日本語 ｜ 繁體中文 ｜ English ｜ 한국어 ｜ Tiếng Việt
Prologue
The young woman called the young guy.
Not by his last name.
By a first name I didn’t know.
…His first name?!
I — So Tamano (thirty, virgin, forever B class, currently a cue ball) — heard it all from the front table.
Tonight the young woman wore a deep green knit sweater and wide gray trousers.
She sat in the chair beside the table. Not playing.
The young guy wore his usual white shirt, with a navy vest.
He stood there, cue in hand.
His opponent was the old regular.
“Always wanted to have a go at you,” he’d said a moment ago.
Still in his windbreaker, he was twisting chalk onto his tip.
Nine-ball.
Race to three for the old guy, race to five for the young guy.
One–four.
The young guy was one rack away.
Chapter One: All Right, Let’s Bend One
The old guy’s turn.
Left on the table: the 7, the 8, the 9.
The 9 stood right in front of the 7.
No straight path through.
“All right, let’s bend one.”
The old guy raised the butt of his cue a little.
He aimed to the left of the 9.
And stroked me, softly, on the right.
Shff.
I slipped past the left of the 9 without touching it.
Then, slowly, I bent to the right.
Tock.
The 7 dropped into the pocket.
“All right.”
…Wait. Did I just curve?
Elevate the cue and hit me on the right, and first I shoot out a little to the left.
That’s squirt.
At the same time, the axis I spin on tilts at an angle.
The one point of me touching the cloth scrubs sideways.
And that friction pushes me back to the right.
I only curve while I’m sliding.
Once I’m fully rolling, it’s over.
…Why do I know even this?
Apparently reincarnation makes you weirdly good at physics.
What a nuisance.
The old guy ran it out from there, all the way to the 9.
Two–four.
Elevate the cue and add english, and the cue ball curves back the opposite way from its squirt.
Chapter Two: Good Luck
Next rack.
The young guy’s turn, and there was the 9, in front of the 6.
Almost exactly the same layout.
The young woman called out again.
By his first name.
“Good luck.”
The young guy raised the butt of his cue.
He aimed to the left of the 9.
He hit me on the right.
Harder than the old guy had.
Shff.
I slipped past the left of the 9.
And kept going, almost straight.
By the time I started to bend, I was already past the 6.
Thunk.
I touched nothing, bounced off the cushion, and stopped.
Foul.
The force that bends me barely changes, whether you hit hard or soft.
But at speed, I travel a long way before that force can finish its work.
The softer I’m hit, the sooner the curve comes.
The harder I’m hit, the later the curve arrives.
The old guy picked me up by hand and set me down wherever he liked.
Ball in hand.
“All right.”
From there, all the way to the 9.
Three–four.
The old guy won.
It was the first time I’d ever seen the young guy miss.
I was a little bit happy.
…No. I wasn’t happy.
The one who missed was my body.
Back when I was B class, I thought the harder you hit a swerve shot, the more it curved.
When it didn’t curve, I hit harder.
When all along, it was getting there before it could bend.
“Eight years, and what was I even looking at…”
The harder you hit, the later the curve arrives.
The way she said his name had slowly curved all the way around.
Epilogue
The lights go down.
One by one, the customers head home.
The old guy said “All right” and went home.
The young guy still hasn’t put his cue away.
He sets up that layout again himself.
The 9, in front of the 6.
Shff.
Doesn’t bend in time.
Sets it up again.
Just a little softer.
Shff.
Every time he shoots it again, the place where I start to bend comes a little sooner.
The young woman watched from her chair.
She didn’t call his name.
Somewhere around the umpteenth try, the 6 went down.
At last, the young guy put his cue back in its case.
Zzzip.
…How am I supposed to hate him now?
The two of them head home.
Just before the door closed, I heard that name one more time.
Once again, I was the only one left on the table.
“Arrives later, huh…”
In the darkened pool hall, I just stayed still.
— Will my story go on? Or won’t it?
That may depend… on all of you.
Next time (if there is one): The door opens. The young guy walks in, alone. The young woman doesn't come. ...Alone?! The reincarnated life of So Tamano, cue ball, goes on... maybe.
👉 Billiards resources from Japan and around the world, organized by purpose: Billiards in Depth (latest updated hourly)
