Two days had passed since Shin Takahashi's warning, but Yukito couldn't shake the unease that had taken root in his mind. The thought of someone else targeting the Phantom Five weighed on him like a stone, and his usual cold focus had started to waver.
That night, as the moon hung low in the sky, Yukito found himself standing in front of the old basketball courts near his apartment. These courts had been his sanctuary once, the place where he had honed his skills, where he had first learned the art of breaking his opponents. Now, they felt like a battleground—a reminder of how much had changed.
He was alone, or so he thought.
A shadow moved at the edge of the court, and Yukito's eyes snapped to it instantly. Out of the darkness stepped a figure, tall and lean, dressed in a black hoodie with the hood pulled low. There was something familiar about the way they moved, the way they carried themselves.
Yukito tensed, his instincts screaming at him to be ready. "Who are you?" he demanded, his voice sharp.
The figure chuckled, the sound low and mocking. "You've been making a lot of noise, Aizawa. I thought it was time we finally met."
Yukito's heart raced, though he kept his expression neutral. "You're one of them, aren't you? One of the Phantom Five."
The figure tilted their head, the hood obscuring their face. "Smart, but no. I'm not one of them. But I am here because of them."
Yukito's eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"
"I want the same thing you do," the figure replied. "To take them down. The only difference is, I'm not wasting my time building a team of misfits. You think you can beat the Phantom Five with brute force? That's not how this game works."
Yukito felt a flare of anger. "And what do you know about it?"
The figure stepped closer, and for the first time, Yukito could see the outline of their face. It was a young man, around Yukito's age, with sharp eyes and an air of confidence that bordered on arrogance.
"I know more than you think," the stranger said, his voice lowering. "You're chasing ghosts, Aizawa. The Phantom Five aren't just a team—they're a system. You're fighting on the wrong level."
Yukito clenched his fists. "I don't need your advice."
"No, but you do need my help," the stranger countered smoothly. "The Phantom Five don't play by the rules. If you want to beat them, you'll need more than just strategy and strength. You'll need to know their weaknesses—real weaknesses."
Yukito's mind raced. The idea of working with someone else went against everything he stood for. But at the same time, there was something about this stranger's confidence that made him pause.
The stranger must have sensed Yukito's hesitation because he smiled—a cold, calculating smile. "You've got the fire, Aizawa. But you're too focused on revenge. That's your blind spot. They'll use it against you."
"I don't need a partner," Yukito snapped, taking a step forward. "I can handle this on my own."
The stranger shrugged. "Maybe. But if you ever want to win—really win—you know where to find me." He turned and started walking away, fading back into the shadows as if he had never been there.
Yukito stood still, his mind churning. The encounter had shaken him more than he wanted to admit. The Phantom Five weren't just his enemies—they were the reason he had become what he was. But now, a new layer had been added to the game. The stranger's words echoed in his head.
"You're fighting on the wrong level."
The next morning, Yukito pushed the encounter out of his mind as best he could and threw himself into practice. The team had a game in two days, and the tournament was looming ever closer. He couldn't afford to be distracted.
As the players gathered in the gym, Yukito's eyes scanned them, looking for any sign of weakness. Sora Miyazaki was still pushing himself harder than anyone, but Yukito could see the strain starting to take its toll. The others were following Yukito's lead, but the cracks were there—subtle, but growing.
"Listen up," Yukito barked, his voice cutting through the chatter. "The tournament's almost here, and we can't afford any mistakes. You either give everything, or you walk out that door right now."
The team fell silent, tension thick in the air. No one moved. They all knew what Yukito was capable of, and none of them wanted to be the next Tetsuo.
Yukito nodded, satisfied. "Good. Now let's get to work."
Later that night, after a brutal practice, Yukito found himself sitting alone in the locker room, staring at the floor. The weight of everything—Tetsuo's defection, Takahashi's offer, the stranger's cryptic warning—was pressing down on him. For the first time in a long while, Yukito felt something he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years.
Doubt.
Was he really doing the right thing? Was his plan—his thirst for revenge—going to be enough to take down the Phantom Five? Or was he walking into a trap, blinded by his own obsession?
His phone buzzed, snapping him out of his thoughts.
Another message.
"The shadows are moving, Aizawa. You're not the only one hunting ghosts. The real game starts soon."
Yukito stared at the message, his pulse quickening. The Phantom Five were out there, waiting, watching. But now, there was someone else in the game—someone with their own agenda. And whether Yukito liked it or not, he was being pulled into something bigger than just revenge.
The shadows were closing in.