The boys were prowling the edges of the court, encircling each other like zoo animals, angry, tired and desperate. There was a hunger in Ryota's face. An eagerness, fiercer than Kaho had ever noticed. His movements were growing more languid the more Naseru bore down on his stamina. Was this a game of endurance? Sure Ryota could play basketball. Sure he could last the duration of a normal match, but you didn't have to do all the work in a normal match. He was breathing heavily, gaze trained on Naseru's like he wasn't human at all. In that moment, Kaho wondered if he was. Whether he was truly human at all, because this boy moved with a soldier's resolve, not a teenager's.
Beside her, Kaho saw Mariah, chewing on her lip. She elbowed Makoto in the ribs. He looked at her with wide, panicked eyes, "What do you expect me to do?"
She huffed and turned to Kaho.
Kaho looked over at her shoulders at where Fumiko and Taiga had been. Neither spoke to her. Neither even looked at her. They were avoiding getting involved. That was good, right? It meant they trusted the boys to resolve the mess on their own. Unfortunately, they were both, clearly incredibly stubborn.
"How many misses is that now," Kaho whispered to Eiji.
Eiji sighed and glanced to Yuta.
"Seventeen blocked shots, and," Yuta looked back to Eiji.
"Twenty-nine intercepted moves." Eiji's eye twitched, "Make that thirty."
Kaho winced.
"He's really dragging this out," she said quietly.
The tension on the court was palpable. Each stride Ryota attempted to make was met by a forcefulness that Kaho hadn't seen in her game. Naseru was precise in his countermoves, like he wanted to let Ryota have that false sense of security, so the fall would be worse.
Psychological torture.
Kaho looked from Makoto to her brother and Fumiko. She sighed and shook her head. Fumiko, however, seemed to have reached the end of her tether, shrugging off whatever Taiga was saying to her and parting onlookers and teammates like the seas.
Fumiko blew her pink whistle, and stomped her foot. "Now that's enough! This isn't what basketball is about! We aren't playing mind games, we play ball!"
"Fumiko's right," Hirano said, "Reign it in."
Ryota nodded once and took a deep breath. It was do or die, especially now Fumiko had put her foot down. But it was hard to relinquish that ferocity he felt, the angry unquenchable stinging in his core that demanded he do something, anything to win. His limbs ached with lethargy. He heard the basketball beating against the floor like it was his own heartbeat. Maybe it was his heart he was feeling. He played with his heart, after all.
Ryota took another deep breath and met Naseru's distant eyes. There was something in them that convinced him Naseru was enjoying this. But what kind of person enjoyed this hypnotic, deranged form of psychological torture. Was Naseru enjoying forcing the whole Hanagawa basketball team to spectate as he single-handedly broke Ryota, piece by piece? He'd been so confident at the start. Now, not so much. But Kaho hadn't truly beaten him—she knew Naseru had allowed her the win.
Sunada sighed and shook his head. He put his hands up to cup his lips and act like a megaphone, "Come on Ryota! Don't let him talk to you like that! Show him you've still got more gas to go!"
"He's really struggling here," Nobuyuki said, "You've got this!"
Nitta grimaced as Ryota tumbled to the floor, colliding with Naseru in an attempted mad dash, which Naseru met head-on.
"Ryota! Ryota!" Eiji chanted, "Come on, Ryota!"
"Ryota! Ryota!" Yuta said, clapping along, "Come on, Ryota!"
Captain Hirano and Nitta Michio exchanged worried glances, both wondering if prospective ace had finally met his match.
Ryota was panting, his limbs ached with lactic acid. He wiped the sweat from his brow and took another long, deep, breath. Matsushita approached him, offering a hand, but Ryota refused it, pushing himself up. He wiped the sweat from his face again.
Naseru's cold eyes watched every movement. "Still think you're the king of this court?"
Ryota grasped into the crowds, Yuta threw him a water bottle this time. Ryota drained it and tossed it back to Yuta.
Naseru dribbled the ball, encircling Ryota, the sound of his ball colliding with the floor echoed as if it was happening against Kaho's head. Her breathing hitched. Ryota tried to jab the ball free from Naseru's hands.
"Go ahead try if you think you can run faster than me. I'm right behind you. Can you hear my voice? Try me." Naseru sneered.
