The gym smelled faintly of varnished wood and lingering sweat. A few overhead lights hummed quietly, casting soft reflections on the polished court. The sound of sneakers squeaking echoed lightly as the players stretched.
"Finally, it's time for training." Hayato exhaled as he bent down, feeling the tightness release in his hamstrings. He rotated his neck slowly, loosening the stiffness from hours of sitting. "I work hard in class for times like this."
"Yes, time to get to work. I'll dunk everything today." Liam's grin was relaxed but confident. He rolled his broad shoulders, fingers flexing as if already gripping the rim. His long strides left faint echoes on the hardwood as he warmed up.
He spotted two familiar figures entering. "Oh, good evening, Yukio, Takahiro. Are you guys ready for training?"
"Yes, I'm looking forward to today's session," Yukio said, pulling on his sleeve, shifting his weight onto the balls of his feet as if impatient to move.
"Me too. I was getting sick of sitting in the classroom for so long," Takahiro said, arms stretching overhead until his back gave a soft crack. He let out a satisfied breath. His gaze darted toward the door. "I wonder where Nanaho and the first years are. It's unusual for her not to be here."
Suddenly, a sharp yell cracked through the calm rhythm.
"Ow, ow, ouch!! Are you going to frickin' tear my ear off? That hurts, goddammit!" Noboru stumbled forward awkwardly, clutching his ear.
"Shut up!!" Nanaho snapped, her fist landing squarely on his head with a dull thud. Noboru winced, rubbing the sore spot.
"Yes, she's really pissed. Remind me not to get on her bad side," Makoto muttered just loud enough for Shino to hear.
"Yes, hopefully I don't as well," Shino replied, keeping his voice quiet.
Meanwhile, Tetsuo walked silently behind them, his steps slower than usual, eyes distant. His hands were loosely tucked into his pockets, shoulders slightly slumped. Her eyes… they changed once more—so gloomy and sad, nothing but darkness, nowhere to turn to. Pain and suffering is all I can see in them, he thought, the memory of flames swallowing his parents flickering in the back of his mind.
"Alright, let's go," Makoto said, bouncing the ball. The rhythmic thump-thump of rubber against wood filled the gym. He stepped to the top of the key, lowering his center of gravity. Hayato slid into a defensive stance opposite him, knees bent, one hand low to guard the dribble, the other up to contest a shot.
Tetsuo cut hard toward the paint, his sneakers squealing faintly on the pivot. Yukio planted himself firmly, arms tight to his chest, setting a solid screen that jolted Takahiro slightly off balance. Makoto's eyes flicked toward the opening and, with a quick flick of his wrist, fired a sharp bounce pass through the narrow lane.
The ball bounced up smoothly into Tetsuo's palms. His fingers wrapped around it instinctively, feeling the rough grooves as he rose for a mid-range jumper. But just as the ball began leaving his fingertips, a shadow loomed. Liam, in one explosive motion, sprang upward—his muscles tensing, body stretching to full height. His hand slapped the ball mid-release with a loud smack, sending it bouncing away.
The ball spun erratically across the floor. Makoto and Hayato lunged at the same time, sneakers screeching as they collided briefly, both reaching. Makoto's fingers grazed the ball first. Without fully gripping it, he redirected it in one swift motion toward Yukio, who was gliding into the paint.
Yukio caught it mid-stride, planting his left foot softly and taking one controlled step before lifting off. The ball hit the backboard gently and dropped into the net with a light swish.
"Wow, nice shot, Yukio-senpai!!" a girl called out, her voice echoing from the sideline. A few others clapped lightly, their voices mixing with the soft bounce of stray balls in the background.
Tetsuo stood near the perimeter, unmoving. He lowered his eyes, staring down at his own hand as though it were foreign to him, flexing his fingers slowly.
"Hey, Tetsuo, are you okay?" Makoto asked, his voice carrying just enough concern.
"Yes, I'm fine. Let's get back on defense," Tetsuo replied flatly. He turned and jogged back, his movements slightly muted compared to usual.
