The gym carried a light scent of polished wood mixed with lingering sweat. Each bounce of the ball spread through the open space, the sound traveling cleanly across the court.
Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, their glow reflecting off the smooth floor in muted streaks. Near the entrance, a handful of students paused, low voices carrying as they lingered briefly before moving on, their attention drawn toward the ongoing practice.
Nanaho extended the arm holding the clipboard, easing it upward as she worked the tension from her shoulder. A quiet breath left her as her gaze swept the court.
"Alright… we'll start training now. First, warm up."
Her wrist shifted, the clipboard tilting slightly.
"After that, four-on-four. Same teams as last time."
Yukio brought his hands together once, the sound carrying across the court. He shifted his weight, glancing briefly toward Nanaho before looking back at the others.
"Alright. You heard Nanaho." His hands dropped back to his sides. "Let's get moving."
"Toshigawa."
A brief breath passed through the group.
"Fight. Fight. Fight."
They moved into a jog, lines forming naturally as sneakers brushed and squeaked against the varnished floor. Makoto's breathing stayed even, measured through his nose. Liam ran with loose shoulders and an unhurried stride, arms swinging without tension.
Shino dragged the back of his wrist across his forehead, moisture already gathering there despite the early pace. Tetsuo kept his eyes forward, his expression unchanged, steps landing with consistent rhythm as he followed the curve of the court.
After several more laps, their pace eased and the line slowed to a halt. Breathing remained controlled as they spread out across the court. Shoes slid softly as feet set wider apart.
One by one, they bent and straightened, hands reaching toward knees, then lower legs, muscles warming under steady pressure. Arms lifted and crossed, shoulders rolling as joints loosened in a practiced sequence, the routine carried out without conversation.
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 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.
Hayato stepped forward and sent a one-handed bounce pass across the lane. The ball struck the floor once and rose cleanly into Liam's path. Liam caught it without breaking stride, fingers spreading around the leather as his steps lengthened.
His arms lifted in one smooth motion, shoulders driving upward as his feet left the floor. The rim shook under the impact when the ball was forced through, metal clattering briefly before settling, the sound carrying across the gym.
One corner of Hayato's mouth lifting as he raised his thumb. His chest rose with a deeper breath before he glanced Liam's way.
"Nice one, Liam." His hand lingered in the air a moment longer. "That woke me up."
Liam's shoulders loosened as he turned back, an easy grin settling on his face. He gave a small nod, breath still steady.
"Yeah. Same."
Honestly… Liam has too much energy this early in the afternoon.
Nanaho's gaze lingered on Liam for a moment before shifting back to the group as a whole.
Her attention shifted to Tetsuo as he lifted the ball and sent it toward Makoto. Makoto received it with both hands, his pace barely changing as he moved in. He rose just enough, guided the ball off the glass, and let it fall through, his movement unforced from start to finish.
The pattern continued without interruption—pass, catch, two steps, release. Movement flowed in steady cycles, bodies adjusting by habit rather than thought. Shoes slid and reset against the floor, the ball struck hands with a dull thud, and now and then metal rang briefly when a shot met the rim before dropping away.
The air warmed as the rotations piled up. After a few more sequences, Nanaho raised her hand, the clipboard shifting slightly as she marked the transition.
They moved into shooting drills. Balls lifted from midrange and returned in quick succession, some passing cleanly through, others bouncing away after contact. Rebounds were gathered immediately, feet repositioning with short, efficient steps. A few players dragged the back of a forearm across their brow, then rolled their shoulders and legs through another stretch, keeping their bodies ready as the pace continued.
Nanaho brought the whistle to her lips and blew once, the sharp note cutting cleanly through the gym. She lowered her hand, eyes moving toward the center of the court as the players slowed and turned.
"Alright." The clipboard shifted against her side as she gave a small nod. "Four-on-four." Her gaze settled briefly on Hayato's side. "Your team starts. Ball's yours."
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.
Liam and Hayato met briefly near the arc, their fists touching once before they turned away. Shoes pivoted as they split off, bodies angling back toward their defensive positions without breaking stride.
Makoto gathered the ball and pushed it up the court, his dribble low and controlled. Hayato moved backward ahead of him, feet sliding as he reset his stance near the top. Makoto's gaze swept across the floor, tracking spacing and movement. His weight shifted through his hips, and the ball left his hand in a sharp pass toward the wing.
