"Why are they like that to me?" Haruko muttered softly, tucking her knees to her chest as she sat on the empty bench. Her chin rested on top of them, and she hugged her legs tightly. Her mind replayed the events of the day like a cruel loop, each thought scraping at her chest with a dull ache.
They never want to see me do what I love. Haruko's voice was barely above a whisper, her shoulders curling inward. She hugged her knees tighter, feeling the rough fabric of her shorts dig into her arms. They don't even care about my dreams.
The faint hum of the night breeze drifted across the court, brushing against Haruko's skin and lifting stray strands of her hair. From a distance, the low murmur of traffic blended with the soft rustle of leaves in the trees. The few scattered streetlights cast pale pools of light on the worn concrete, and she could feel the cool roughness of the surface beneath her fingers as she shifted on the bench.
Her thoughts drifted back to earlier that day, when the gym had felt both alive and tense under the hum of activity.
"Haruko," Coach Maeda called, her voice firm but even, carrying over the faint squeak of sneakers from the court.
Haruko blinked, shaking herself out of her haze. "Yes, Coach? What is it?" Her palms itched from gripping the basketball, and the faint scent of sweat and polished wood filled the gym.
"I'd like to have a word with you. Come with me," Coach Maeda said, turning and motioning for Haruko to follow.
The gym smelled faintly of polished wood and sweat. The squeak of sneakers from her teammates echoed behind her as they practiced drills. Haruko followed, her own shoes making soft scuffs against the floor, until they entered a quieter hallway where only the steady hum of the ventilation filled the air.
When they reached a secluded spot, Coach Maeda stopped and turned to face her, arms crossed.
"Now that we're alone," she said, her tone calm but intentional, "I want to ask you something."
Haruko tilted her head slightly, curious. "And what might that be, Coach?"
"Do you know why I appointed you as captain of this team?" Coach Maeda asked, her gaze steady as she folded her arms.
Haruko hesitated, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "I'm… not sure. Is it because I'm one of the seniors and it's my last year?" she guessed, feeling the smooth wall behind her against her fingertips.
Coach Maeda shook her head gently. "No, that's not it at all."
Haruko blinked, unsure, the faint hum of the ventilation filling the silence between them.
"I gave you the position because both the former captain, Aika, and I saw something in you that we didn't see in anyone else on the team," Coach Maeda continued. Her voice was calm, deliberate. "You're hardworking. You don't give up—not until you achieve what you set out for."
Haruko's eyes widened slightly, her chest tightening as her heartbeat quickened.
Coach Maeda's tone softened, and she leaned slightly forward. "Today was a great example of that. You were scoring more than anyone expected—myself included. And if I may add, you even made a three-pointer during the scrimmage."
Haruko's mouth fell open, a flutter of disbelief rising in her stomach. "What? Really? I… made a three-pointer?" Her fingers brushed the edge of her wristband as if seeking confirmation.
Coach Maeda gave a small, approving smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling slightly. "Yes. And I want you to work on that every day at practice. I have a feeling it'll be an important weapon for us. You were amazing out there today, Haruko. I was very impressed."
A rush of pride warmed Haruko's chest, making her stomach flutter. She straightened her shoulders, feeling the smooth fabric of her jersey shift against her skin. "Thank you so much, Coach! I'll keep working hard!"
Later that night, Haruko had dinner with her family.
The clinking of utensils against porcelain filled the dining room. The faint aroma of miso soup lingered, mixed with the savory scent of grilled fish. Haruko sat at the long wooden table with her sister, Sachiko, and their parents.
She couldn't contain her excitement. Her heart was still racing from Coach Maeda's words earlier, and her palms tingled slightly from gripping her fork. Maybe—just maybe—they'd finally be proud of me.
"Mom, Dad," she said, her grin stretching across her face, "I have some really great news!"
Her father looked up from his plate, the clink of chopsticks against porcelain pausing mid-air. His expression remained neutral. "Oh? What is it, honey?"
"My coach actually praised me today!" Haruko blurted, her voice trembling with excitement. "She said I'm doing really well, and that's why she made me captain! And today… I scored so much! I even—like—made a three-pointer, and—"
Before she could finish, her father set his chopsticks down with a soft clack that seemed way too loud in the suddenly quiet dining room.
"Listen, Haruko."
The weight in his voice made her stomach drop.
"I think it's time for you to quit basketball."
The air felt frozen. Haruko's hands gripped her fork tighter, her pulse hammering in her ears. The faint ticking of the dining room clock sounded unbearably loud.
"…What?" Haruko whispered, her voice shaking. She dug her fingers into the edge of the table. "But… I actually showed you results! I've gotten so much better! So why—why would you even say that?"
Her mother reached out, her hand brushing Haruko's arm lightly. "Sweetheart, lower your voice… don't shout at the table."
Haruko swallowed hard, forcing herself back into her chair. Her hands trembled under the table, and her stomach felt like it had dropped a few inches.
Her father exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. When he finally looked up, his cold stare pinned her in place, heavy and unyielding.
"A young woman of your class—born into a wealthy family with status—should not be doing something as… crude and physical as basketball," her father said, his voice low and firm.
Haruko's stomach twisted. Here we go again…
"It's disgraceful," he continued, eyes narrowing. "You keep playing, but all you're doing is embarrassing yourself. Losing in the first or second round every time… do you like humiliating yourself?"
