Just two days after he received the call, Hiro travelled to Japan.
The plane touched down at Narita just after dawn.
Hiro stepped off the aircraft with a single bag over his shoulder, and despite it being a long time since he last set foot in his nation, he was rather calm.
The terminal was quiet, with no fans and no cameras and no media circus. The JFA had arranged a private arrival, a small mercy he hadn't expected and was deeply grateful for.
A car was waiting for him outside. The driver, a quiet man in his fifties, nodded as Hiro climbed in. "Welcome home, Takahashi-san."
"Thank you."
The car pulled away from the airport, and Hiro watched Tokyo slide past the tinted window, the early light catching on glass and concrete and the long gray ribbon of the expressway.
He hadn't been back in months. The last time he had stood on Japanese soil, he had been a different person, a player defined by speed and explosiveness and the System.
Now he was something else.