Hayato dribbled down the court with controlled rhythm, each bounce steady. He glanced toward the post and delivered a clean chest pass to Liam. Liam felt Yukio's weight pressing against his back. He lowered his shoulder slightly, pivoted his right foot, and with a powerful twist, exploded upward. His fingers gripped the rim tightly, rattling it as he dunked with force. The rim vibrated before snapping back into place with a metallic clink.
Makoto grabbed the ball immediately and inbounded quickly. "Screen!" he called. Yukio shuffled up, planting himself like a wall. Makoto brushed off the screen tightly, spinning his body in one fluid motion to shed Hayato. He stepped into a small pocket of space, his shooting hand snapping upward. The ball left his fingertips cleanly and arced smoothly. Swish.
Hayato retrieved the ball and inbounded to Takahiro. Takahiro kept his body low, knees flexing with each dribble. He feinted left sharply, then crossed back to his right with speed. Tetsuo reacted late; his feet didn't slide in time. Takahiro glided past him, fingers rolling the ball gently for a soft floater. It dropped through without touching the rim.
"Nice one, Takahiro," Liam grinned, raising his hand for a firm high five.
On the far side of the court, Shino worked alone. His breathing was steady but slightly strained as he repeatedly attempted a behind-the-back dribble.
The ball slapped the floor with a dull, rhythmic thump-thump, but each time it passed behind him, it slipped slightly off his palm. The rough grooves scraped lightly across his fingertips, just enough to remind him of his imperfect control. His chest tightened with mild irritation, and he exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to stay calm.
His sneakers squeaked faintly as he shuffled his feet into better balance. Sweat clung to his forehead and slid down the side of his face, itching slightly, but he didn't pause to wipe it away. He bent his knees deeper, feeling the strain build in his quads. Again, he snapped the ball across his body—too high. It bounced unevenly and drifted off to his side.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, chasing it down. His fingers gripped the leather firmly before trying again.
This time, he slowed the motion, feeling the weight of the ball roll more smoothly into his palm. Better. Control it. Don't rush.
"I really wanted to play out there with them today," he murmured, watching Liam slam a dunk on the opposite end. His eyes narrowed with quiet resolve. "But I need to improve so that I can keep up."
He straightened his back, adjusted his stance, and tried again. The ball arced neatly behind him, brushing his fingertips. A faint flicker of satisfaction crossed his face, but he didn't stop. He repeated it, again and again, the sound of the dribble syncing with his breathing.
Across the gym, Noboru's voice rang out in protest.
"Goddammit, this sucks. Why am I the only one here doing push-ups?" His arms trembled with each descent, his palms damp with sweat.
"Oh, I don't know, maybe it's because someone got a detention?" Nanaho's tone was sharp. She stood with her arms folded, weight shifted on one hip. "Do you know how much trouble I had to go through to bail you out? I had to beg Hamada-sensei to let it slide, and thankfully he did—but at the cost of me helping him mark all the first-year exam papers. So now you're going to pay with two hundred push-ups and fifty suicides."
""What? But that's unfair! How am I going to finish all of that and still find time to train?" Noboru's voice cracked as he dropped to his knees, already exhausted.
"Well, anything you missed out on today can always be made up for tomorrow," Nanaho replied with a sly smile.
"This girl is insane," Noboru muttered, collapsing briefly onto the floor before forcing himself up again.
Back on the main court, Makoto swung a precise pass to Tetsuo on the wing. Tetsuo's feet aligned at the arc. He lifted the ball into his shooting pocket, released cleanly over Takahiro's contest—but the shot hit the rim with a dull clank.
Yukio and Liam leapt simultaneously. Their bodies collided mid-air, elbows brushing. Liam extended just higher and snatched the rebound firmly into his chest.
Before he could secure his footing, Makoto darted in, fingers prying the ball loose. He tipped it outward and chased it down, scooping it before feeding Tetsuo once again. Tetsuo hesitated for the briefest moment, then rose and let it fly. The ball rotated tightly and fell straight through with a crisp swish.
The girls on the sidelines erupted in cheers. Harumi, sitting quietly among them, smiled faintly. "Tetsuo is really something else, isn't he?" she whispered to herself.
