Chapter Text
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A middle-aged man with hazel-colored short hair and a sturdy body―
Langa gulped and stopped at the sight of the man who looked so much like the figure he still remembered clearly.
It was on a Saturday afternoon, on the main street in the city, close to the tourist area.
The man Langa had started to stare at, of course, paid no attention to the boy standing alone at the edge of the sidewalk, and he continued on his way cheerfully exchanging words with the woman next to him.
As they passed each other, Langa heard the man speaking French. It wasn’t the Canadian French he was familiar with, but probably European French.
(...No, no, my dad wasn’t like that...)
He knew, of course, that it couldn’t be. The quick glimpse he had caught of the man’s profile was similar, but up close, the man's eyes and nose were very different from his father's.
No matter how much the man resembled him, there was no way he was Langa’s father Oliver. Oliver had passed away. Langa still clearly remembered the day he saw his father's body off.
―After losing his father, Langa left Canada, where he was born and raised, and came to Okinawa, Japan. Since then, so many things had happened.
Friends, skateboarding, arguments and making up. Buddies, encounters, beefs, a tournament, and a celebration.
By any means he had not forgotten his father, but the sadness of his loss gradually faded away as time went by in a completely different environment.
However, Langa was always reminded of Oliver on occasions such as this― seeing a man who looked similar or even a man of similar age. He still continued to search for the phantom of his father, whom he loved so much. Even to this day it still continued to be true.
(Dad, my dad...)
The days of his childhood, innocently calling out to Oliver and having fun, sometimes even just laughing with each other, will never return. But he longed to see and laugh with him again, even if only once more. Even though he knew it could never happen.
“Ah...” Langa couldn’t help but clamp his hand over his mouth, as if something hot had started rising up from inside his body and he was trying to hold it back. He shouldn't let this affect him as much as it did and lead him into doing something childish like suddenly bursting into tears in the middle of a city.
Suddenly, a short car horn reached Langa's ears as he tried to breathe and calm himself down. Langa put his hand back and quickly looked up at the road where the horn sounded.
“Hello, Langa-kun! What a coincidence to meet you here!”
Langa heard a familiar, distinctive voice. The back window of an expensive-looking black car, that had suddenly stopped, just off the sidewalk was open. The person waving down at him was, without a doubt, Adam, the Matador of Love.
He was in his usual flashy red outfit and with the ornate white mask. It was so unrealistic to see the matador in the city during the daytime. Langa's sense of understanding couldn’t keep up with the situation. Even the feelings of sadness that surged through him earlier seemed to have dissipated at this sight.
“Since we're fortunate enough to be able to meet here, may I ask you to go out with me for a while?”
“What...?”
Langa saw the car door open, and his hand was caught by Adam who emerged from the car and came out onto the sidewalk. Langa lost his balance and tried to somehow keep himself upright. As he started falling, Langa found himself in the backseat of the black car.
“Welcome, Langa-kun. Let's go somewhere pleasant, just the two of us.”
Langa could hear Adam’s playful tone just above his head. He thought of a phrase he often heard as a child: “Don't get into the car with strangers.” But Adam wasn’t really a stranger to Langa, not exactly.
The Canadian teen, unable to comprehend the situation, froze up in a daze, still listening to the matador’s cheerful voice.
“Let's sit down for now. You can put your things at the bottom of the back seat near your feet. Oh, and make sure your seatbelt is fastened, snowball!”
Surprisingly, Adam had said something thoughtful to him. Slightly puzzled, Langa sank deep into the seat behind the driver and buckled his seatbelt.
Langa peaked at Adam who was sitting in the seat next to him, and found out that the matador was also fastening his seatbelt properly. This may have seemed surprising considering his wild behavior at S, but Adam also seemed to have decent manners.
After driving for a while, the car stopped in front of a building in a busy area. Adam took Langa’s hand and got out of the car.
Looking up at the window on the second floor of a building, Langa saw large letters adorning the wall. “Flamenco Studio”― written in red with a faint white border.
