As expected, I was made a starter on the team the same day I tried out, and I would train with the main team.
Coach Izanagi's sharp voice cut through the afternoon air. "Basara, Daichi, Hidesuke, start playing a 3-2 defense formation."
The sound of sneakers sliding against the court rang out as the three players responded without hesitation.
"Right, coach!" they shouted in unison, their bodies tightening into defensive stances. The slap of palms against hardwood echoed as they clapped into position, eyes narrowing, arms spread wide to deny space.
Makoto brought the ball up the court. His breathing was even, and his gaze scanned the floor with practiced calm. The polished ball thudded rhythmically against the court as it bounced in his hand. As he crossed half-court, both Basara and Daichi stepped up with quick lateral shuffles, closing the gap around him.
Makoto then planted his foot, shifted his weight, and crossed the ball between his legs in a controlled motion. The friction between rubber and sweat-slicked floor squeaked under his pivot as he launched into an attack to the right.
Basara and Daichi shadowed him, arms up, bodies pressed close, their shoes skimming the floor as they funneled him toward the sideline. The air was tight between them—Makoto could feel the warmth of their breath and the tension in their muscles as they trapped him in the corner.
But without a hitch, Makoto passed the ball behind his back. The ball spun low and clean through Basara's legs and into Takumi's waiting hands. Takumi caught it mid-stride, lowered his shoulder, and exploded toward the rim. Hidesuke turned to contest, his shoes scraping the floor as he backpedaled, but Takumi rose high, his arms steady, and banked the layup in off the glass.
Coach Izanagi folded his arms and narrowed his eyes as the play reset. Seems like my defensive trap tactics don't work on this kid. He has exceptional control over the ball and is able to pass with such precision through the tiniest of spaces between my defense, he thought, grudgingly impressed.
"Makoto, nice pass," said Takumi, his voice sharp but genuine as he threw Makoto a thumbs up.
Makoto nodded, sweat glistening along his brow, his breathing still measured from the run. The court smelled faintly of varnish and old rubber, and the air inside the gym was heavy with the residue of heated bodies in motion.
Unfortunately, things didn't go as smoothly for Shino.
He stood on the sidelines, his posture slouched and movements hesitant. His arms hung limp by his sides, and his eyes avoided contact with anyone's. The whistle of a gust through a small window made him flinch slightly. He looked like even the stale breeze inside the gym might knock him off balance.
Makoto turned his head just as Daichi's voice rang out.
"Hey, you little shrimp, get over here," said Daichi, the tone sharp and expectant.
Shino startled and walked forward, shoulders hunched, his sneakers dragging slightly against the floor. His steps were slow and reluctant, a mix of fear and anxious uncertainty building behind his dull eyes.
"Go buy us some drinks; we're thirsty from all this training," said Daichi, stretching and popping his neck.
"And make it quick too. Training will be resuming soon, and if you're late, that's five laps around the soccer field," added Basara, who barely looked at Shino while speaking.
Shino wrung his hands and mumbled, "I-I have no problem with going to buy it for you guys, but you haven't given me any money at all."
Daichi leaned in. His expression darkened.
"Don't act stupid. You will be paying for everything," he snapped.
Shino's mouth quivered. "But... if I buy that much, I won't be able to afford to go home," he said quietly, voice almost trembling.
"Are you talking back to your senior? Do not let this escalate, so go and buy us those drinks, you pathetic little bean sprout," said Hidesuke, staring down at him.
Shino flinched again. "Right," he muttered, eyes on the floor, and turned to leave.
"Yo, Makoto," called Hidesuke without turning his head. "Go with him and ensure that he buys those drinks, or we will remove him from our training."
Makoto narrowed his eyes and exhaled slowly, dragging his fingers through his damp hair.
"That kid is really stupid and gullible. There's no way he'll ever play a game," Daichi said with a snort of laughter.
Makoto didn't respond. Not that I care or anything, but these guys are some cruel bastards, taking advantage of that poor kid. If I were him, I would have quit at the first chance I got, he thought as he jogged up to Shino.
Shino's back was turned, but his shoulders trembled slightly. As Makoto drew closer, he saw the boy quickly wipe his face.
What the....Is he crying? Makoto observed, his brow furrowing slightly.
Shino noticed Makoto and looked away, wiping his face again with the sleeve of his jersey. His breath came in shallow pulls through his nose.
Makoto sighed and reached into his pocket. "Here."
Shino turned, confused. His swollen eyes blinked as he saw Makoto holding out some crumpled bills.
"I'm not sure if this amount will cover your travel funds, but that's all I have on me now," said Makoto, his voice flat but not unkind.
Shino took the money, his hands shaking slightly. "Thank you so much! This means so much to me."
"Please, don't thank me. Let me help you with those," said Makoto as he reached over and took a few bottles from Shino's hands, their cold surfaces slick with condensation.
"Really? That's so nice of you. Let's head back now," said Shino, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as they turned around.