"Nice shot, Tetsuo," Yukio said, holding up a hand.
"Yes, Captain," Tetsuo said quietly, brushing his hand lightly against Yukio's before jogging back. His tone held no spark.
"Is it just me, or did Tetsuo look a bit off today?" Makoto murmured as they regrouped. "He's more quiet than usual, and he's playing sloppy defense. That's not like him."
"Now that you mention it, he did seem off," Liam said. "That was the first time I managed to block him."
"Today was the first time I ever saw him miss a shot too," Hayato added, brows furrowed.
"Are you guys dumb? He's still the same. He's always been quiet. So what if he missed a shot or got blocked? Even great players have an off day," Noboru said, struggling to catch his breath between push-ups.
"You have a point, Noboru," Nanaho said, her gaze softening. "But in his case, it feels like there's more. He even left earlier than usual."
"Think about it, Noboru. Or maybe because of how dull your brain is, you wouldn't notice if something's off even if he broke a leg," Makoto quipped.
"What? I'm not going to get insulted by a lazy bum who can't concentrate in class!" Noboru snapped.
"For your information, I might not stay awake in class, but I still study later—unlike you, who just annoys everyone. Your whole existence is a comedian's dream," Makoto shot back.
"Why you…" Noboru growled, stepping forward.
But before he could reach Makoto, Liam stepped in effortlessly, lifting Noboru off the ground with one arm.
"That's enough. It's not good to fight amongst each other," Liam said calmly, his smile never fading.
"Hey, let go of me right now, you big oaf!" Noboru shouted, kicking his legs in protest.
"Come on, everyone, let's go home," Liam said as he turned toward the exit.
"Didn't you hear me? I said let go!!" Noboru continued to yell, his voice echoing.
Nanaho turned to Yukio. "What do you think is happening, Yukio?"
"To be honest, I'm not sure," Yukio admitted. "But he won't stay like that for long. He'll be back to the Tetsuo we know. Let's go, Nanaho."
The gym quieted gradually as they all left, the echoes of their footsteps fading into silence.
Later that evening, the atmosphere was starkly different.
"I'm home," Tetsuo said softly, sliding the door shut behind him. He bent down slowly to remove his shoes. The faint scent of simmering miso soup drifted from the kitchen. The lighting was warm and dim, casting soft golden glows on the wooden floor.
"Welcome home, big brother." Usagi's voice came from the kitchen, light and cheerful. "I was getting tired of waiting for you. I made dinner tonight as well."
Tetsuo stepped into the small dining space. The table was neatly set—two bowls of steaming soup, a plate of grilled fish, and a small dish of pickled vegetables. The faint sound of the kettle humming in the background gave the room a peaceful stillness.
"Thanks. I don't know what I would do without you," he said, gently patting her head. Her hair was soft and still faintly smelled of shampoo.
She looked up at him, frowning slightly. "Big brother, are you okay? You're not acting like your usual self. What happened?"
"I'm fine. There's nothing wrong," Tetsuo replied, his voice quiet but distant.
"I might not fully understand you because you always keep everything bottled up," Usagi said softly, "but I can tell something is bothering you. So please tell me."
Tetsuo sighed. The quiet of the room made his thoughts feel heavier. "There's this girl I met at school in the literature club. The first thing I noticed about her was her eyes. They were cold, completely empty. I figured something terrible must have happened in her past.
Her eyes reminded me of mine. It's like looking into a mirror—so hollow, so heavy. I felt drawn to her. I wanted to help. But it seems like I made it worse. That's why I've been like this all day. It's… new to me."
Usagi's expression softened, her small hands clasped together. "No, you didn't make it worse. I'm surprised you went out of your way to help her—that's new for you. And I'm happy that you feel this way.
But don't blame yourself. You tried out of kindness. She knew that. She saw that. So don't let this weigh you down."
Tetsuo's shoulders relaxed slightly, the tension easing in the quiet warmth of their home. "Thanks for that, Usagi. I really mean it."
The soft clink of chopsticks and the faint steam from the bowls filled the silence. For a moment, the heaviness of the gym felt far away.