Three weeks into her stay at the Instituto, Aiko had settled into a routine that balanced intensive coursework with careful investigation into her personal quest. She had filled a small notebook with every detail she could remember about the boy from the park, cross-referencing them with information she gathered about Spanish cycling groups, international exchange programs, and anything else that might provide leads.
The breakthrough came during an evening spent at Carmen's kitchen table, reviewing her notes while her host mother prepared dinner.
"Carmen," Aiko said carefully, looking up from her notebook, "do you know anything about Spanish cycling groups that might have traveled to Japan about three years ago?"
Carmen paused in her chopping of onions, considering the question. "My neighbor's son is very involved in competitive cycling. International competitions, training camps, that sort of thing. Why do you ask?"
"I'm trying to find someone who helped me when I was younger. I think he might have been part of a cycling group visiting Japan."
"Ah, romance!" Carmen said with a knowing smile. "Let me call Elena and ask about her son Miguel—no, wait, that's a different Miguel than your classmate. Elena's son is Miguel Ruiz. He might know about international cycling programs."
That evening, Carmen arranged for Aiko to meet with Miguel Ruiz, a serious young man in his early twenties who worked at a local bike shop while training for competitive races. He met them at a café near the Instituto, carrying a worn laptop and wearing the kind of athletic clothes that suggested he'd come directly from training.
"Carmen explained you're looking for information about cycling groups that visited Japan," he said without preamble, opening his laptop. "I've been involved in competitive cycling for about six years, so I might be able to help."
"Specifically about three years ago," Aiko clarified. "It would have been a group that included younger cyclists, maybe late teens. One of them helped me during a difficult situation in a park near Nagoya."
Miguel Ruiz pulled up several websites and began scrolling through archived results and team listings. "Three years ago... that would have been when several Spanish development teams were doing international training camps. Let me check the junior circuit records."
As he clicked through databases, Aiko felt her pulse quickening. This was the most systematic investigation she'd been able to conduct since arriving in Spain.
"Here," Miguel said, turning the laptop so she could see the screen. "Summer of three years ago, there were three Spanish cycling programs that included Japanese training camps. Two were professional development teams, and one was a youth development program sponsored by the Spanish Cycling Federation."
The screen showed team photos, race results, and program descriptions. Aiko studied each image carefully, looking for any face that might trigger recognition.
"This youth program," she said, pointing to one of the listings. "Can you tell me more about it?"
"Programa de Desarrollo Juvenil Varela," Miguel read. "Named after the family that sponsors it. They focus on developing young cyclists aged 16-19, with emphasis on international experience and cultural exchange. Very prestigious program."
"Varela?" Aiko repeated, the name sending a strange chill through her. "Is that a common Spanish surname?"
"Not particularly common, but not rare either. The family that sponsors this program is quite wealthy—they have interests in sports equipment, real estate, some other businesses." Miguel clicked through more pages. "Here's their program description from three years ago."
Aiko read carefully: "The Varela Youth Development Program provides intensive training and cultural immersion experiences for promising young cyclists. Participants travel internationally to develop racing skills while serving as cultural ambassadors for Spanish cycling tradition."
"Do you have any photos from their Japanese training camp?" she asked, her heart pounding.
Miguel searched for several more minutes. "The program seems to keep a low profile about specific activities. But I found this." He pointed to a small group photo labeled "Varela Program International Exchange - Asia Tour."
The photo was taken from a distance and the resolution wasn't perfect, but Aiko could make out about eight young men in cycling gear standing in front of what looked like a traditional Japanese building. The faces were too small to identify clearly, but something about the composition of the group felt familiar.
"Is there any way to get more information about the specific participants in this program?" Aiko asked.
"That might be difficult. Youth programs are usually protective of participant privacy. But..." Miguel paused, studying Aiko's expression. "You seem very certain that someone from this program is who you're looking for."
"The name Varela, the timing, the age range—it all fits with what I remember."
"If you're really determined to find out more, you could try contacting the Varela Foundation directly. They have offices here in Madrid. Though I should warn you, they're known for being quite private about their programs."
Carmen, who had been listening quietly, leaned forward. "Aiko, are you sure this is wise? Sometimes when we search too hard for people from our past, we create expectations that can't be met."
"I just need to know," Aiko said quietly. "This person changed the direction of my entire life. I've come this far—I have to try to find answers."
Miguel Ruiz wrote down contact information for the Varela Foundation and explained the best approaches for making inquiries. "Be prepared for them to be cautious," he warned. "Organizations that work with young people are very careful about sharing information, even for well-intentioned reasons."
As they prepared to leave the café, Miguel made one more suggestion. "There's also the cycling community here in Madrid. If any of the program participants are still active in the sport, someone might know them. I could ask around at races and training sessions."
Walking back to Carmen's apartment, Aiko felt energized by having concrete leads to pursue for the first time since arriving in Spain. The Varela name felt significant, though she couldn't pinpoint exactly why. Something about it resonated with half-formed memories that she couldn't quite bring into focus.
That night, she sat on her small balcony with her notebook, organizing everything she had learned. The Varela Youth Development Program represented her best lead yet, but she knew she would need to be strategic about how she approached the investigation.
Tomorrow, she would call the Varela Foundation and try to arrange a meeting. She would also ask Miguel Santos if he had any knowledge of the program or the family behind it. The cycling community in Spain was relatively small, and it was possible that connections existed that she hadn't yet discovered.
As she prepared for bed, Aiko felt closer to answers than she had since beginning her search. The mysterious boy from the park was no longer just a memory—he was potentially connected to a specific program, a real family, a traceable history.
Finding him was no longer a matter of hoping for miraculous coincidence. It had become a systematic investigation that might actually yield results.
The question now was whether she was prepared for whatever she might discover when the search finally reached its conclusion.