NHL 11

It was well known that security in the east became less than ideal as one traveled further, so it didn’t come as a surprise.

Then, suddenly, a subtitle scrolling at the bottom of the screen caught his eye. It was because familiar letters were present at the same time.

Polar Bears.

Dylan McClain.

Ruled out of the roster due to concussion protocol.

“…Concussion?”

The moment he saw the last word, the rustling noise stopped, and only the news anchor’s voice could be heard.

When he had asked what kind of injury it was, Dylan had dodged the question by saying he would tell him next time they met, so Joeon hadn’t pressed him. Joeon also hadn’t known the severity and brushed it off, as there were no visible external wounds. However, a concussion is an injury where internal damage leads to more serious consequences.

Before he could even be surprised by the fact that the team he belonged to was the top-tier Polar Bears, worry took hold of him.

Finding out the full story of the injury wasn’t difficult, either. Searching only his name on the internet brought up everything from related articles to videos.

An overwhelming amount of information poured out, making it feel absurd that he hadn’t known about him until now. You could even just type “Dylan” and the search bar would automatically complete it with “Dylan McClain.” It was as if everyone in the world except for Joeon knew him.

As Joeon read through the top headline, his face gradually turned pale. Before he could even click on it, the highlight scene of the game where Dylan was injured began to play.

Blue line: The line that divides the rink into thirds. Each section divides the Attack/Defense/Neutral Zone.

It was a video of a fierce physical struggle between Dylan, who was driving the puck at high speed nearby, and an opposing player who was obstructing him with his stick, followed by the opposing player violently crashing into him—aiming for the head of Dylan, who had stumbled and lost his balance.

As luck would have it, the distance from the point of collision to the wall wasn’t far, so Dylan hit his body against it once more, colliding a second time, and collapsed completely. His blue helmet flew off like a leaf fluttering in a breeze and rolled across the ice. It was only after that, that his sculpture-like face, distorted in pain, was caught by the camera.

Immediately after the collision, a 5-minute power play (a situation where the opposing team is at a numerical advantage, as the player who committed the foul is confined to the penalty box for 2 to 5 minutes depending on the severity) was declared due to the opposing team’s penalty. Dylan’s team succeeded in scoring during the power play and won.

However, Dylan, having returned to the locker room, was unable to appear in the game again. The player who caused the obviously intentional collision was only suspended for five games afterward. Perhaps that was why only the cold criticism of fans, who had already swept through like a storm, remained in the comments.

Even if a stricter punishment of more than a five-game suspension had been handed down, the fans would never have been satisfied. No matter how much a power play leads a team to victory, the thrill of a momentary win is an opportunity they can taste dozens of times during a season; however, the value of the presence of a capable attacker who plays a central role in the team is far more precious than things like that, to the point where it cannot be compared.

Dylan, who had contributed significantly to the team’s early victories since the season started in October, was excluded from the games following the concussion protocol. And after undergoing a detailed examination, he was suddenly granted a break just two months into the season. That had happened only two weeks ago.

If it hadn’t been for the injury, there would have been no chance of running into him at a public skating rink. It would have been better that way.

To think that this was the content he said he would share at the next lesson. Even though he had satisfied his curiosity by knowing in advance, he wasn’t happy at all. He never wanted a preview like this. Just thinking about the collision scene made him frown.

In the photos, unlike what he had actually seen, Dylan did not have a bright impression. Perhaps because he wasn’t smiling like he usually was, his eyes, as blue as the Arctic Ocean harboring glaciers, looked colder and more imposing than usual. As if trying to gain the upper hand as a center forward, his wide-open eyes were filled with confidence and arrogance.

Joeon wondered what his true self was like.

The real face hidden behind the hard mask was simply a young man who was as full of mischief as a child, yet turned serious whenever he looked over the ice—a young man who purely loved the ice. To the extent that he would secretly come out to skate even after being diagnosed that he shouldn’t play in games.

As he researched how frequently injuries occur during games, an article about a player who had to get 90 stitches after being struck in the face by a skate blade popped up. It was only after reading that horrific story that Joeon stopped searching.

It is a very unfortunate accident that does not occur often. Fortunately, he didn’t lose his life, either.

However, accidents always come without notice, and there is no telling who it might happen to. Just like the unfortunate injury that occurred to Tyler.

“It really was a dangerous sport, wasn’t it?”

Yet, people who are crazy about this exist. He became curious about what makes them so enthusiastic. The foolish sincerity toward the ice, enough to go out and look for an ice rink rather than taking a rest at home, was almost frustrating.

For Joeon, who had never been this immersed in something in his life, he could understand him even less.

Now, he was finally curious about him. He wanted to ask how his body was doing right now and what he was thinking.

However, his phone didn’t ring for the rest of the weekend.

🏒🥅

The year-end Town Hall Meeting (a performance announcement meeting attended by most employees) was scheduled to be held by renting an event hall in the Distillery Historic District, located in the southeast of downtown, just like last year. It was a neighborhood where the Christmas Market is held every year.

Since the event was scheduled for the late afternoon as dinner was provided, and the employees were already relaxed in the year-end spirit, they finished their work earlier than usual and prepared to head out of the office in groups of three or four.

The Distillery Historic District, which uses renovated old brewery buildings as retail shops or cafes to attract tourists, was built with red bricks densely stacked from the buildings to the roads.

The scenery, where carriages would seem more appropriate than automobiles, and lighting up reddish incandescent bulbs or candles would be more fitting than LED lights, preserved the time of 150 years ago exactly, stimulating nostalgia for a past one had never actually experienced.

Perhaps because it is also famous as a tourist destination, the expressions of the employees who happened to visit the Distillery Historic District were all filled with anticipation.

“Is there anyone who doesn’t know the way? Let’s go together so we don’t get lost.”

Peter, the team leader, said, making eye contact with each person. Joeon was among them, and he felt unnecessary worry in Peter’s piercing eyes, which had deep double eyelids. He was acting that way in case someone wandered and was late.

“I know. This year, there won’t be any incidents of taking the wrong bus.”

When Joeon, who had been late last year due to taking the wrong bus, became defensive without realizing it while emphasizing the fact that he never gets lost, Peter burst into his characteristic, good-natured-looking laugh.

“As long as Joeon knows, our team is fine. Let’s go.”

Since there were few people living in Toronto who hadn’t visited the Distillery District, the employees hurried their steps without waiting for anyone. This was because the time was approaching when the Christmas Market being held right in front of the venue would soon be crowded with people. Their interest was focused more on looking around the market than on the town hall hosted by the company.

The Christmas Market, which begins to open around early winter when November ends and continues until the end of the year, required a separate ticket purchase if visited on weekends including Fridays, and was opened for free on other weekdays. It is one of the events that is too regrettable to pass up, not only for tourists but also for citizens.

In the large alley, a D-Day countdown electronic display to Christmas is set up, and in the square where the clock tower is located, a giant tree is erected; when the sun sets and the lights turn on, it often becomes a chaotic mess with people wanting to take pictures.