Shino received it and settled immediately, knees flexed, shoulders angled as he held the ball close. His eyes moved once across the lane. Noboru stepped in, closing the space with short, quick steps.
The ball barely lingered—Shino sent it down in a fast bounce toward the paint, where Yukio had already sealed his position near the low post, hands ready as his back pressed lightly into Liam.
Liam held his ground in the paint, arms extended, feet set wide against the floor. Yukio kept the ball low and dribbled once, then again, easing backward a step at a time. His shoulders stayed relaxed as he tested the space, eyes lifting briefly toward the rim, then back to Liam. The distance didn't change. Liam stayed put, weight centered, hands still in his line.
Fine...
Yukio stopped his dribble and straightened. He rose into a short pull-up, releasing the ball with a light flick of his wrist. The spin stayed tight as it traveled, then dropped cleanly through the net, the cords snapping once before settling.
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 retrieved the ball and sent it in quickly. Tetsuo received it near the sideline, his dribble settling into a steady rhythm before he guided the ball between his legs. Takahiro shifted early, his feet sliding off balance for a moment.
Tetsuo moved past him without changing pace. As Liam stepped forward with his arms lifted, Tetsuo's wrist turned and released the ball sideways, his eyes never leaving the lane.
Yukio met the pass in stride. His steps shortened, weight driving upward as one hand carried the ball above the rim. The finish came down hard, metal shaking briefly before the net snapped back into place.
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 low stir carried down from the stairs above, footsteps slowing as several students paused to watch.
A girl leaned over the railing, fingers curling around the edge as her gaze stayed fixed on the court. Her voice stayed low as it slipped out.
"…Their practice is like this every time."
She leaned a little farther forward.
"It's intense."
Harumi nodded once, her hands folding together as she watched the movement on the court below. Her shoulders eased as she spoke, voice steady and warm.
"…They'll go far in the interhigh."
Her gaze didn't waver.
"I'll be there to cheer for them."
Tomoe sat on the bench with her legs drawn neatly together, the book resting open in her hands. A finger slid under the edge of the page, turning it with a soft rustle without her eyes lifting.
"…They're not bad."
Her voice stayed even, attention fixed on the text.
"But this won't be enough for interhigh."
Her thumb pressed a little harder into the paper as she held the book open.
My brother learned that...The hard way.
On the court, the ball moved from hand to hand in steady rotation. Yukio stepped into position and set his feet, his shoulder brushing Takahiro's path just long enough to slow him. Tetsuo used the opening, changing direction as Makoto noticed the gap. The pass came straight to him, chest high, arriving without delay.
Tetsuo secured the ball and settled, knees lowering slightly as his stance tightened. Takahiro closed in, arms lifting as the distance shrank. The ball passed cleanly between Tetsuo's legs, his weight shifting with it. His shoulders dipped once, controlled. Takahiro leaned forward.
Tetsuo drew back a step, his heels planting just outside reach. He lifted into the shot without pause, wrist turning at the release beyond the arc. The ball traveled on a clean line. Takahiro left the floor to contest, hand arriving late. The net snapped once as the ball dropped through.
Yukio turned as he moved past, his hand lifting at shoulder height, palm open. His expression eased as he angled closer.
"Good shot." His hand lingered in the air, waiting.
Tetsuo met it without slowing, his palm touching Yukio's once before dropping back to his side. His breathing stayed even as his eyes returned to the court.
"…Yes, Captain."
Tomoe's fingers shifted along the bridge of her glasses as her eyes widened a fraction. Her gaze lifted on its own, settling where Tetsuo stood a moment earlier, the image lingering as her breathing caught. Her lips parted slightly.
"…What?"
The sound barely left her throat. Her eyes stayed fixed on the court, unfocused now.
That shot just now… It looked like Hiroki's.
Her thoughts drifted back to junior high. Hiroki Yukimura on the court, listed as a small forward, moving without hurry. He would slip free with the same step back, shoulders set at a slight angle, hand placement exact, the release coming without hesitation. Defenders never read it in time.
The image stayed clear in her mind.
He always made the shot.
The memory remained, sharp and close.
