"Ugh!"
Aomine Daiki couldn't suppress the physical reaction. He turned his head and immediately vomited the dark, unknown substance he had just swallowed.
Without a word, Hanyu Sota handed him his unopened yogurt.
Purely out of comradeship.
Then he turned to Momoi Satsuki and forced a smile that looked worse than crying.
"Momoi… I just remembered. I actually do have time to make my own bento. Really."
"..."
Momoi's eyes instantly dimmed, like a balloon losing all its air.
As someone who loved cooking, who wouldn't want their food to be appreciated?
Even though she knew… her dishes might be a little… unique.
Honestly, Momoi—
you can safely remove the word "might."
"Okay then…"
Hanyu felt like he'd just taken a full lap through the gates of hell and come back alive.
He shot Aomine a murderous glare.
Why didn't you warn me earlier?! You almost killed me!
Aomine, meanwhile, was busy gargling water, wearing the face of a man who had narrowly escaped death.
No one knew the life he lived—
every meal was a gamble with fate.
Aomine Daiki: Life is too hard.
Hanyu gave him a sympathetic look.
Bro, the fact that you're still alive is a medical miracle.
Afternoon Practice
The club activities resumed in their usual chaotic rhythm.
"Move it! What, didn't eat today?"
"Hey, you—stop dragging your feet!"
"Hands softer! Pass!"
"Here! Over here!"
Though the lineup change had sparked heated debate, on the court, strength was still king.
No one complained—after all, the new starters had earned their spots.
Instead of sulking, it was better to run a few more suicide drills.
Who knew—maybe one day you would make a comeback.
They said men looked their best when they exercised seriously—
and it was absolutely true.
Sweat sliding down faces, muscles drawn tight, raw hormones in the air—
a lethal scene for teenage hearts.
Which made life especially hard for the team managers,
especially the first-years.
They came to work—
but were surrounded by nothing but elite visuals.
So… who were they supposed to look at?
Stay loyal to Team Hanyu?
Or jump ship and stan someone else?
"Wow, that red-haired senpai looks so gentle!"
A short-haired girl nearby stared at the court without blinking.
"Right? Right?" her friend nodded frantically.
"So—who's your visual pick?" a bold girl asked, raising the eternal question.
"Obviously Hanyu! That silver hair hits so hard, and the way he plays—so elegant! He's basically a prince!"
"I'm Hanyu all the way too!"
The chatter exploded.
Hanyu Sota's fan club was truly massive.
"I like Akashi-kun," another girl said dreamily.
"When he smiles, it's so healing—I feel like my heart is melting…"
"..."
Momoi stood aside folding towels, listening to the unfiltered fangirl talk, feeling completely out of place.
"By the way, Satsuki-chan," a senior suddenly turned to her,
"you and Aomine are childhood friends, right?"
"Eh? Yeah."
"So… do you feel that way about him?"
The senior wiggled her eyebrows.
"That way?"
"You know—like in shoujo manga! Heart-throbbing stuff!"
"Huh?! Not at all!"
Momoi shook her head like a rattle drum.
Like that black charcoal head? Don't make me laugh.
I'm more like his nanny, okay?!
If it weren't for our moms being close, I'd have stopped taking care of that idiot who only knows basketball and adult magazines.
Hmph!
"But come on," the girl insisted,
"you're so close—near water gets the moon first, you know. And even though Aomine is dark, his features are pretty sharp."
…Is your beauty filter a little too thick?
That's not "dark"—
turn off the lights and he disappears!
How do you even say that with a straight face?!
"Really, there's nothing like that. We're too familiar—there's no spark at all."
Momoi sighed. Why did everyone always focus on this?
"Then is there anyone in the first team who is your type?"
Her type…
Momoi paused, thinking seriously.
Her eyes swept across the court, where the boys were drenched in sweat, pushing themselves to the limit.
Unfortunately… there really wasn't anyone who made her heart race.
