As an adult, Keigo Atobe woke up one morning. Next to him, Tezuka Kunimitsu was still asleep. The rare offseason allowed the world's top player to take off all his guard. Atobe did not wake him up, but walked to the floor-to-ceiling window alone and looked at the snowy scene of Munich.
The afternoon when I first met Tezuka twenty years ago suddenly appeared in front of my eyes with incomparable clarity.
The brown-haired boy slapping his hands at the wall over and over again.
When he stretched out his hand, he hesitated for a second before holding it.
