The gym smelled faintly of polished wood and faint sweat, its echoing acoustics amplifying every bounce of the ball. Overhead, the fluorescent lights hummed quietly, casting pale reflections onto the glossy court. A few stray voices echoed from the bleachers, where some students were lingering, curious about the team's practice.
"Okay, let's get started with training. We'll warm up first, then you'll be playing four-on-four with the same team members as last time," said Nanaho, her voice calm but carrying authority.
"Alright, you heard our coach, let's get started with training," Yukio added, clapping his hands once for emphasis.
"Toshigawa!! Fight! Fight! Fight!!" the whole team shouted in unison, their voices bouncing off the gym walls.
They began jogging around the court, sneakers squeaking lightly against the varnished surface. Hayato's breath came steadily, controlled, while Liam jogged effortlessly, his stride relaxed. Shino wiped a thin sheen of sweat from his brow even before the warm-up ended, and Noboru kept glancing around, distracted by the echo of voices.
After a few laps, they stopped, breathing lightly, and fell into their stretching routine. Hamstrings, quads, shoulders—all loosened methodically. The faint thud of bouncing basketballs from the far end of the court blended with the muted chatter of students in the bleachers.
Once limbered up, they lined into two clean rows for the layup drill, led by Yukio. The rhythm of the drill started simple but precise. Yukio took a steady breath and passed the ball sharply to Takahiro. Takahiro caught it cleanly, took two crisp steps, and laid it off the backboard. The ball rolled in with a satisfying swish.
Next, Shino, focused and quiet, passed the ball to Noboru. Noboru, a little heavier on his feet, adjusted mid-step but managed to softly guide the ball off the glass. Another swish.
Then came Hayato's turn. He whipped a one-handed bounce pass to Liam. Without hesitation, Liam gathered the ball mid-stride, his long arms coiling back before exploding upward. The rim rattled as he slammed the ball down with a clean, powerful dunk that echoed across the gym.
"Nice!" someone muttered from the sidelines.
Tetsuo followed. He lobbed the ball toward Makoto, who smoothly caught it with both hands, glided into a layup motion, and banked it in with minimal effort.
The rhythm repeated—pass, catch, two steps, shot. The repetition was hypnotic. The gym filled with the consistent cadence of sneakers sliding, the tap of passes, and the occasional metallic clang when a ball hit the rim. After several rotations, Nanaho signaled for the next part of the warm-up.
They shifted into a shooting drill. Balls arced from midrange, some clean, some rattling off the rim, each rebound followed by the quick shuffle of feet. A few players wiped sweat from their foreheads before stretching one more time to stay loose.
Finally, Nanaho clapped once. "Alright. Four-on-four, let's go. Hayato's team starts with the ball."
The tension shifted instantly. The casual energy of warm-up melted into focused silence. Hayato dribbled the ball near half court, his body low, head darting left and right. Makoto crouched in front of him, sliding his feet cautiously, hands extended.
"Screen!" Hayato called sharply.
Takahiro stepped up, planting himself firmly in Makoto's path. Hayato brushed past, driving hard toward the rim. The air seemed to thicken for a moment—his layup angle was open. But before the ball could leave his hand, Yukio sprang up with perfect timing, his shadow covering the driving lane.
Hayato made a split-second adjustment midair, twisting his torso and flicking the ball upward. Liam, reading the play like clockwork, leaped behind him, caught the lob cleanly, and threw down a thunderous dunk. The rim snapped back violently, echoing with a clang.
"That's a great way to start training, way to go, Liam!!" shouted Nanaho, her voice filled with genuine approval.
Makoto quickly retrieved the ball and dribbled upcourt. Hayato was still backpedaling, resetting his stance. Makoto's eyes scanned the floor. He shifted his weight slightly before passing sharply to Shino.
Shino immediately assumed a triple-threat position, knees bent, body angled, scanning for options. Noboru stepped up, closing the gap. The ball never stayed in Shino's hands for long—he snapped a quick bounce pass to Yukio, who had positioned himself in the low post.
Liam guarded the paint like a sentinel, arms wide, feet planted. Yukio, sensing the challenge, dribbled once, then twice, slowly backing out of the paint, hoping to pull Liam further from the rim. But Liam refused to bite, staying anchored.
Fine. Yukio rose up for a soft two-pointer. The ball left his fingertips with a clean spin, arching gracefully before hitting the bottom of the net with a swish.
Next possession, Hayato was already thinking two steps ahead. He dribbled deliberately, signaled for Takahiro to set another screen, and darted toward the free-throw line. Tetsuo rotated quickly, cutting off his lane. Hayato's shoes squealed as he planted hard, spinning out of the block. In one fluid motion, he passed to Takahiro, who caught and released immediately over Makoto.
Swish.
Makoto wasted no time. He inbounded to Tetsuo, who crossed the ball smoothly between his legs. Takahiro bit on the first move, and Tetsuo slipped by him. Liam stepped up, arms raised high to contest, but instead of forcing the shot, Tetsuo flicked a clever no-look pass to Yukio.
Yukio caught it mid-stride and powered up, finishing with a clean one-handed dunk that rattled the rim.
The next play was a blur. Hayato called for yet another screen. Takahiro set it solidly, giving him space beyond the arc. Hayato rose for a three-pointer, body balanced, but the ball rimmed out with a clunk.
Liam didn't even hesitate—he sprang above everyone else, snagging the rebound in midair and slamming it back into the hoop before anyone could react.
A murmur of excitement rippled from the bleachers.
