NHL 11

“If you’re going to put it that way, Mr. Joeon, I can’t say no. It’s a home game on Thursday, at seven o’clock.”

“…Yes. But no matter how injured he is and not playing in the game, does a player on a team really need to watch his team’s game from the spectator seats?”

As Joeon asked with a slight smile, Dylan stared at him intently and replied.

“Of course not.”

Then, he placed the ticket in Joeon’s hand and checked the time.

“Oh dear, time’s up.”

He muttered as he let Joeon go. The promised thirty minutes had already passed while he had finished one glass of mulled wine.

“See you that day.”

“Yes.”

As they made eye contact and exchanged goodbyes, Joeon also nodded his head in a daze.

“Well then…”

“Go safely.”

“Good night.”

Watching Dylan turn away and leave without any lingering attachment, Joeon checked the ticket again with an awkward face.

Although the game was scheduled for just two days later, he was grateful yet burdened by the fact that Dylan had come all this way just to give him this. Unlike Dylan, who approached even strangers easily, Joeon’s personality was not like that.

His sociable appearance was all an act.

It was to maintain unremarkable human relationships, to be a person who, even if he could not become part of the mainstream, would not be left as an outsider, who kept an appropriate distance but was not alienated in group life.

Joeon’s mindset was to maintain his existing connections just enough so they would not disappear. He was a distinctly different type from Dylan, who created connections that did not exist. He knew that no matter what he received from him, he would never be able to give back as much.

A balance exists in human relationships as well. Give and take. It is human psychology to be satisfied only when you get back as much as you gave. There might be people who are weak at such calculations, but Joeon was not one of them.

Then what am I supposed to give Dylan? He’s someone who lives in a different world from the likes of me.

For a moment, he felt pathetic and unsightly for starting his shallow calculations even with the gift he had received from Dylan.

The ticket he put in his inner breast pocket weighed down on him heavily. Joeon tried to ignore the weight of the burden on his chest as he put on his mask and entered the event hall.

The arena where the Polar Bears’ home games were held was located south of Union Station.

The station was a hub for various means of transportation, including the subway, streetcar, train, and bus, but because it had undergone repeated construction and remodeling, the station had a somewhat complex structure. It was a place where a first-timer could easily get lost.

Joeon helped a few tourists who were wandering around near the arena, and then, after checking the time and realizing he was a little late, he quickened his pace.

In truth, there was no need to rush. That was because, disappointingly, he had received a message from Dylan the previous night saying it would be difficult for them to watch the game together.

「The test results were good, so I’ve been put on the roster (the starting lineup). I might be returning to games starting tomorrow. I’m sorry we can’t watch together.」

He had wondered all day who he should give the now-ownerless ticket to. Should he talk to Tyler? He might refuse because it was so sudden, but he was a friend who would gladly go watch with him if he did not have plans.

However, in the end, Joeon concluded that it would be better to leave the seat next to him empty. When he had brought up Tyler to Dylan, who had asked who he was going with, Dylan’s displeased face kept strangely coming to mind. Like a child who is jealous of the fact that his friend is closer to another friend.

Does he not have any friends, unlike how he appears?

He was not foolish enough to have such a ridiculous thought. As a professional athlete, he would have plenty of acquaintances around him who were interested in hockey, and he could just toss a spare ticket to anyone. Family, friends, seniors and juniors, or just casual acquaintances.

Joeon would fall into the category of casual acquaintances. They did not know much about each other yet to attach the grand name of ‘friend’.

But the fact that Dylan had thought of him first, not someone else among all those people, clearly meant that Joe to Dylan, Joeon was at the top of the likability ranking.

It’s probably because I’m the most recent person he’s become acquainted with. After all, to Dylan, he would still fall into the category of ‘a person who stimulates curiosity’.

However, now that he had been released from protocol and was returning to games, Dylan would no longer be able to skate leisurely with Joeon as before. If there were no particular issues, he would have to travel all over the United States and play in more than three games a week, and there was no reason for him to make time to meet Joeon amidst that busy schedule.

Once out of sight, the ‘curiosity’ that had been the reason for Dylan’s kindness to Joeon would soon disappear, and then the two would naturally return to the worlds they belonged to. To their daily lives with no points of contact.

Therefore, this ticket was like the last gift Dylan was giving him. As a sign of gratitude for the restful connection they had coincidentally formed while he was briefly away from the intensity.

Joeon took the neatly folded envelope out of his pocket and held it out to the staff as he passed the security checkpoint. The staff member who scanned the barcode smiled brightly and welcomed him.

“Enjoy the game.”

Joeon headed inside with a fluttering heart.

Perhaps because he had left work earlier than usual for the year-end and rushed to the stadium, he could see the players warming up on the rink. Joeon found his seat and carefully observed the ice. The players practicing passes and shots were shown on the Jumbotron, but it was difficult to distinguish their faces because they were wearing uniforms and helmets. At that moment, a back number and name that were briefly captured by the camera caught his eye.

55, McClain.

