Chapter 5 EPISODE 5

I glanced at him at that moment, surprised by the honesty in his gaze. He wasn't making empty platitudes or attempting to repair me. He was just there, bearing the burden of my loss in a manner I hadn't allowed anybody to do for a while. The muted cheers of the players on the rink took the place of the ballad's sound. It served as a startling reminder that, despite feelings of being mired in the past, life goes on.

I said, very softly, "I don't know if I can do this," scarcely raising my voice above a whisper. "Being here, writing this story, seeing the ice again-it's too much."

Pyo stood up straight, his eyes unwavering. "But you're here, aren't you? You're standing in front of this photo, facing it. That's not nothing, Zain. That's courage."

I took a deep breath as his words sank into my gut. I was here, and he was right. Perhaps it hurt more than words could express, and perhaps I wasn't ready, but I was here. And perhaps-just possibly-that was sufficient for the time being.

Pyo whispered gently, "Let's go back in," his voice piercing the residual fog of my mind. "Coach mentioned he might have some photos of younger San for your article. Plus, he said there are some recent ones too."

I turned toward the arena entrance and nodded, moving slowly. Pyo's presence kept me grounded and connected to the here and now, even though the weight in my chest hadn't completely gone away. Pyo watched me as I walked back, my notebook firmly grasped in my palm, the slight echo of my footfall on the tiled floor.

The chilly, icy air of the rink struck me once more as we entered the building, but this time I felt more equipped to handle it. The players' shouts mixed with the scrape of skates and the sporadic smack of a puck against the boards as the players finished their drills, giving the arena a sense of life. With his arms folded over his chest, Coach Kim was standing at the rink's edge, waiting for us. He was observing his players with the trained eye of someone who was aware of every player's strength and weakness. He waved us over when he saw us.

He said, "Welcome back," his voice resonating clearly above the rink's cacophony. "Find what you needed out there?"

Uncertain of how to respond, I paused. Sharing the truth with someone I hardly know felt too intimate and unvarnished. Rather, I nodded courteously. "I think so. Thank you."

For a little while, Coach Kim observed me closely, his keen eyes taking in more than I wanted to share, but he didn't press. "Good. Now, about those photos-I've got some old ones from when San first joined the team, and a few recent shots from this season. They should help give you some context for your article."

We followed him into a little office that was surrounded by file cabinets and piles of documents after he pointed to a door close to the rear of the rink. The environment, which spoke to years of commitment and history, had a subtle coffee and old paper scent. After searching one of the drawers, Coach Kim took out a large folder with the words "San, Choi."

"These should do," he said as he handed me the folder. "You'll find some interesting ones in there. San's transformation over the years is remarkable-he's always had the talent, but the maturity and confidence you see now took time to build."

I opened the folder and was instantly drawn to the first picture. It was a very different San from the gregarious person I had seen on the ice earlier; he was much younger, perhaps in his late teens, with shorter hair and a hesitant grin. His helmet was tucked under his arm as he stood clumsily in front of the net, his equipment a little too big. He seemed apprehensive in the picture, like a boy about to grow into something greater.

Coach Kim replied, "That's from his first season," as she leaned over my shoulder. "He was fresh out of high school, all raw potential and no discipline. Took a while to get him to channel that fire into something productive, but once he did, there was no stopping him."

I looked through more pictures and saw how San had changed. His demeanor and posture became more secure with each one. He was as sharp, composed, and as dominant as the great player I had witnessed on the rink today by the time I got to the most current pictures.

I said, "These are perfect," in a gentler tone than I had intended. "Thank you."

Coach Kim gave a nod. "You'll get a better sense of who he is by looking at those. San's journey is as much about the person he's become off the ice as the player he is on it."

I looked up at him with interest. "What do you mean by that?"

Coach Kim crossed his arms and leaned back on his desk. "San's had his share of challenges-personal struggles that don't always make the headlines. He's the kind of guy who doesn't let the weight of the world show, but it's there. That determination you see on the ice? It comes from more than just a desire to win. It comes from something deeper."

As my thoughts raced with questions I wasn't sure I had the guts to ask yet, I took in what he had to say. Seeing my hesitancy, Pyo intervened.

"I'll approach it professionally," I responded, gripping the packet hard against my chest. Although I spoke steadily, the enormity of the task at hand weighed heavily on my thoughts. "I'm not going to ask him questions that could trigger bad memories or upset him."

Coach Kim grinned with approval on his face. "Good. San might not say it, but he'll appreciate that approach. He's not an open book, but if you're patient, you'll find there's a lot more to him than what people see on the surface."

We returned to the stadium after I nodded and slipped my notes atop the folder. As they got closer to the coach, the players were starting to leave the rink, their blades clicking against the rubber flooring. The dull clang of equipment and the scrape of skates being taken off blended with the hum of post-practice talk.

I looked around and saw that San was one of them. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and his helmet was tucked under his arm. He had an easy charm that appeared to attract attention without any effort, even when he wasn't skating. I was more interested in the few times when his expression softened and his concentration seemed to go inside, as if he was carrying a burden he didn't want others to see, than I was in his self-assured grin or the way he interacted with his colleagues.

I looked back to Coach Kim and held out my hand. "Thank you for your help today. I'll be here this weekend for the game."

He gave me a solid handshake while maintaining his constant look. "Good. It'll be a big game for the team, and San always performs best under pressure."

His voice, with a note of laughter in it, yelled after me as I turned to go. "Maybe you should bring your skates."

My breath caught in my throat and I paused in mid-step. I slowly looked over my shoulder to see him observing me, his eyes keen but his face composed. A sly grin pulled at the corner of his mouth.

I forced a feeble grin in reply, and my hand gripped the folder tighter. I said, "I'll think about it," in a gentler tone than I had intended.

Coach Kim simply nodded as like he knew more than I had, without adding anything further. Pyo looked from one of us to the other, his brow furrowing slightly in interest, but he said nothing. The coach's remarks weighed heavily on my chest as we left, the sound of the players joking and laughing behind us.

"Bring your skates," I shook my head and said to myself. It felt like a ridiculous concept. It had been years since I was on the ice. The idea of putting on those skates and returning to the icy surface was like attempting to go back in time to a past version of myself. However, I couldn't get rid of the impression that Coach Kim's remarks weren't only a suggestion as I went outside into the cool winter air, the subtle aroma of the ice still permeating my nostrils. They presented a challenge and an invitation to face the aspect of myself that I had long suppressed.

We walked, and Pyo pushed me. "You okay? Coach kind of threw that out of nowhere, huh?"

With my thoughts elsewhere, I nodded absently. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... thinking."

His tone was softer than normal, but he taunted, "About bringing your skates?"

I gave him a glance, but it was without emotion. "Something like that."

I became aware that this was no longer just about San as we walked down the street with the folder cradled against my breast. It has to do with me. Regarding the ice, the recollections, and the fragments of my identity that I had abandoned.