"That idea actually sounds pretty solid," someone coaxed.
"You two are already close—why not just break the ice and try?"
The girl's tone was full of encouragement.
Clearly, she wasn't a hardcore Hanyu stan—otherwise she'd never push her idol away so casually.
…Hmm.
Should she really consider Hanyu-kun?
Momoi chewed on her straw, memories replaying like a movie—
the moments they'd spent together these past days.
They hadn't gone out alone much,
but every time he clashed head-on with Aomine on the court,
she watched from the sidelines without blinking.
She had to admit—
when she saw him dominating under the lights,
her heart had skipped a few beats.
As for why she felt nothing watching Aomine
that was simple. They were too familiar.
She even knew what underwear he wore.
Where was the mystery in that?
But… did that mean she liked Hanyu?
If she measured him against her "ideal type"…
After thinking it over—
yeah. Hanyu's style really did hit different.
Meanwhile, on the Court
The managers' gossip grew louder,
and the starters' free practice was just as intense.
Sneakers screeched against the floor.
Everyone was giving it their all—
except one enormous roadblock.
Murasakibara Atsushi.
He didn't truly love basketball.
He survived purely on talent.
So the moment no one was watching,
he blatantly slacked off.
"Akashi, Hanyu—come here."
During a water break, Nijimura Shuzo's booming voice called them over.
Hanyu set down his towel. "What's up, Captain?"
"This Saturday, the second string has a scrimmage. Coach wants you two to go lead them—hold the fort."
"Understood."
Akashi Seijūrō and Hanyu Sota nodded in perfect sync.
The moment those words left his mouth,
Aomine—who was dribbling nearby—immediately sulked.
Why did those two get real games,
while he had to rot in the gym?
"Captain Nijimura! I wanna go crush rookies too!"
"Behave! Don't cause trouble. What—training not hard enough for you?"
"…Tch. Fine, whatever."
Aomine deflated like a punctured balloon.
Just as Nijimura walked away, Midorima Shintarō started acting strangely—
sweating buckets, crouching on the floor, flipping things over like he'd lost his soul.
Akashi frowned. "What's wrong, Shintarō? You look terrible."
Midorima pushed up his glasses, brow knotted.
"This is disastrous. My lucky item is missing."
"Lucky item?" Akashi sighed.
"What weird thing is it today?"
Ever since elementary school, he'd known how obsessed Midorima was with horoscopes.
Every morning: fortune reading.
Every day: some strange charm.
Hanyu's blunt verdict?
A full-blown fortune-telling cultist.
"It's a fan."
"Are you talking about this?"
A lazy voice came from nearby.
Hanyu was holding a flashy, over-the-top fan, waving it hard.
"Whitey, fan harder. This breeze is useless—so hot."
Murasakibara squinted in bliss, like a giant cat being scratched.
"..."
Midori—your face is the size of a basin.
How much wind do you need?!
Seeing his precious item abused, Midorima exploded and snatched it back.
"That's an idol support fan!"
Murasakibara pouted. "Green's so stingy. It won't break."
"No! This boosts my luck! It's not for airing out your sweaty stench!"
Hanyu rolled his eyes.
At the end of the day, isn't it just a fan?
A top-tier three-point sniper…
plus hardcore superstition.
What kind of bizarre character build is this?
"Midorima, you're so young—why do you believe in this nonsense?"
He even discriminated by blood type.
Saying B-types and A-types were naturally incompatible—
if that wasn't superstition, nothing was.
Who brainwashed a junior high kid like this?
Does their conscience not hurt?!
"Idiot! This is not superstition!
Horoscopes reveal the truth of the universe!"
Midorima retorted solemnly, as if defending academic honor.
"And for your information—Hanyu, you're a Gemini. Your fortune ranks fourth today. But if you don't carry the designated item—"
"Stop! Halt! Enough!"
Hanyu threw up a time-out sign. His head was already about to explode.
