Forward

Ethan didn’t go home right away.

The city moved on schedule. Platforms slid above the road. Traffic lights changed second for second.

His shoulder still throbbed from training. A dull, steady ache. Just a reminder.

He slowed his pace, almost testing the rhythm of the street.

It didn’t change.

The park began after the corner. Less glass. More ground. The air felt different there.

His father was already sitting on a bench near the edge of the path.

“Why’d you call me?” Ethan asked.

“Sit.”

Ethan sat down. The bench felt cold against his back. He rolled his shoulder once, carefully.

Someone was jogging past. Footsteps hit the pavement unevenly. Human. Not mechanical.

They sat in silence.

“Nervous?” his father asked.

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

Ethan smirked but didn’t argue.

He could still feel the rhythm of the tatami in his body. Grip. Shift. Step. Repeat.

“You really want this?” his father asked.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I should.”

“Should for who?”

“For everyone.”

His father let out a quiet breath.

“‘Everyone’ is a very convenient word.”

A runner slowed down a few meters away. He bent forward, hands on his knees, catching his breath. For a moment, he looked like he might quit.

Then he straightened and took another step.

“See that?” his father said.

“What?”

“He wanted to stop.”

“It’s just running.”

“No. It’s a choice.”

A pause.

The wind moved through the trees. Leaves rustled, out of sync with each other.

“What if you can’t anymore?” Ethan asked.

“Then you move slower.”

“And if you really can’t?”

“Then you crawl.”

Ethan snorted.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

The sun dipped lower behind the buildings.

“Losing isn’t the end,” his father said.

Ethan glanced at him.

“What is?”

His father finally turned to face him.

“When you decide you’re not going any further.”

Silence.

Somewhere in the distance, a swing creaked.

His father stood up.

“Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Home.”

They walked side by side along the path.

“Dad?”

“Mm?”

“Have you ever wanted to stop?”

A faint smile.

“Of course.”

“And?”

“I didn’t.”

He checked his watch.

“If we don’t hurry, your mom and your sister are going to turn the kitchen into a disaster zone again.”

Ethan huffed.

“Last time the stove barely survived.”

“Exactly. Run?”

He stepped forward.

“And don’t stop.”

Ethan shook his head but matched his pace.

They ran down the path. Not fast. Just steady.

This time, the rhythm was theirs.