The gym stood ahead, its wide doors propped open, releasing faint echoes of bouncing balls and shouting players. The afternoon heat clung to their skin as they walked across the pavement, the weight of the bottles pulling at their arms. Sweat had already begun to bead again on Makoto's forearms, the humid air growing thicker with every step they took toward the building.
"You really are amazing, Kurai. You're already a starter on the team and training with the main team. That must be nice," said Shino, his voice lowering, sad and unsure.
Makoto didn't respond right away. The dull echo of a ball bouncing somewhere in the back filled the silence.
Then he said, his fist clenched tightly at his side, tension building in his forearm, "I really need to clarify something with you. How can you put up with those guys? They are really ruthless and heartless bastards. You know they'll never allow you to play, right? All they're doing is using you and treating you like trash. Quit basketball, it's for your own good."
Shino stopped walking. His fists clenched, the bags crinkling tightly in his grasp. He turned toward Makoto, eyes suddenly fierce.
"No, no, no!" Shino shouted, his voice cracking under the weight of rising emotion. The water bottles in his hands trembled, their plastic crinkling as his grip tightened around them.
"I can't give up this sport." His chest rose and fell rapidly, breath hitching. The bottles jostled in his hands with every word. "I love watching it so much, and it's fun."
His arms shook, moisture from the condensation dripping onto the ground. "That's why I want to learn the game on my own and experience it for myself."
Tears blurred his vision, and he blinked rapidly, his fingers twitching against the slick plastic. "If I quit now, I'll never know the feeling."
He looked directly at Makoto, eyes wide and desperate, the bottles now rattling softly from the strain in his grip. "Tell me, how can I be as good as you? How can I not suck at this sport?"
He stepped forward, nearly dropping one of the bottles as it slipped slightly in his sweaty palm. "Please tell me!" he screamed, his voice raw, every word soaked with pain, hope, and something just short of collapse.
Makoto didn't say anything. The hallway around them seemed to hold its breath.
I wasn't able to respond to him when he asked me that question. I was completely speechless. At that moment, I thought to myself that he has a lot of suffering to endure because he was determined not to quit, Makoto thought, his chest tightening with something unfamiliar.
They returned to the court.
"Finally, you're back. I've gotten really tired of waiting," Daichi said.
Shino held the bag up. Daichi rifled through it and pulled out a bottle.
"What the hell is this? I told you we wanted drinks, but you went ahead and bought water," he said, clearly annoyed.
Shino swallowed hard. "I think that it's not good to drink soda after such intense workouts, so I thought that water would be better. Coach Izanagi would say the same thing."
Without warning, Hidesuke opened the bottle and dumped its contents over Shino's head. The cold water splashed down his face and drenched his hair and shoulders. Shino stood still, blinking rapidly as the water soaked into his shirt.
"You're so useless to the point where you can't even be a proper errand boy. How pathetic," Hidesuke sneered.
"You should just quit the sport while you're at it. You'll never amount to anything but a stupid water boy," said Basara.
Shino wiped the water from his eyes and glared up at them.
"Shut up!! It doesn't matter what you guys say. I'll become one of the best players in the country and also become better than all of you. Just you wait and see."
Basara and Daichi burst into laughter, doubling over slightly.
"Someone's a bit delusional today," said Daichi.
"Who the hell are you telling to shut up, bean sprout? That's twenty laps around the football field."
"But that's impossible! The field is too big," said Shino, voice rising in panic.
"If you don't complete it, I'll make sure you never touch another basketball again," said Hidesuke, tone cold and final.
Shino's jaw clenched. His arms trembled at his sides as he took a breath, turned sharply—and his back foot stepped directly onto the puddle of water still glistening on the court.
His heel slid out from under him with a slick squeal against the polished floor. The sound of his body hitting the hardwood echoed sharply through the gym. His elbow smacked down first, followed by the side of his hip, and he groaned low under his breath as the shock registered through his frame.
The gym went still for a moment. Then—
"Pffft...! Hah! You've gotta be kidding me!" Hidesuke's voice cracked out, high and amused.
Basara doubled over slightly, trying to stifle his laughter but failing completely. "He really just slipped on his own pathetic mess!"
Makoto didn't move. His eyes followed Shino's slow attempt to get back up. Shino's palms were flat against the court as he pushed himself up. His body shook, not from the fall—but from something deeper. His face was flushed red from both embarrassment and pain, his jaw clenched tightly as he stood upright again.
Shino didn't speak. He wiped his wet elbow on his shorts and limped slightly as he began jogging toward the doors.
Makoto leaned back against the wall, arms folded. His gaze never left Shino.
At the time, I didn't really care about what they did to him. He couldn't even stand up for himself. That's what I thought to myself. Even after harassment, doubts, and discouragement, he still kept on going, trying to improve himself without any knowledge of the sport or assistance from a coach. He trained before, during, and after training, but he still didn't make any progress, Makoto thought, watching Shino's small figure disappear outside the gym.