“Did you enjoy yourself? Langa-kun.”
“Ah... yes. Everything was new to me though...”
Without knowing why, Langa had taken a flamenco lesson in the studio.
There was a lady instructor with black hair, a black dress, and an eye-catching deep red rouge. She seemed to be familiar with Adam, Langa couldn’t tell how old she was. The lady was unperturbed by Adam's masked appearance, or the introduction of the name “Snow,” and suddenly the flamenco lesson began.
With a melancholic melody played in the room, Langa was lectured on how to clap his hands, how to make percussive footworks, how to turn, and so on― and he was forced to dance vigorously with his hands and feet held and moved to their correct places by Adam.
It felt as wild and extraordinary as the beefs took place at S but in a different sort of way. The Spanish terms exchanged by Adam and the instructor further confused Langa. What was Palma? Who was Zapateado??
Before Langa realized what was going on, the instructor told them that the lesson was over, and they were back in the black car.
“Haha, thanks for hanging out with me. I thought it would be fun to dance with you, even if it’s not skating. It's been a while since I've had a lesson from the lady.”
Adam spoke with satisfaction. To be honest, what happened today was strange and inexplicable to Langa. Nevertheless, perhaps due to being able to move his body well, Langa somehow felt refreshed.
“Yeah... I had fun, too.”
Langa muttered. Suddenly, the bright smile of his father, asking him, “Are you having fun?” came to Langa’s mind.
(―Yes, that's right, Dad.)
His father was gone, and no matter what Langa did, that fact was never going to change. But if he kept Oliver in his mind, Oliver would always be there, with him. It was something he remembered from recent final beef with Adam.
“I… thank you, Adam.”
“Yes?” Adam turned his face to Langa.
“Not only for today, but I'm glad I could skate with you in the final.”
“You're the winner of our funeral beef, my dear Snow. I'm honored to hear you say that. ―Thanks to you, I can be an honorary loser.”
Since it was said in a dimly lit car, and Adam was wearing his mask, Langa had no idea what the expression hidden behind it was. However, hearing the king of S gently compliment and praise him, Langa felt as if his heart was becoming filled with a combination of pride and joy.
After a while, neither of them had anything to say. However, sitting alone with Adam didn’t feel particularly awkward. Langa felt a quiet sense of calm in the car.
Eventually, it slowed down and stopped.
“Langa-kun, it seems we're getting close to your apartment.”
Langa looked out of the window. Indeed, he recognized the outlines of a familiar neighborhood. Had he ever given his address to Adam? A small question came to his mind, but he didn’t ask it. Langa unbuckled his seatbelt, slang his bag over his shoulder, and picked up the skateboard at his feet.
Quietly, the back seat door opened.
“―Langa-kun.”
As Langa got out of the car, Adam, who was sitting inside, called his name. Langa turned to face him. The Matador of Love held out one of his hands in a graceful gesture, as if inviting someone to a ballroom dance.
“Would you dance with me again?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Langa nodded his head. In the car, slightly illuminated by the streetlight that shone through the tinted window, the smile on Adam's face seemed to grow larger.
“Good-bye, Adam.”
With a small wave of his hand, Langa turned his back to the black car and placed the board on the road. He heard the car door close behind him. Kicking the ground with his left foot, Langa skated out onto the street.
(Dancing, once again...)
They were both alive, so they would be able to see each other once more. It may sound exaggerated in the midst of uneventful days, but Langa is painfully aware of the fact.
Langa had no idea what the situation would be when he was reunited with the king of S, but he was happy to make a promise to the mysterious Adam to meet again.
(But, what did he mean by the word dancing?)
Flamenco like today? Or skating like in S? Langa couldn’t imagine which of the two Adam had meant. But he could honestly say that both sounded equally fun.
Feeling something vaguely similar to both anticipation and anxiety, Langa let the gentle tropical night breeze wash over him and glided down the street toward his home.