In the ruddy light of the late afternoon sun, the Astroturf of the yield was indistinguishable from real grass. It took him fifteen minutes to realize the sudden silhouette that loomed up in the distance was not a parked car, but one of his linemen.
"Gaou. There isn't practice today." Musashi approached from behind, his arms crossed.
"I know that." The huge man turned his head the barest degree to regard his team captain.
Gaou was never a puzzle. He was perhaps the simplest player Musashi had ever dealt with- even simpler than Kuroki, for whom beer, breasts, and adrenaline were sufficient for daily sustenance and motivation. But today, Musashi couldn't think of any reason the giant would be standing at the team meeting spot, duffel in hand and pads strapped on, when there was no practice- and there wouldn't be any for a while.
Musashi didn't bother to wait for an explanation, knowing that if there was something Gaou wanted to say, he would have said it already. "What's wrong?"
The lineman was too honest for evasion or excuses. "I simply don't understand."
"Uh-huh… What don't you understand?"
Gaou tossed his duffel from one hand to another as easily as if he were playing with a ball of paper. "I simply don't understand."
Musashi rubbed his head, taking a few angry breaths before replying. "Why there's no practice? …Well… Because Onihei just passed away, and all of us need time to think about it," he explained, using a sort of careful bland patience to shield his voice from his emotions.
"No, I know that!" Gaou snapped, his voice loud enough to flatten the hair on Musashi's arms. "But I don't understand- Yamamoto Onihei is dead. And I cannot understand what it means."
Slowly, Musashi took a step forward, to stand even with the lineman. "Well, what it means is-"
"He was here Sunday. I saw him. How can a person disappear all of a sudden? That's impossible!" Gaou snarled, agitated. He threw the duffel on the ground with a heavy thump. "Who can believe that?"
Musashi waited for the other man to bristle down before replying. "Not me," he said quietly.
"I don't understand," Gaou repeated. "I came to practice, to see if Yamamoto would be here- and he isn't here. Maybe this means- it means that he won't be here next week either. When we go to have dinner together, Yamamoto won't be there- I cannot talk to him anymore. No one will see him anymore. He just disappears into thin air- and that's what I cannot understand. Such a thing cannot happen!"
Musashi was silent, unable to think of anything to add or elaborate on, and having no need to anyways. His own thoughts: we won't go drinking together anymore. You didn't try the deep-fried caterpillars I dared you to. Who is going to tell those awful old-fashioned jokes around here now?
"…He won't go to the Kokoretsi Festival with me this year. Or any other year. We'll never go together again, and that's something that I have not yet understood."
"I see." Musashi didn't bother with a more meaningful response, knowing that Gaou was no longer speaking to him in particular anymore.
Finally, the younger man heaved an uneven sigh, the first Musashi had ever heard from him. "There is no practice. I will go home now." Still holding his face towards the sky, Gaou picked up his duffel and slung it over his elbow like a handbag.
As he passed by Musashi on the way back to the main street, Gaou said in quieter a voice than anyone would have thought possible, "What I understand though, is… That Yamamoto and I, we will not see each other ever again."