The letters printed one above the other were emblazoned on the broad back. This was not Korea, and the possibility of two players with the same last name being on the same team was extremely rare, so if Joeon’s guess was correct, that was definitely Dylan.

Because of the protective gear, Dylan in his uniform looked much more dependable than when he wore comfortable clothes. His overwhelming physical condition drew people’s attention. Not a trace of playfulness could be found on his face as he focused on practice with a serious expression.

His skating posture was relaxed, but his speed was faster than a short-distance runner’s sprint, and even though it looked like he was just clearing the ice, the puck he hit shook the net at a sharp angle.

As if he were born to be a hockey player from birth, the sight of him gliding on the ice wearing skates rather than shoes was as natural as breathing. When he passed by, the little kids stuck to the acrylic protective barrier made of plexiglass would tap on it and cheer, and the stadium camera chased him relentlessly, broadcasting his image on the Jumbotron.

Then, Dylan, who had approached the kids, passed his hockey stick over the tall acrylic glass wall. The little kids who received it as a gift hugged the stick as if treasuring a precious object and laughed with dolphin-like sounds.

The commentators in the broadcast booth must have been adding commentary to this scene, saying, ‘It must feel like receiving a Christmas present early.’ It was worth being happy since it was a gift from a player who was no different from an idol to them.

The people who came to this stadium already seemed to know the side of Dylan that only Joeon did not. Dylan was a person as distant as the seats packed tightly between the two of them.

Before long, the players finished their practice and prepared to enter the locker room. Just then, Dylan, who was leaving the rink, looked around the spectator seats as if searching for someone. Joeon almost waved his hand without realizing it. But there was no way he would recognize him among this large crowd. The spectator seats were incomparably dark and gloomy compared to the lights shining on the ice where he played.

Soon, Dylan, having failed to find anyone, disappeared into the locker room, pushed along by his teammates.

The first puck drop—the act of dropping the puck between the two competing teams for a faceoff, usually signifying the start or resumption of a game/period—began in earnest a little after the hour, after the American national anthem, for the opposing team’s country, and the Canadian national anthem were sung in order. The fierce faceoff to possess the puck stealthily ignited the competitive spirit.

The referees, including the head referee who dropped the puck between the two teams, positioned themselves around the rink and followed the players with skilled skating, thoroughly monitoring their play.

Unlike the gravity of their roles, when pucks hit by the players occasionally flew toward them, they would hop like rabbits or sit on the boards to avoid them, all in order not to interfere with the flow of the game.

Dylan appeared less than a minute after the game had started. When he came out with number 55 on his back, a loud cheer erupted from the spectator seats. It was a greeting welcoming him back from his injury.

The deafening roar, loud enough to interfere with watching the game, continued for quite some time, but no one faulted it. That was because the feelings of the fans who had waited for his safe return were clearly conveyed in the thunderous voices chanting ‘McClain’.

To calm his inexplicably overwhelming emotions, Joeon also took a quiet, deep breath. And he timidly added his cheer.

As if reading the fans’ minds, Dylan succeeded in suddenly stealing the puck by sticking persistently to the opposing team’s defenseman, and the stadium heated up in an instant.

Dylan instantly sprinted past the neutral zone and into the opposing team’s zone. He was not caught by the offside rule. The opposing team’s players quickly closed in to obstruct his sprint, but he used his specialty, skating, to make a smooth, sudden stop, creating a massive snow spray, and then broke away from them by turning his direction of travel 120 degrees.

He turned in an instant and passed the puck to the winger, and while shaking off the defenseman, he rushed to the front of the goal and raised his stick high in front of the opposing team’s goalie.

The right winger read his movement and sent a precise pass. Before the puck even touched the ice, it collided with Dylan’s stick in mid-air and flew past the goalie’s shoulder, who had failed to block the shot, and lodged into the corner.

Bwoooo, before the heavy sound resembling a foghorn could echo through the arena, the cheers of the crowd announced the score. Excited people stood up from their seats to express their joy. It was a goal scored triumphantly just one minute and thirty seconds into the game.

Dylan was shown on the Jumbotron, celebrating with his teammates before returning to the bench. A broad smile spreading across his face, which had seemed only cold, made him shine even brighter.

Joeon stared at the Jumbotron, mesmerized.

The game that started at seven o’clock ended when it was nearly ten at night.

After arriving home, finishing his shower, and throwing his weary body onto the bed, Joeon finally took out his cell phone. Several messages had arrived, and the sender was, as he had guessed, Dylan.

「Did you enjoy the game?」

「Call me.」

When he checked the time, it was already past eleven o’clock. As he was debating whether it was too late to contact him, the phone began to ring. It was a call from Dylan, who had seen that he had checked the messages.

Joeon hesitated for a moment. His mind was busy searching for an excuse, like saying he could not answer because he was in the shower. Then, when the phone, which had briefly stopped, started ringing for a second time, he could not overcome the clueless machine’s persistence and pressed the receive button.

“Hello?”

—Hi. It’s me.

“Hi, Dylan.”