I.
Fujimoto was born in a town near Nagoya, right at the place where the river meets the sea. It is a rare person who doesn't know how to swim, and he and his siblings grew up with boat races and fishing nets scattered throughout their memories. The sea weaves its scent and sound through them, lulling them to sleep with the nighttime tides and waking them up with gulls' calls.
The townfolk consider the sea an indelible part of life, except for the occasional restless one every generation or two. They travel along the shore on the way to school or to visit friends, plunge into the depths for fun, and sail it in boats to fish; they are one of countless towns who have completely adjusted to the ocean. Most are accustomed to its moods, knowing when to sail and when to stay home. Some are even quite comfortable with it--but there are few people who truly love the sea, and Fujimoto is such a person.
He is fifteen when a bad storm hits. Everyone secures themselves at home (with his family among them of course), but he goes out to the beach on pretense of making sure the boats haven't been too damaged or completely washed away. In reality he wants to see what this particular storm has that the others didn't, so after a cursory glance at the dock, he makes his way down to the beach.
The breakers leave scars on the sand, with the seafoam deathly white against the night-dark sea. Every crash of the waves whips saltwater into his face; he needs to screw his eyes almost shut to keep from getting blinded every few seconds. Through it all the wind rages like a furious woman (for they share many things in common), and it is all he can do to remain standing in her wake.
The sight of the churning waves is burned into his memory--and he knows, right then, that nothing could ever compare.