"Wow, the practice they go through is so intense," a girl whispered, leaning forward with sparkling eyes.
"Yes, they'll definitely reach far in the interhigh. I'll be there to cheer them on," Harumi replied, her tone filled with quiet admiration.
Tomoe, sitting a little apart from them, turned a page in her book without lifting her gaze. "They're not half bad," she murmured flatly. "But it'll take more than this to compete at the interhigh level." Her tone held no bite, just disinterest. She didn't even glance up.
On the court, the ball rotated smoothly. Yukio set a solid screen for Tetsuo, giving him space to break free from Takahiro's defense. Makoto's sharp eyes spotted the gap and zipped a precise chest pass straight to Tetsuo.
Tetsuo caught it, knees bending slightly into a poised triple-threat stance. Takahiro lunged closer, cutting the space. Tetsuo dribbled between his legs, the movement fluid and crisp. Then, with a subtle feint, he made Takahiro lean forward—just enough.
With perfect balance, Tetsuo stepped back, creating a sliver of separation. He rose smoothly and flicked his wrist. The ball spun cleanly through the air. Takahiro leapt to contest, but he was a fraction too late. Swish.
"Nice shot, Tetsuo," said Yukio, reaching out for a high-five.
"Yes, Captain," Tetsuo replied calmly, tapping his captain's palm.
Tomoe's fingers stilled on the edge of her book. Her eyes lifted almost unconsciously, catching the afterimage of Tetsuo's form. Something about that movement…
"…What?" she whispered to herself, barely audible. "The way he shot just now… it looked just like Hiroki…"
Her thoughts wandered back to junior high. Her brother, Hiroki Yukimura, small forward, always slipping free from defenders with that same step-back—shoulders slightly angled, his hand placement precise, impossible to read. He'd always sink it. She could still see it as if it were yesterday.
But… she blinked, her gaze flicking back to Tetsuo. Was she imagining it?
She didn't close her book yet. Her eyes lingered a little longer than before, following his movements cautiously, as if trying to confirm what she saw.
The pace on the court picked up. Hayato threaded a perfect pass to Liam, who stormed in for a rim-shaking dunk. Before the defense could settle, Makoto fired a long outlet to Yukio, who glided effortlessly into a clean two-step dunk. Takahiro answered with a soft floater that kissed the rim before falling through.
Each time Tetsuo caught the ball beyond the arc, Tomoe felt a faint twinge of something. Nostalgia, maybe? The soft snap of the net when his shot went in tugged at an old memory she wasn't ready to face. She wasn't leaning forward yet—but the book in her hands felt heavier, her eyes drawn back to the court again and again.
Eventually, Nanaho's whistle pierced through the rhythmic sounds of the game. "Alright, that's it for today!"
Sweat-drenched and breathing hard, the players gathered their gear. The squeak of their sneakers softened as they made their way toward the locker room, laughter and small bits of banter fading with each step.
Tomoe still sat quietly, her gaze lingering on the now-empty court. Nanaho stayed beside her for a moment, studying her expression.
"…Tomoe," Nanaho said gently, tilting her head. "You've been quiet since you got here. Has it been… a little easier these days?"
Tomoe looked down for a moment, her lips pressing into a thin line. "…I wish I could say yes." She exhaled slowly, her voice trembling faintly. "These rumors… the way people still look at me, still whispering about Jirou… it's been unbearable. I've felt like disappearing, or quitting school altogether."
Nanaho's brows knit slightly, but she stayed silent, letting her speak.
"But then I met Tetsuo," Tomoe continued softly. "He's my junior, and at first I tried to push him away. I didn't want to trust anyone anymore. But he's different. He really tries… tries to help me forget, even just a little." Her eyes softened, distant. "I've only known him a few days, but when I'm with him… it's the happiest I've felt since my brother was sent to jail."
Nanaho hesitated, then gave a small, almost teasing smile. Is that… a confession? Or am I reading too much into it? she wondered silently, a faint awkward laugh escaping her lips.
Meanwhile, in the locker room, another kind of tension brewed.
The space was humid and heavy with the lingering smell of sweat-soaked jerseys. Damp towels hung from hooks, and the faint metallic clatter of lockers opening and closing punctuated the low hum of post-practice chatter.
"Hey, Hayato, I get that you're the point guard for our team and all, but cut me some slack, man," Noboru complained, his frustration plain. "You barely passed me the ball today, and that's why I scored zero points."
Hayato wiped the sweat from his face with a towel, his tone sharp. "On every possession that I gave you the ball, you either passed it, got blocked, or got the ball stolen by Makoto."
"That's a load of crap, and you know it! All the balls were getting passed to Liam," Noboru shot back, his voice rising.
Makoto snorted as he tugged his damp shirt off, tossing it into his bag. "Sometimes I really wonder what goes through that brain of yours. Obviously, Liam is the leading scorer, so ninety percent of the time he'll get the ball. Are you an idiot or something?"
"What? Who are you calling an idiot?!" Noboru's face reddened with anger as the sharp echo of a slammed locker reverberated behind him.
On the other side of the room, Yukio approached Liam with calm composure, the faint squeak of sneakers still audible as players shifted around. "Today was really great, Liam. You're improving at a quick rate, and that's what we need for the interhigh."
Liam offered a small, composed smile. "Thank you. I'll do my best when that time comes."
The tension slowly dissipated as the boys cooled off and changed into their uniforms. The smell of sweat and detergent still clung faintly to the air as one by one, lockers clicked shut. Their chatter blended with the faint evening breeze drifting through the slightly cracked window as they made their way toward the train station.