician," she said quickly.
A few minutes later, a doctor appeared. He looked tired, but his eyes were calm. "You're here for Tetsuo?"
"Yes. We're family friends. We just want to see him."
The doctor nodded. "Follow me."
He led them down a quiet hallway and stopped outside a room. Through a small window, Kogure saw Tetsuo sitting on the bed, staring at the wall. His face was blank. Usagi sat beside him, holding his hand.
"He only responds to her," the doctor said softly. "Severe trauma-induced memory loss. He doesn't recognize anyone else. His cognitive functions are intact, but emotionally... he's shut down."
Kogure swallowed hard, fists clenched at his sides.
"No way… Tetsuo lost his memories?" he thought, throat tight, stomach twisting.
"Goddammit, Hisashi… why did you have to go, you bastard?" Miyazato whispered. He buried his face in his hand, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
After that day, Tetsuo vanished from my life. No trace, no word.
I swore to keep playing basketball in his honor, to be the best for both of us. But as time passed, that promise faded.
Now, I'm looking at him again. Face-to-face. On the court.
The gym smells like polish and sweat. His shoes squeak faintly as he shift on the floor. The air feels heavy in my lungs. The noise of the crowd is muffled, distant.
"I don't believe in fate," Kogure thought. "But somehow, we ended up here. Together again."
"I see… so you knew my father," Tetsuo said. His voice was calm, eyes steady.
"So you still don't remember me, then?" Kogure asked quietly.
"I lost my memories long ago. I was empty… until recently. I remembered only my name, basketball… and Usagi."
As he spoke, something flickered in Tetsuo's eyes. That same blankness from years ago. It was still there, hiding behind the surface.
"We're in the middle of a game. Let's talk after," Kogure said, his throat thick.
Tetsuo nodded once.
"I want to know where he's been these six years… but for now—" Kogure narrowed his eyes, locking onto the basket, "—I'll speak to him in the only language we both remember."