NHL 55

It was the first time I had ever seen a player as large as him—with a build similar to his own—charging at someone so violently.

Of course, Dylan happened to be the player closest to the scene of the collision, but even so, it was unfamiliar to see that the implicit, rough rule of punishing anyone who touches a teammate applied to Dylan as well. His angry expression was so savage that I never wanted to face it.

The sound of popcorn popping could be heard from inside the microwave. Joeon’s heart pounded wildly as he watched the bag spinning around. He kept a close watch on the popcorn bag until just before it was about to burst, stopping the microwave just as it felt like things were reaching a breaking point. By then, the commercials were already over and the game had resumed. Jackson had gone into the locker room with the team doctor, and Dylan and Johansson were sitting in the penalty box.

Joeon frowned when he spotted a small scratch on Dylan’s cheek in the close-up shot. Seeing a mark on his perfect face made the opponent, Johansson—who wore a scruffy, bushy beard—look absolutely detestable. If he could, he would have loved to beat him up in Dylan’s place.

However, there was nothing Joeon could do right now. He had to soothe his indignant feelings simply by grabbing a handful of popcorn and crunching on it. Besides, Johansson already looked like he had been beaten enough by Dylan. That much, at least, was a relief.

The friction between the two teams, once ignited, lasted throughout the 60 minutes of the three periods. Dylan’s physical play became increasingly rough, and he had to return to the penalty box once more when the third period arrived.

The commentators had pointed it out during every intermission, but even to Joeon’s eyes, Dylan’s face looked worse than usual today. The passion and sharp-eyed intensity he usually brought to a game were clouded over today. A game like this, where the tension between two teams reaches its peak, often grinds down the players’ nerves. The stress Dylan was under must have been extraordinary.

Toward the end of the game, Joeon left a cautious message for Dylan. It seemed he wasn’t the only one in need of comfort tonight. However, when he checked his phone again at dawn after waking up from a fitful sleep, there was no reply from Dylan.

「I’m sorry. I didn’t have any time yesterday.」

「Have you been well?」

For some reason, a sense of relief washed over him at the message that arrived just past noon. Joeon looked around the office, which had a laid-back Friday atmosphere, before picking up his mug and heading to the lounge. While he poured a lemon tea packed with sugar, Joeon sent him a professional reply.

「I’ve been well. How about you?」

The ‘read’ receipt appeared immediately after sending the message. Dylan hesitated to reply, as if he were deep in thought for a long time. The “is typing…” message appeared and disappeared repeatedly.

「You were good at fighting, weren’t you?」

「Is your face okay?」

As soon as Joeon jokingly brought it up first, Dylan hurriedly sent a reply.

「So you watched yesterday’s game.」

「Of course. I watched it while eating popcorn.」

「I should have made it entertaining enough for you.」

「Yes. If you had won yesterday, it would have been.」

「Ugh, that comment hurts.」

「That’s right. It would have been truly satisfying if you’d won.」

Unfortunately, they hadn’t won the game last night. They had fought a close battle up until the third period, but in the end, they gave up the lead to the opposing team. With three minutes left in the game, they made a desperate move by emptying the net, but ended up losing control of the puck, which led to an empty-net goal that added to the score and ended the match.

「Those days happen. Don’t think about it too much.」

「Did you reach out yesterday to comfort me?」

Joeon hesitated for a moment before answering.

「Maybe.」

「It was a day I needed comfort, too.」

The “is typing…” indicator flickered again. Then, suddenly, the screen changed and a call came through. Joeon reflexively declined the call. However, Dylan persistently called again.

“Hello, Dylan.”

―Hello, Joeon. Did something happen?

“No. Nothing happened.”

―It sounds like a lie.

Dylan replied, matching the rhythm. Joeon chuckled softly and stirred his lemon tea.

“Really, nothing happened.”

―Tell me anything. I want to hear it.

“Where are you right now? Is it okay to be calling?”

―I’ve just arrived in Edmonton, Alberta. My last away game is here tomorrow.

“Alberta….”

Joeon, who had been blankly staring into his cup, nodded slowly.

“You’ve gone far. Do you go there often?”

―No. This is the Western District, so we only come here once or twice during the season. Oh, and I’m calling you as soon as I got into the hotel.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Dylan was silent for a while at the comment Joeon had uttered without thinking.

―So, are you not going to tell me what happened yesterday?

It seemed he had no intention of letting it go. Joeon scratched his neck, feeling awkward all by himself, even though no one was watching.

“I just have a trivial worry. That’s all.”

―I’m listening.

“It’s not something I can confide in you.”

―If not to me, who were you going to tell?

Joeon shook his head at the tone, which sounded subtly sharp.

“I meant it might not be something I can confide in anyone, not just you.”

―I’m special, aren’t I? Tell me.

That much was true to a certain extent, and Joeon agreed with it, but he found it ridiculous that Dylan would call himself special.

“It’s nothing major. I’ve been looking into new jobs lately.”

―Really? Joeon, that’s a big deal. I’m disappointed that you were going to try not to tell me this.

Joeon laughed quietly, paused for a moment, and said:

“As you know, I’m not an active person. In fact, it was quite the opposite. But if I had the chance to graduate from my past self and change 180 degrees….”

Joeon took a deep breath.

“I was worried about whether it was right to seize that opportunity.”

―Joeon, I know very well that you’ve been underestimating your life up until now. You’re rarely satisfied because you’re so strict with yourself. You say you’ve compromised easily all this time, but the fact that it left you unsatisfied proves that there is an active Joeon alive and breathing inside you. It’s just that now, it’s finally finished preparing to wake up.

Joeon clenched his fist at the unexpected evaluation. A heavy stone dropped with a thud. Between his chest—a little higher than his heart. He tapped the area with his fist, pressing down on the expanding emotions.

Another version of himself, living in there.

Hearing Dylan’s comfort, he realized he had been misjudging the person known as Joeon all this time.

“Is that so?”

―That’s how it looks to me. So don’t hesitate. Set Joeon free so he can live his own life.

“…I will.”

―And congratulations.

“For what? Nothing has been decided yet.”

―…I’ll congratulate you for anything in advance. Because, anyway, I’ll be the one to congratulate you first, more than anyone else.

Joeon, who laughed as if it were absurd, replied dryly.

“Thank you.”

―Was I a comfort to you?

“You became much more than that.”

―Then can I be comforted, too?

“What kind of comfort do you need?”

―That’s….

No, no, that’s not right. Dylan muttered to himself and changed his words.

―Let’s do it when we meet. Not over the phone.

Joeon, who licked the sweetness of the sugar left on his lips with the tip of his tongue, slowly replied that he would. He had a strong feeling that the comfort the other person wanted was not the kind of dry and kind words, but something sticky and hot.

“Do you know what? You’re a really good frie….”

Just then, a loud phone ringing sound was heard from the other side of the receiver. It seemed to be a call to the hotel room. Dylan said, rubbing his forehead.

―Damn, it must be the head coach. I think I have to take this.

“Ah! Of course. Go ahead.”

―See you in Toronto.