Ryota tried anyway, making a dash for the hoop, as promised, Naseru intercepted the play, sending the ball bouncing toward Makoto's feet.
Makoto passed the ball back to Ryota.
"This isn't over," Ryota said, holding his ball in its usual spot under his armpit. He strode toward center court, his chest was heaving, breathing ragged. He and Naseru were almost chest-to-chest.. The tension was palpable, a live wire ready to combust.
Ryota moved the ball out from under his armpit, like he could successfully land a three from the center court line. Maybe it was Naseru's impatience. Maybe it was Ryota's audacity. But something made the sparks fly.
And then, it was like the gym was on fire.
Without warning, Naseru's fist flew, connecting with Ryota's liver and then jaw. Ryota staggered backwards, surprise evident in his eyes, his ball rolling into the fray.
"That's a foul," Ryota wheezed.
He should have taken the foul. He should have taken the free throw and chanced a decent jump shot and secured the win and submission. But he didn't want to. He was already aching, winded, sore, and angry. So he lunged.
The gym erupted in chaos. Players from both sides rushed forward, trying to pull the two apart. Kaho screamed for them to stop, her voice almost drowned out by the cacophony. Fumiko was blowing her whistle, screaming for Taiga. Mariah and several others joined the fray, attempting to separate the two heated rivals.
After what felt like an eternity, they were pulled apart. Naseru's face was flushed with anger, his breathing steady and controlled, and a welt from a stray fingernail had marred his face. Ryota, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, glared back with equal intensity.
Amidst the commotion the onlookers scarpered. Mariah, Makoto, and some of the other students had bolted the second fists flew.
"I didn't come here for this crap. It's the same everywhere," Naseru spat, pushing off Omura's arm.
Naseru turned on his heel and stormed out of the gym, the door slamming loudly in his wake. As the door slammed, Kaho slipped out right behind him.
With the distance between Ryota and Naseru growing greater, Ryota began to simmer. His lip was bleeding, and there was a mark blooming on his forearm from Sunada's iron grip.
"Ryota," Omura said, resting a steadying hand on his shoulder, "Breathe. It's okay. You were defending yourself."
Eiji nodded. "Want me to grab you some ice? Cold towel? A can of something from a vending machine?"
Ryota shook his head. He winced and cradled his jaw. "Matsuoka… really packed a punch."
Fumiko huffed and crossed her arms. "You know what? None of that would have happened if you'd stopped when I blew my whistle. I have this for a reason, Ryota. Way to undermine me in front of a new recruit."
Ryota winced, lowering his head. "I'm not sorry for hitting him."
"It's okay," Sunada said. "How about we cool off and try a different tactic?"
Outside, Makoto had already headed off. Like he'd been banished. Kaho frowned, wishing him back. Naseru might not consider Makoto a friend, but Makoto cared enough about him to miss out on a decent chunk of the art club session. He had plenty of portfolio work he could have been doing, and instead, he went to the gym. Kaho's eyes stung. She wanted to weep. Was this what her Future Self had experienced before? Had she been supposed to prevent this? Was this how things went downhill; Ryota and Naseru's scrap and Makoto being cast aside?
Was he lonely? Maybe he was. He certainly seemed it when Hikaru was away. Kaho opened her mouth to call for him, call him back. But he was well out of earshot. He was probably off in a huff to the art building.
Naseru stood still beside the building, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the middle distance. When Kaho reached him, the anger hadn't left his face.
"Did you just want to drag me to that gym to start trouble?" he asked, not meeting her eyes.
"No, Naseru," Kaho said, voice shaking but sincere. "I wanted you to see the joy I found there, to share it with you."
Naseru drew a slow breath. "Who told you I needed more friends?" he whispered.
"I just thought…"
He turned, voice firm but low. "Seeing a basketball court… being in that gym… it brings back memories I don't want to remember."
Kaho's eyes widened. "Ryota…"
"It's not about him," Naseru said. "I don't belong on any basketball team. Nowadays I don't really belong around people."
Kaho frowned and stepped closer. He pulled his hand back before she could take it.
"Look, Aigawa. You have a good thing here—a small, secure circle. I'll wreck that."
"If you knew what I know… you'd understand it isn't fair to be out there having absentminded fun on a court. Not while there's—"
He swallowed. "Not after what I did…"
Kaho's lips parted. "What… you did?"