02: PASS ON THE TORCH
Life is never easy when you're left to pick up the broken pieces of friendship's shattered glass.

His greeting had been most formal; just a plain, "Hello," accompanied by a firm handshake. Yet even with such limited movement, he could see how happy his friend was at their meeting. His smile, his eyes, his voice – they all expressed profound joy and childlike excitement. It was as if nothing had changed in the five years he had been away, and most especially not between them.

And that made Jirou Oriza grin. "It's nice to see you, too."

They sat on the bleachers in silence, but only for a moment. Unable to stand the stillness, Kouya quickly engaged in a conversation, relating to his friend tales of old and new, from his escapades in America to the latest developments in the Gear Fighting world. Jirou, on the other hand, just listened patiently, nodding and smiling and laughing along, cracking a joke or two once in a while.

Appearance and college degree aside, he hasn't changed much, he silently noted, amused. He was still the hyperactive, ever-prattling boy who had left to seek a future in the West five years ago. He, too, still had the childish spunk he had been known to possess, and while he was a full-fledged psychologist now, the fact that he was still a Gear Fighting enthusiast was hard to miss. And he was twenty-one.

But that wasn't what had been bothering him ever since their get-together commenced. And so, even though the younger man was practically in midsentence, he interrupted him without warning and asked, "Kouya, why? Why did you come back just now?"

The question caught Kouya off-guard that he was unable to say anything for a few good heartbeats. It was not that he didn't expect to be interrogated; he didn't expect to be interrogated that soon. And most especially not by Jirou, the person he had been the closest to in their little circle of friends. He had shared with him his problems, his woes, his reasons… so why was he asking him such a question now?

"I told you, I've been busy. School, work-"

"We needed you, Kouya."

It was only then when he realized how large the stadium actually was and how little space they took up. Their voices were easily dragged away by the morning breeze, bouncing them off and sending echoes, eventually disappearing into the vast expanse of air that engulfed them both. And Jirou's statement, with the accompanying special effects of the natural sort, hung in mid-air and made him shiver in discomfort.

"Sorry," he murmured in apology, shifting into a more comfortable position and carefully avoiding the other's piercing orbs of russet brown. His voice was soft – too soft, in fact – that his guilt was already evident. "But I had to go. You said it yourself; I had to chase my dreams and find my future. And my future's not here."

"Oh? Please, don't kid around with me. We're friends, right? Let's just be honest with each other here. You weren't chasing your dreams and finding your future; if you truly were, you would've signed up for every Gear Fighting competition the moment you arrived in the U.S. and not locked yourself up in some university studying boring philosophies and postulates. That's not like you. What you were doing? You were running away. And that didn't make things any easier. Well, maybe for you, spending five years away from home and its consequent headaches, but definitely not for us."

"I wasn't on vacation, you know." Kouya felt himself losing his temper at his friend's rather straightforward accusation, but he willed himself to stay composed so as to prevent the clouding of his judgment. He could not avoid being sarcastic, however, try as he might. "And – allow me to remind you, friend – people change. I'm one of those who have."

The baseball player sighed. "That's not the point."

"What's your problem!" he half-screamed, rising from his seat and looking at the other with angry, disbelieving eyes. His hands were clamped into fists at his sides, and he was shaking with impotent fury. "Do you think of me as a traitor because I left in the middle of a crisis, when you guys were at your darkest hours? Well I'm sorry!"

Not knowing what to do or say next, he simply turned around and proceeded to leave the stadium, half-running down the bleachers towards the exit. Jirou, however, didn't want their conversation to end that way, so he, too, sprinted after his already-fuming friend. When he finally caught up with him, they were in the middle of the parking lot of the said establishment, and Kouya had already climbed on his motorcycle, ready to run away once more.

Jirou wouldn't have any of that.

He gripped Kouya's right shoulder as tightly as he dared. He felt the younger man struggle under his grasp, but he wouldn't let go. "Listen," he began in a steely voice, one that indicated that he shouldn't be interrupted. "I did not come here to upset you or anything. And I, too, did not come here to be yelled at out of misjudgment. We did not think of you as a traitor, Kouya. None of us ever did. But you just have no idea, no idea, how dark those 'darkest hours' truly were. The divorces and the fights that followed afterwards? Those weren't even half of the set of big bad things that soon came to pass."

He took a deep breath. "Life is never easy when you're left to pick up the broken pieces of friendship's shattered glass. And by coming back here at this time, you've unknowingly taken that very fragile role as your own. Much more is happening here than Kyousuke's wedding with Lan Fang, Kouya. I just wanted you to know and understand that, so that when trouble rears its ugly head in your direction, you wouldn't be too shocked and still might be able to do something to help." And with that, he let go of his hold on the younger man's shoulder, turning away.

"Hey Jirou, wait."

But he didn't even look back.