25th December. Christmas Day.
It never actually snows this time of the year, but the little haze of fog and mist made seem like a snowy morning as I woke up at five like usual. Tokyo winters rarely looked like the movies, but somehow, that faint shimmer in the air still made everything feel different.
For once, I wasn't running at dawn. My sneakers lay right by the door, slightly worn and still flecked with dried mud from yesterday's drills. They surely had seen much better days. I still laced 'em up and walked out to check on Maki across the hall.
'What else did I expect?' I thought as the familiar sight of my sleeping sister greeted me.
I went downstairs only to notice I was the only one awake. Taking a banana from the kitchen, I went out to take a walk since I had nothing better to do. Five minutes later that walk turned into a jog and soon I was doing my morning routine just as usual.
After an hour I walked back into the house drenched in sweat having finished my daily circuit and exercises, and found Mom entering the kitchen like she had just woken up.
She stared at me for a second, "Even on Christmas day? Didn't you say you were going to take a rest?"
"I was going to! But I just woke up early and everyone was still asleep, so I went for a walk and things just happened..." I smiled sheepishly trying to look away.
Chuckling and pouring water in a glass for herself she whispered, "It's like you both are just the same."
"What?"
"Nothing sweetie, go up and wake up your sister before you take a bath."
I just shrugged and nodded before heading up. Woke up my sister in spite of all her complaints and headed to my room to do some stretches and cool down.
Getting cleaned up I sat on my desk to do a revision of my routine workout since I had some time before breakfast. In a while I was distracted by the sound of laughter—Maki's, bright and unrestrained, echoing from downstairs.
"Onii-chan! Come down! You really need to see this!"
Curiosity got the better of me. I closed up my notebook and got out of the room in a single swift motion.
'Sounds like either she got a great present for Christmas or Mom gifted Dad a horrible one. Either way it will be something I definitely can't miss.'
I walked down to find Dad standing in the living room, half-buried in a completely red sweater and red pjs that looked like it had been fished out from a department store clearance bin selling only Santa costumes. There even was a white beard drawn at the neck which just made it all more comical than I had ever seen. And Maki was standing next to him, pointing to him and holding her sides from laughing so hard she could barely breathe.
Dad raised an eyebrow at me without an ounce of hesitation and embarrassment like this was the most usual outfit. "What do you think?"
"I think you just ruined Christmas for me," I said, grabbing a tangerine from the table. "Santa looks suspiciously like a man who owes taxes." It was extremely hard not to burst out laughing and evidently a snicker escaped my lips.
"Watch it, kid. This Santa funds your rice bowls."
Mom emerged from the kitchen, carrying a tray of tamagoyaki and grilled mackerel, her apron dusted with flour. "Stop teasing your father and come sit down. Breakfast before gifts."
Maki gasped, eyes wide. "You said gifts—"
"After breakfast," Mom repeated with a glare that froze even Dad mid-chuckle.
We ate together like always — rice, soup, a few small dishes. But there was something special in the air, a shared ease that hadn't existed in a long time. No deadlines, no trips, no training schedule ticking in my head. Just family.
After breakfast, we opened presents. Maki tore through hers with the energy of a firecracker — new colored pencils, a sketchpad, and a small stuffed dolphin. Mine were simple but perfect: a new pair of batting gloves from Dad and a hoodie from Mom that read "Train. Eat. Repeat."
"You're getting predictable," I said, holding it up.
"That's called encouragement," Mom said, smiling.
Dad leaned back, sipping coffee. "You've really changed, Riku. I was worried when you left the team, but watching you these past few months... I get it now."
I looked down at the gloves, turning them in my hands. "I just don't want to waste time again."
He nodded slowly. "Then make sure you choose what to do next wisely. Have you decided what you plan to do now? You know just training alone has a limit, right?"
"I was thinking of joining a Little League Team soon. What do you think?"
"A very solid choice, probably the best option you have right now." He commented nodding. "Have you decided on which team?"
"Not yet," I admitted. "I wanted to talk to you and maybe Coach Yamada about it."
Dad's eyes flickered with a mix of pride and nostalgia. "Good. You've got time till February, right? Let's call him next week."
"Yeah."
Maki leaned over, whispering loud enough for everyone to hear, "You two talking baseball again? You never stop!"
"Hey, it's a concern towards national security after all." Dad said with mock seriousness.
That made her roll her eyes so hard it was almost audible.
The days that followed were filled with small, ordinary joys — the kind I used to overlook.
We went out to see the Christmas lights in Shibuya, where the streets shimmered like rivers of gold and silver. Maki took dozens of pictures, her breath fogging up the camera lens, while Dad complained about the crowds but secretly held Mom's hand the entire time.
One afternoon, I helped Mom bake cookies, which ended with half the batch burnt because she got too invested in telling me a story about her college days. Maki teased us mercilessly, calling them "charcoal biscuits."
At night, I would still stretch and do light exercises in my room. Not because I had to, but because I couldn't stop. The rhythm had become a part of me.
Sometimes, Dad would peek in before bed. "You know," he'd say, leaning on the doorframe, "you remind me a little of myself when I was your age. Except I didn't have your discipline."
"You also didn't have YouTube," I'd reply.
He laughed. "Fair. Guess we both had our disadvantages."
*****
A few days after Christmas, we met Coach Yamada at a small ramen shop near the school grounds. The man hadn't changed a bit — tall, broad-shouldered, that same commanding calm about him and that same paunchy belly.
"Didn't expect to see you again so soon, Riku," he said, stirring his broth. "Your father tells me you've been training alone."
"Yes, sir."
He studied me with the same assessing gaze he used on the field. "I can tell. You've got the look of someone who's been through the grind and your body looks fuller and more defined. How's your form?"
"Better. Cleaner. But I need more real-game experience."
"Good," he said simply, sipping his soup. "If you're serious about joining the Little League next term, I can put in a word with a few coaches. You've got potential — just remember potential means nothing without consistency."
"I know," I said. "That's why I'm ready now."
He nodded once, satisfied. "Then we'll see how far you've come. Don't waste the second chance you've given yourself."
His words carried more weight than I expected. Maybe because he was the first adult, outside my family, who seemed to sense something deeper in me — the determination that came from a lifetime's worth of failure.
We talked a lot more about which teams I should consider joining and what else I should work on until the tryouts before we called it a day.
*****
New Year's Eve came quietly. The neighborhood was alive with distant laughter and fireworks. Our house was warm, lights dimmed, the faint sound of TV variety shows playing in the background.
We sat together in the living room — Maki half-asleep with her sketchbook on her lap, Mom sipping tea, Dad flipping through the newspaper like he wasn't watching the countdown clock.
"Any resolutions?" he asked, glancing up.
Maki mumbled, "Draw better."
Mom smiled. "Rest more."
Then Dad looked at me. "And you?"
I thought for a moment. "I was thinking about joining the army... not too soon, is it?"
There was a small silence. Then Dad smiled. "Maybe a year or two late in my opinion. I was already fighting in the war by the time I was your age."
We all laughed at the obvious jokes before I honestly confessed, "I just want to make sure I don't lose to myself."
Mom and Dad both nodded with smiles. "That my son is a great resolution. Probably the best one I have ever heard."
When the clock struck midnight, the TV erupted with confetti graphics and cheers. Maki stirred awake, clapping weakly.
I stepped out onto the balcony, the cold air biting my skin. Fireworks bloomed over Tokyo — brief, brilliant, bright.
I tightened my hoodie and whispered to myself, "Time to make this new year count."
Behind me, I could hear my family laughing inside — my anchor, my reminder of what mattered most.
It really was going to be a Happy New Year.