I had never snowboarded in my life, so getting the chance to try it in Kiroro during winter? Total dream come true. I packed my bags and off I went!

My friend and I spent a few days in Hokkaido before heading to Kiroro. Everything was blanketed in white—the trees, the hills, even the hotel buildings. So this was snow. This was winter. Coming from a country with only two seasons (hot and humid, or hot and rainy), the whole scene felt downright magical. All that was missing was Santa Claus sliding down the hill with Rudolph.

The next day, I was all geared up in my rental snowboard outfit—zero experience, 100% confidence. I figured I’d just watch others and… wing it. I stepped outside to see the gorgeous white hilltops and people gliding down like pros. Yes. This was the dream.

Dressed in my fabulous pink outfit, I bravely tackled the smallest hill I could find and managed to snowboard like… well, an amateur. But hey—I stayed upright! Mostly.

Not long after, my friend suggested, “Let’s take the ski cable car and go higher!”

Brilliant idea. Let’s do it.

That excitement evaporated the moment I got on the cable car. With one foot strapped to the board, I had to dangle it awkwardly mid-air while trying to look casual. Comfortable? No. Scenic? Absolutely. Did I enjoy it? Reluctantly.

As I was grumbling about the discomfort, we passed a cable car pillar painted with the number 14. At that exact moment, I pulled off one of my gloves to grab something from my pocket.

And that’s when it happened.

Like a dramatic slow-motion movie scene, my glove slipped from my hand. We both watched in stunned silence as it spiraled down into the snowy abyss below.

Fantastic. Now I was cold, unbalanced, and about to be charged for a lost rental glove.

We got off at the next station, hoping someone could help. A Japanese staff member listened patiently as we explained the “glove incident.” He picked up his walkie-talkie and started talking to someone—who, I had no clue.

Moments later, two snow patrol guys rolled up on snowmobiles. Very good-looking snow patrol guys, mind you. Blue-eyed, like they’d just stepped out of a ski-themed Hollywood drama.

One of them asked, “Do you remember where you dropped the glove?”

“Pillar No. 14!” I blurted, as if answering a life-or-death exam question.

“Okay,” he said. “Wait here. We’ll go look for it.”

Honestly, I had zero hope. I was already preparing to hand over my credit card. I mean, it was just one glove. Small. Probably buried under ten feet of snow by now. But still—watching them ride off on their snowmobiles felt like watching knights in shining armor gallop off on a noble quest to rescue a helpless maiden’s missing… mitten.

We waited about 30 minutes as snow fell gently around us. And then—like a scene straight out of a drama—we saw the two snow patrols returning.

One of them got off his snowmobile, walked toward me, and extended his hand. For one brief, delusional second, I thought, Is this it? My K-drama moment? Are we about to hold hands under the snowfall?

And then I saw it—my glove—in his hand.

HE FOUND IT.

My hero.

Internally, I was having a full rom-com moment. Outwardly, I tried to play it cool as I thanked them profusely, full of gratitude and a touch of embarrassment. They smiled, waved, and rode off into the snow like the legends they were.

My friend and I hopped back on the cable car to return to the hotel. Honestly, one dramatic rescue and a little eye candy per day? That’s more than enough adventure for me.