NHL 15

Joeon would fall into the category of people he knows lightly. Because there is still not much they know about each other to label it with the grand name of “friend.”

However, the fact that he thought of himself, and not someone else, first among those many people clearly meant that in Dylan’s mind, Joeon was at the top of his list of people he was fond of.

It must be because he’s the person he became acquainted with most recently. After all, Joeon would still fall into the category of a “person who stimulates his curiosity” to Dylan.

However, now that he has been cleared by the protocol and returned to the game, Dylan will not be skating leisurely with Joeon like before. If nothing goes wrong, he will have to travel all across the United States and play in games more than three times a week, and there is no reason for him to bother making time to meet Joeon amidst that busy schedule.

Once out of sight, the “curiosity” that had been the reason for Dylan’s affection toward Joeon until now will soon disappear, and then the two will naturally return to the worlds to which they belong. To a daily life where there is no point of contact whatsoever.

Therefore, this ticket was like a final gift from Dylan to him. A token of gratitude for a connection that felt like a vacation, formed by chance while Dylan was briefly distanced from the intensity of his life.

Joeon, who took the neatly folded envelope out of his pocket, handed it to the staff as he passed in front of 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 due to the year-end and rushed to the arena, he was able to see the players warming up on the rink. Joeon found his seat and observed the ice carefully. The players practicing passes and shots were captured on the big screen, but it was difficult to distinguish their faces, perhaps because they were wearing uniforms and helmets. Just then, the jersey number and name captured fleetingly by the camera caught his eye.

55, McClain.

The letters printed side by side up and down were stamped on the broad back. It was not Korea, and the possibility of there being two players with the same last name on one team was extremely rare, so if Joeon’s guess was correct, that was certainly Dylan.

Because of the protective gear, Dylan in his uniform looked much more dependable than when he was wearing comfortable clothes. His overwhelming physical stature drew people’s attention. Nowhere on his face, as he engaged in practice with a serious expression, could any playfulness be found.

His skating posture was relaxed, yet his speed was faster than a sprinter’s dash, and even though it looked like he was just clearing the ice, the puck he hit shook the goal net at a sharp angle.

Like someone born to be a hockey player, he was a person for whom moving on the ice with skates on was as natural as breathing, more so than wearing shoes. As he passed by, the little kids stuck to the acrylic protective glass made of plexiglass tapped on it and cheered, and the arena cameras chased him without rest, broadcasting his image onto the big screen.

Then, Dylan, who had approached near the kids, passed his hockey stick over the high acrylic glass wall. The kids who received this gift hugged the stick to their chests as if keeping a precious treasure, and laughed with sounds like dolphins.

In the broadcast booth, they must have been narrating this scene, adding commentary like, “It must feel like they received a Christmas present early.” It was natural for them to be happy, as it was a gift given by a player who was nothing less than an idol to them.

The side of Dylan that only Joeon didn’t know seemed to be already known by the people who had come to this stadium. 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 head into the locker room. Just then, Dylan, who was leaving the rink, looked around the stands as if searching for someone. Joeon almost waved his hand without realizing it. But surely there was no way he could recognize himself amidst this many spectators. The stands were dark and gloomy, incomparable to the lights illuminating the ice where he played.

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

The first puck drop—the act of dropping the puck between two teams competing for a faceoff. It usually signifies the start or resumption of a game/period—began in earnest shortly after the top of the hour, following the singing of the U.S. national anthem and the Canadian national anthem, in order, for the team the opponents belong to. The fierce faceoff to take possession of the puck secretly ignited the competitive spirit.

The referees, who took their places all over the rink, including the head referee who dropped the puck between the two teams, followed the players with skillful skating and thoroughly monitored their play.

Unlike the gravity of their roles, occasionally, when the puck cleared by the players headed toward them, they would hop like rabbits or sit on the fence to avoid it, all to avoid interfering with the flow of the game.

Dylan made his appearance when less than a minute had passed since the game started. As he, with 55 engraved on his back, came out, a boisterous cheer erupted from the stands. It was a greeting to welcome him back from his injury.

The loud shouting, which was enough to interfere with watching the game, continued for quite a while, but no one blamed it. That was because the fans’ hearts, waiting for his safe return, were clearly conveyed in the thunderous voices chanting “McClain.”

For some reason, to calm his overwhelmed heart, Joeon also quietly let out a breath. And he added a timid cheer.

As if he had read the fans’ hearts, Dylan just then stuck persistently to the opposing defenseman and succeeded in unexpectedly stealing the puck, and the arena instantly heated up.

Dylan sped past the neutral zone and into the opponent’s zone in an instant. He wasn’t caught by the offside rule. The opposing players quickly stuck to him to interfere with his dash, but he made a smooth, sudden stop with his specialty, skating, creating a massive flurry of snow, and then changed his driving direction by 120 degrees to shake them off.

Having turned in an instant and passed the puck to the winger, he ran to the front of the goal after shaking off the defenseman, and held his stick high in front of the opposing goalie.

The right winger read his movement and lifted an accurate pass. Before the puck even touched the ice, the puck, which collided with Dylan’s stick in mid-air, passed over the shoulder of the goalie, who couldn’t block the shot, and dug into the corner.

Before a heavy sound resembling a ship’s horn could ring out through the arena, the cheers of the spectators announced the score. Excited people stood up from their seats to express their joy. It was a goal scored, as if to show off, just one minute and 30 seconds into the start of the game.

Dylan, who had performed a celebration with his colleagues and was returning to the bench, was captured on the big screen. The broad smile that spread across the face that had only looked cold made him shine even more.

Joeon stared at the big screen as if bewitched.

🏒🥅

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

Only after Joeon arrived home, finished his shower, and threw his exhausted body onto the bed did he take out his phone and look at it. Several messages had arrived, and the sender was, as he had guessed, Dylan.

「Did you watch the game well?」

「Call me.」

Checking the time, it was already past eleven o’clock. As he debated whether it was too late to reach out, the phone started to ring. It was a call from Dylan, who had seen that Joeon had checked his messages.

Joeon hesitated for a moment. In his head, he was busy looking for excuses, wondering if he should say he couldn’t pick up because he was taking a shower. Then, when the call, which had cut off once, started to ring for a second time, he couldn’t overcome the persistence of the mindless machine and ended up pressing the answer button.

“Hello?”

—Hi. It’s me.

“Hi, Dylan.”

—Did you watch the game today?

“Yes, I watched it. It was fun. Oh, right. Congratulations on scoring a goal in your comeback match. And for winning, too.”

—Thank you.

When he offered his congratulations, a low laugh was heard along with a short answer. It felt as if he were whispering right next to him, so Joeon pulled the phone away from his ear stealthily.

—But didn’t you see my message?

“Ah…”

Hesitating, Joeon rattled off the excuse he had thought of in advance.