Haruko's breath hitched, her hands clenching into fists under the table. "T-That's not true! We're improving—"
"This is the last time I'll say this," he cut her off, his tone sharp, deliberate. "Quit basketball. Focus on something useful—join the student council like your sister, take up proper hobbies like cooking or art. Something respectable."
Haruko's body tensed, her jaw aching from clenching as heat surged in her chest.
"I can't just quit like that!" she burst out, voice shaking, fingers digging into the edge of the table. "I love basketball! I've been playing since I was a kid! I'm finally getting better! I'm finally proving myself—and I will not give it up for anything. Not even for you!"
The scrape of her chair against the polished floor rang sharply in the room, cutting through the tense silence.
Her father's expression darkened, his gaze sharp and unyielding. "Haruko," he said, his voice low and measured, carrying the weight of authority. "Let me be clear. If you continue playing basketball, you will lose my support. Financially, emotionally—everything. I cannot allow you to waste your time on something so… frivolous."
Haruko's breath caught, her chest tightening.
"It's time for you to grow up," her father said coldly, eyes fixed on her, voice sharp and deliberate. "Accept reality and move on."
"Dear, that was too far," her mother interjected softly, reaching out to rest a hand lightly on Haruko's arm. "You shouldn't—"
But Haruko wasn't listening. Her gaze drifted toward Sachiko, who had stayed silent the entire time.
Sachiko wasn't defending her. She wasn't saying a word.
Her sister simply looked down, avoiding Haruko's eyes, the soft clink of her tea cup punctuating the quiet.
That was the final crack. Haruko's chest tightened, a hollow ache spreading through her stomach.
Tears welled up, blurring Haruko's vision. She shoved her chair back with a harsh scrape that seemed to echo through the tense room, then bolted down the hallway. Her footsteps thudded against the polished floor as she raced toward her room.
She slammed the door shut and twisted the lock, collapsing onto her bed. The pillow pressed against her face as she tried to muffle her sobs.
Her cries came in waves—quiet at first, then louder—her shoulders trembling under the weight of it all. The muffled clatter and voices from the dining room felt distant, like they were happening in another world.
Half an hour passed. Her face burned, her eyes swollen and stinging, her throat raw from crying.
In a haze of anger and hurt, Haruko began shoving clothes into a bag. I'll leave. I'll just leave this place. I can't stay here… But halfway through, her hands froze.
…Where would I even go?
Her grip on the fabric loosened. Slowly, she unpacked the clothes, letting them fall back into the drawers.
Her gaze drifted to the basketball resting in the corner of her room, scuffed and familiar.
Why don't I just go to the court? she thought. At least there… I can breathe.
And now, here she was, sitting alone on the bench beneath the faint glow of flickering court lights.
She rubbed at her still-red eyes, the cool night air brushing her skin. The faint smell of asphalt mixed with grass lingered, grounding her in the quiet.
She hugged her knees tighter, the rough fabric of her shorts pressing into her arms. Why does it feel like everyone wants to take away the one thing that makes me happy?
"Takahashi," a voice called out suddenly.
Haruko startled, her body tensing. She looked up.
"Huh? Oh… it's you."
It was Tetsuo, walking toward her, his hands tucked casually into his hoodie pockets. The soft scrape of his sneakers against the court echoed faintly.
"You actually came," she said, a hint of surprise in her voice.
"I agreed to come, so I wouldn't go back on my word," he replied simply, stopping a few steps away. He studied her silently for a moment, the slight night breeze shifting a few strands of his hair. "So… what's on your mind?"
Haruko hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper when she finally spoke.
Say… have you ever loved something? Something super important to you? But no matter how much you love it, everyone around you just wants to take it away… and all the happiness it gives you too? she asked, hugging the basketball to her chest, the textured surface pressing into her fingers.
Tetsuo was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he shook his head slightly.
"I… can't say that I have," he admitted quietly. "But I get what you mean. When something—or someone—is really important to you, you want to protect it. You don't want anyone taking it away."
Haruko's shoulders relaxed a little, and her lips curved into a small smile. "Oh… okay. Thanks. That actually makes me feel… a little better." She kicked at a loose pebble on the court with her sneaker.
She stood up, brushing dust off her shorts. "So, um… now can you teach me how to do a layup? If you don't mind."
Tetsuo tilted his head, a faint sense of familiarity tugging at him, though he couldn't place it.
Shaking the thought away, he nodded. "Alright. Listen carefully. To make a proper layup, you're only allowed two steps. If you take more, it's traveling, and the ball goes to the opponent."
He pointed toward the backboard. "When you're close to the hoop, aim for the square. It helps with accuracy and makes scoring easier."
Haruko gripped the ball tightly, feeling the slight bumps on its surface. She took a deep breath. "Okay… focus. You got this, Haru!" she muttered to herself, bouncing the ball lightly on the court.
She drove toward the rim, counted her two steps carefully, and followed Tetsuo's instructions.
The ball bounced softly off the backboard and dropped straight through the hoop.
"Wow! I actually made it!" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling and cheeks warming. "This is way easier than shooting from far away!"
She turned to Tetsuo with a bright grin. "Thank you! I really needed this. Our matches are coming up fast, and I really want to be ready."
Tetsuo smirked, the hoodie shifting slightly as he adjusted his stance. "Then let's keep practicing."