Midorima frowned in disgust.
As expected—
he and this free-spirited Gemini were fundamentally incompatible.
Hanyu was probably that annoying Type A too.
No doubt about it.
The morning horoscope never lies.
Saturday arrived in the blink of an eye, and the second-string squad's scrimmage against Tokyo Musashi Middle School was held as scheduled.
In the locker room before the game, Midorima Shintarō still refused to give up. He bombarded Akashi and Hanyu with messages, sending them their zodiac rankings for the day.
"..."
Akashi Seijūrō and Hanyu Sota looked at their phone screens, exchanged helpless smiles, and ignored the mystical nonsense entirely.
In competitive sports, human effort is the only law.
The strong write the rules.
The weak pray for luck.
Victory and defeat depend on strength alone
not on which foot you step out with,
and certainly not on whether you brought a fan.
Musashi Middle School was considered a long-standing powerhouse in the Tokyo circuit.
They'd even made it to the national semifinals in their glory days—though that was ancient history now.
"Whoa—look, look!"
"It's Teiko Middle School's basketball club!"
"That aura is terrifying… it's like they walk with their own wind!"
On the second-floor stands, students leaned over the railings, gasping in awe.
Without comparison, there's no pain.
Put next to Teiko, their own basketball team looked like a ragtag militia facing a professional army.
But that was only natural.
Because this was Teiko—
a name that itself was synonymous with invincible.
Perennial national champions.
The absolute rulers of Tokyo.
In recent years, they had bulldozed everything like they were running a cheat code.
While the second-string coach chatted with Musashi's coach, both teams warmed up on the court.
Hanyu Sota stretched his legs while observing his opponents.
A lion still uses its full strength to hunt a rabbit.
He never underestimated anyone.
According to the pre-game strategy, today he had unlimited green light as the offensive core.
Since the stage was already set,
he might as well make absolute chaos of it.
Besides—
Nijimura Shuzo had issued a death sentence:
if they lost this match, he and Akashi would be kicked straight out of the first team.
"Please take care of us!"
Both teams bowed in unison.
The match officially began.
At the referee's whistle, the orange basketball was tossed high into the air.
Both centers exploded upward, massive bodies blotting out the lights, throats releasing beastlike roars.
"Ha!"
Musashi's center—Chisawa Nishiki, 178 cm tall—
was a steel tower among middle schoolers, even taller than Teiko's big man.
With perfect timing on the jump, Musashi claimed the opening tip without suspense.
"Nice!"
"Fast break! Move!"
The instant they secured the ball, Musashi surged forward like they'd been injected with adrenaline, launching a lightning assault.
But this was still Teiko.
Even the second string had elite transition defense.
They flooded back to half-court in an instant.
"Tch—so fast to react!"
Musashi's sneak attack was dead on arrival.
They shifted into a patient half-court offense, the ball whipping between hands as they tried to tear open Teiko's defense—
but it was a wall of steel.
"Don't rush—steady the tempo!"
Their point guard shouted while protecting the ball, eyes scanning like radar.
Finally, he spotted their shooting guard break free.
A flick of the wrist—
a perfect pass.
Catch.
Jump.
Release.
All in one breath.
But the moment the ball left his fingers, his heart sank.
Damn—it was too stiff.
"Rebound's ours!"
"Watch this!"
Teiko's twin interior guardians had already locked position, easily securing the ball off the rim.
Possession flipped instantly.
The ball flew as if guided by fate into Akashi's hands—
and on the far side, Hanyu Sota was already sprinting in solo transition, with no one behind him.
"Oh no!"
"That speed…"
Akashi fired a full-court, surgical pass.
The ball landed perfectly up front.
Hanyu caught it.
The lane was wide open.
No suspense—
a light layup, two points.
Musashi's turn again.
This time, they moved cautiously.
Any thoughts of fast breaks had already been flung far out of their minds.