But—
She blinked, her gaze shifting back to Tetsuo on the court. Her breath paused briefly as her grip tightened around the edge of her book.
Am I imagining it?
She didn't close her book yet. Her eyes lingered longer than before, following his movements with cautious focus, as if trying to confirm what she thought she'd seen.
Each time Tetsuo received the ball beyond the arc, Tomoe felt a brief tightening in her chest. She didn't look away. When the shot fell, the short, clean sound of the net reached her a moment later, and her fingers paused against the page.
A memory surfaced uninvited, close enough to recognize, distant enough that she didn't follow it.
Eventually, Nanaho's whistle cut through the steady noise of the court. Sneakers slowed, the ball's bounce faded.
"That's enough for today." She lowered the whistle, a small smile lingering.
Sweat clung to their jerseys as the players gathered their gear, chests rising and falling unevenly. Sneakers squeaked less frequently as they drifted toward the locker room, the last bits of laughter and loose banter thinning out behind them.
Tomoe remained seated, fingers resting against the edge of her book, her eyes fixed on the scuffed lines of the empty court. The echoes of practice had already faded, leaving only the low hum of the lights overhead.
Beside her, Nanaho paused, weight shifting subtly as she watched Tomoe's face, searching for any change in her expression.
"…Tomoe." Nanaho leaned slightly closer, her voice lowered, carefully as she tilted her head. "You've been quiet since you arrived."
A brief pause followed, her fingers playing around with the whistle cord.
"Lately… has it been a little easier for you?"
Tomoe lowered her gaze, her fingers tightening briefly against the edge of the bench. Her lips pressed together, then parted slightly.
"...I don't think I can say that."
A slow breath left her chest, uneven at the end. Her voice stayed low, almost careful.
"The rumors haven't stopped." Her shoulders dipped a fraction. "The way people look at me… the things they say when they think I can't hear."
She paused, eyes unfocused.
"Sometimes it feels heavy just being here."
Her hand curled against her skirt. "I've thought about leaving. About not coming back at all."
Nanaho's brows knit slightly, but she stayed silent, letting her speak.
"But then I met Kawaguchi."
Tomoe's voice stayed low. Her fingers shifted slightly in her lap.
"He's kind of blank… and a little strange." A small breath left her. "He doesn't show emotions, so at first I tried to push him away. But...he's different."
A quiet pause followed.
"He really tries...He 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…"
She let the words hang briefly.
"It's the best I've felt since my brother was arrested."
Nanaho hesitated. Her shoulders drew in slightly before she managed a small, uneven smile.
Is that… a confession? Or am I reading too much into it?
The thought lingered as a quiet, awkward laugh slipped out, brief and unsteady, her breath catching just after as she turned away.
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 know you're the point guard for us." Noboru let out a sharp breath through his nose, his shoulders stiff as he turned. "But you have to cut me some slack."
"You barely passed me the ball today." His jaw tightened, words coming a little faster. "That's why I ended with zero points."
Hayato dragged the towel across his face, damp fabric catching along his cheek before he lowered it. His eyes stayed forward as he spoke, breath still uneven from practice.
"Calm down. It was only practice."
The towel twisted once in his hands. A brief pause followed, his gaze lifting just enough to meet Noboru's.
"On Every time I gave you the ball, you either passed it off, you got blocked, or Makoto stole it from you."
"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 exhaled through his nose as he pulled his damp shirt over his head, the fabric sticking briefly before coming free. He dropped it into his bag without care. His eyes lifted slowly.
"I really wonder what goes on in that brain of yours."
His hand paused inside the bag, fingers tightening briefly around the zipper. He glanced over, eyes flat.
"Liam's their top scorer." A short pause followed. "So most of the time, the ball's going to him. Are you really that stupid?"
Makoto glanced slightly at Tetsuo, who was quietly packing his bag.
Looks like he's back to his usual self.
"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 far side of the room, Yukio walked over with steady composure as sneakers squeaked faintly around them. He stopped in front of Liam.
"Today was really good, Liam. You're improving at a fast rate, and that's what we need for the interhigh."
Liam's shoulders eased as he met his gaze, a light smile settling on his face.
"Thank you, Captain." His accent rounded the words slightly. "I'll do my best when the 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.