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.
Shino slowed to a stop, his head bowed, hands tightening around the strap of the drink bag.
"You're really amazing, Kurai… You're already a starter, training with the main team. That must feel… nice." His voice dropped near the end, soft and uncertain, almost fading.
Makoto stayed quiet. Somewhere deeper in the gym, a basketball thudded against the floor, the steady rhythm filling the silence between them.
Makoto shifted the bottles in his hands, the cold plastic pressing against his skin. His grip tightened, the faint sound of the caps creaking in his hold.
"I… need to ask you something." His voice lowered, steady but tense. "Why do you let those guys treat you like that? They're so cruel… completely heartless. You already know they'll never let you play, don't you? They're only using you, treating you like you don't matter."
He drew in a quiet breath, his eyes softening just a little. "You should stop… basketball, I mean. It's better for you."
Shino's hands clenched around the bag, the plastic crumpling sharply in his grip. He turned toward Makoto, his eyes burning with sudden intensity.
"No… no, no!" His voice cracked, breaking through the still air. The bottles in his hands trembled, the sound of shifting plastic filling the space between them.
"I can't give up basketball." His chest rose and fell in quick bursts, each breath catching in his throat. The bottles shook with every word. "I love watching it… and when I play, it's fun."
His arms trembled, droplets of condensation sliding off the bottles and onto the floor. "That's why I want to learn… properly. I want to understand it myself."
Tears clouded his eyes, his lashes fluttering as he tried to blink them away. His fingers twitched against the cold, slick plastic. "If I quit now… I'll never know what it really feels like."
He lifted his head, meeting Makoto's gaze. His eyes were wide, desperate, trembling with the weight of everything he couldn't say. The bottles rattled faintly in his unsteady grasp.
"Tell me… how can I become like you? How can I stop being so bad at this?"
He took a step forward, the floor squeaking under his shoe. One bottle slipped in his sweaty palm and nearly fell.
"Please… tell me!" His voice broke apart, raw and full, each word carrying pain, hope, and the edge of something that could collapse at any moment.
Makoto stayed silent. The hallway around them felt still, the faint hum of the lights the only sound left between their breaths.
I couldn't answer him when he asked me that question. My mind went completely blank. At that moment, I realized… he was going to suffer a lot. But even so, he'd already decided—he wasn't going to quit.
They returned to the court.
Daichi turned as soon as he spotted them, a smile already on his face. His tone carried that familiar, easy friendliness that never quite matched his eyes.
"Ah, there you are. I was starting to get bored waiting, you know?" His voice was light, almost teasing.
Shino lifted the bag toward him. Daichi reached in, the sound of rustling plastic breaking the brief silence. His fingers closed around a bottle, and the friendly curve of his lips faded as he held it up.
"What's this?" His voice dropped, the warmth gone. "I told you we wanted drinks, and you bring back water?" The question hung sharp in the air, the false charm completely stripped away.
Shino's throat bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes darting away. His hands trembled against the bag handles.
"I-I just thought… um… it's not good to drink soda after such… intense training," he managed, his voice thin and shaky. "S-So I figured water would be better… C-Coach Izanagi would say the same thing."
Without warning, Hidesuke snatched a bottle from the bag. The cap twisted off with a sharp crack, and before anyone could react, he tipped it forward.
Cold water poured over Shino's head, splattering against his face and shoulders before dripping onto the floor in uneven trails. His body froze, his eyes blinking fast as the chill seeped through his shirt and clung to his skin.
Hidesuke clicked his tongue, a crooked grin spreading across his face. His voice came out rough, low, and taunting.
"Tch. You're useless, you know that? Can't even handle being an errand boy. Pathetic."
Basara crossed his arms beside him, a dry laugh escaping his throat.
"Yeah. You might as well quit now," he muttered, eyes half-lidded with disdain. "A guy like you's only fit to carry water bottles anyway."
Shino dragged a shaky hand across his face, pushing away the dripping water. His bangs clung to his eyes, strands plastered against his skin. A tear slipped free, tracing down his cheek as his head hung low.
"Shut up…" The words came out barely above a whisper, his voice trembling.
Hidesuke's sneakers scraped against the floor as he stepped closer, his shadow falling over Shino. "Hah? What did you just say?"
Shino's fists clenched. His shoulders trembled once before he snapped his head up.
"I said—shut up!!" His voice broke as it echoed through the gym. "It doesn't matter what you say! I'll become one of the best players in the country… and I'll be better than all of you! Just wait and see!"
His breathing hitched, his eyes red and wet.
Basara and Daichi exchanged a glance before bursting out laughing, their shoulders shaking.
"Man, listen to this kid," Daichi managed between laughs. "Someone's having a pretty delusional day, huh?"
Hidesuke's sneakers screeched against the floor as he closed the distance, his tone dropping low and dangerous.
"Who the hell are you telling to shut up, huh, bean sprout?" His hand shot out, gripping the collar of Shino's shirt. The fabric stretched tight. "Guess I'll have to teach you your place."
Shino's eyes went wide, his breath catching in his throat. "N-No… please…"
Before Hidesuke could pull him closer, a hand clamped down on his wrist. Makoto stood beside Shino, his grip firm, his expression unreadable.
"That's enough," he said quietly, his voice steady but laced with tension.
Hidesuke turned sharply, teeth bared. "Or what?"
A sharp thud split the air. A basketball came flying from the court and struck Hidesuke square in the side of the head. The impact made him stumble a step, his grip loosening as the shirt slipped free.
"The hell!?" He spun around, glaring toward the source.
Takumi stood near the baseline, his arm still lowered from the throw. "You've gone too far," he said flatly.
Hidesuke's jaw flexed, the muscles in his arm twitching as if he wanted to swing—but he forced himself still. After a long moment, he clicked his tongue.
"Tch… fine." He glared at Shino again. "That's twenty laps around the football field, bean sprout."
"B-but… that's impossible. The field is too big." Shino's voice climbed, panic at the edge.
Hidesuke stepped forward, his tone low and final. "If you don't finish it, you'll never touch a basketball again." His jaw tightened; his voice left no room for argument.
Shino's jaw clenched. His arms trembled as he inhaled and spun to move—his back foot landed on the puddle. The heel slid with a sharp squeal. His elbow hit the floor first, then the side of his hip, and he let out a low groan as the impact rolled through him. The gym went quiet for a beat.
Both Basara and Hidesuke burst into laughter, their voices echoing sharply across the gym.
Makoto stayed still, the faint squeak of shoes and the sound of laughter fading at the edges of his focus. His gaze stayed on Shino, who pressed both palms flat against the court and slowly pushed himself up. His arms trembled.
A drop of water slid from his chin to the polished floor. His face was red—not only from the sting of the fall but from the weight of humiliation pressing down on him. His teeth pressed together hard as he steadied himself and rose to his feet.
He said nothing. His breathing was uneven as he wiped his elbow against his shorts. A faint limp followed his first step toward the exit, the sound of his wet shoes faintly squeaking with each stride.
At that time, I didn't really care about what they did to him. I just thought he couldn't even stand up for himself. Even after being treated badly and having so many people doubt him, he still kept going. He practiced again and again, without knowing much about basketball, and without anyone to teach him properly. Before practice, during practice, after practice… he was always there. But no matter how much he tried, he couldn't really improve.