By this time, Tetsuo was nine, and I was ten. I stood a hundred sixty-seven centimeters tall, while Tetsuo reached only a hundred and fifty-eight.
Even with the height advantage, it always felt like I was the one struggling to keep up in 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.
Tetsuo's lips curled in a confident smirk as he lunged forward, taking his first layup step.
"This is game point, Kogure. I'll win again," he called, the ball thudding sharply against the court with each bounce.
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 as sweat stung his eyes.
His chest tightened, and his legs wobbled slightly as he staggered back, trying to regain balance.
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 as he wiped sweat from his brow.
"So what? The fact is, you still can't beat me," Tetsuo shot back, bouncing the ball sharply against the court.
"You're right. I'll never beat you at this rate." Kogure dragged the back of his hand across his forehead, blinking away the salty sting of sweat.
"I can teach you that move if you want. It's called the Euro step. My dad learned it when he went to America."
Tetsuo grinned, shifting the ball from hand to hand.
"What? Really? That's so cool! What are you waiting for? Teach me right away!" Kogure's voice lifted with excitement, his arms twitching at his sides, ready to absorb every detail.
"Okay, but it's going to cost you," Tetsuo teased, eyes narrowing mischievously as he tapped the ball once against the ground.
"But that's not fair! I always do you favors for free!" Kogure snapped back, stomping a foot lightly as he tried to reach the ball.
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, lunging forward—but slammed into the yellow caution tape.
It stretched taut against his chest, rattling slightly as he pressed against it, fists clenched, arms trembling.
"This area is off-limits. Stand back, sir!" an officer barked, voice sharp, boots crunching on the ash-covered ground.
"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 as sweat and ash streaked his face.
Two officers blocked his path. One grabbed his arm as he struggled, fingers digging into his sleeve, eyes bloodshot, chest heaving.
His knees buckled beneath him. He collapsed onto the asphalt, scraping palms against the rough grit.
Kneeling there, hunched and shaking, tears ran through the ash coating his cheeks.
"I can't believe this is happening… Hisashi…" he whispered, voice trembling with each syllable, throat tight and raw.
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. The hallway smelled sharply of antiseptic, walls pale and cold under the buzzing fluorescent lights.
"I'm here to see Tetsuo and Usagi Kawaguchi," Miyazato said firmly, voice echoing slightly.
He stepped forward, shoes squeaking on the linoleum.
The receptionist's fingers hovered over the keyboard. "I'm sorry, sir. You cannot visit them at this time," she replied, glancing up briefly.
"And why the hell not?" Miyazato snapped, stepping closer, fists tightening at his sides.
"I'll get the attending physician," she said quickly, rising from her chair.
A few minutes later, a doctor appeared, looking tired but steady-eyed.
"You're here for Tetsuo?" he murmured, glancing between them.
"Yes. We're family friends. We just want to see him," Miyazato replied, shoulders stiff, hands clenching the straps of his bag.
The doctor nodded, gesturing them to follow.
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. Usagi sat beside him, holding his hand tightly.
"He only responds to her," the doctor said softly, voice low.
"The doctor's words blurred together—memory loss… doesn't recognize anyone… shut down. Kogure barely heard the rest. His throat closed as he looked at Tetsuo lying there, eyes blank."
Kogure swallowed hard, fists clenching at his sides.
No way… Tetsuo lost his memories? His throat tightened, stomach twisting.
"Goddammit, Hisashi… why did you have to go, you bastard?" Miyazato whispered, burying his face in his hands, 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 of polish and sweat. His shoes squeak faintly as he shifts 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, wiping sweat from his face with the hem of his jersey. But somehow, we ended up here. Together again.
"I see… so you knew my father."
Tetsuo's voice came low and even, his expression unreadable, eyes steady on Kogure.
"So you still don't remember me, then?" Kogure's voice dropped, barely above the squeak of sneakers on the court.
"I lost my memories long ago," Tetsuo answered, his gaze steady, breath controlled. "I was empty… until recently. I remembered only my name, basketball… and Usagi."
As he spoke, something flickered in his eyes—the same blankness from years ago. It was still there, hidden just beneath the surface.
"We're in the middle of a game. Let's talk after."
Kogure's throat tightened as the words slipped out, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.
Tetsuo gave a single nod, sharp and deliberate.
I want to know where he's been these six years… but for now— Kogure narrowed his eyes, locking on to the basket, —I'll speak to him in the only language we both remember.