Mission: Cold Ice

The sun was already hiding behind the mountain peaks, and the warmth had been swallowed by a cool breeze, drawn in as if by an invisible hand. A typical phenomenon for this region. While the warm air collected above, the cold settled in the valley. But Takeshi was rarely truly cold. He had spent winter nights in holes before, so he was used to it.

He was actually on his way home but decided to stop by the local konbini to pick up a few things. His steady steps echoed rhythmically against the asphalt as he scanned his surroundings.

He passed a small workshop where an elderly man was planning a wooden beam. Every movement was precise and experienced. The smile on his lips spoke of a deep passion for his craft. Takeshi hadn't even noticed that he'd paused to watch a master at work. The man gave him a short bow in greeting and turned his attention back to the wood.

His path led him along a small canal, the gentle trickle of water filling the background. It was probably built for watering fields and branched off from the Hida River. Takeshi wondered if it was still used for that. Shortly after, he spotted his destination.

The familiar chime rang as he stepped inside. A casual greeting from the cashier, a man younger than Takeshi, stood behind the counter tapping nervously on the surface.

He retrieved a can of black coffee from the softly humming fridge at the back. He’d hoped to find MAX Coffee but was disappointed. On the way to the register, he picked up a new cloth handkerchief, he had given his to Ayaka, and two salmon-filled onigiri.

As he placed the items on the counter, the cashier, with tired eyes and a narrow face, scanned everything with slightly shaking hands.

The young man’s shirt was neatly buttoned, but the redness of his skin was still visible.

Since I entered the store, he’s scratched the same spot several times. He seems restless, almost nervous. Yellow outlines on his nails, he is shivering and unfocused.

“Rough day?” Takeshi asked casually.

“What? Ah… yeah, pretty busy today,” the young man answered with a tense voice.

After a few seconds, Takeshi grabbed a pack of nicotine gum and placed it beside his items.

“This too, please.”

After paying, Takeshi took his coffee, the handkerchief, and the onigiri and stepped outside. Barely two steps later, he heard the young man call out.

“Sir, you forgot something!” he said.

Takeshi turned around. “No, I have everything I need. You can keep the gum.”

Confusion and surprise spread across the cashier’s face.

With his back already turned, Takeshi added, “If you’re trying to quit smoking, try that. Might be easier than going cold turkey.”

“How did you…?” the man stammered.

“Lucky guess.”

He won’t last three days until he relapses…

Takeshi resumed his walk home. He opened the coffee can and the bitter taste flooded his tongue.

The streets were empty by now. The streetlamps cast pale light onto the asphalt as Takeshi’s steps echoed softly through the silence. A white cat darted into an alley. He wondered where it was going or if it was a stray cat.

The workshop was closed, and the town was slowly turning into a ghost town.
Windows became dark and empty. Shadows crept from corners, stretching across the pavement occupying everything, only the streetlamps light cone formed little islands on the ground.

And he walked through it all. Silent, distant, detached from the world’s pulse.

Like a ghost among ghosts.

Just an echo of himself drifting through a town that never knew him.

He paused for a moment until the soft click of his front door echoed behind him. It was dark, quiet, and sterile, as ever. After switching on the light, he loosened his tie and pulled off his gloves. At home, he didn’t need to worry about leaving traces. In fact, he didn’t need the gloves anymore, but he was so used to wearing them, it felt like something was missing without them. For him, it was as routine as others styling their hair or brushing their teeth in the morning.

Takeshi decided to take a shower. He flipped on the light in the dressing area and removed his shirt. His gaze landed on the mirror, and he stood motionless before it.

Countless scars stretched across his torso, pale and varying in age. Some were thin and faint, others darker and more pronounced. Cuts, healed gunshot wounds, signs of battles and fights. A few looked like they’d come from shrapnel.

Each scar held a memory. Silent witnesses of stories better left untold.

He touched a round scar beneath his left collarbone. He felt the rough, uneven skin beneath his fingers. A piece of the past, etched into his body. The fading echo of a gunshot, a sound he could never mistake. Then the stabbing pain in his shoulder. A second shot, the smell of burnt gunpowder, and still, he could feel the recoil vibrating in his right hand.

Takeshi took a deep breath.

He stepped into the shower and turned the water as cold as possible. Like a cloak of ice wrapping around him, numbing every pain.