The gym felt emptier than usual when Riku arrived after school. The absence of the third-years was palpable, their once-commanding presence replaced by a quieter, uncertain energy. This was a team in transition, and the younger players now carried the burden of figuring out what kind of team they wanted to be.
Riku adjusted his jersey as he stepped onto the court, his legs still aching from the weekend's workouts. Each step reminded him how far he had to go to get this body up to standard. Across the court, Takao was already there, casually dribbling with the endless energy that seemed to define him.
"Mat-chan!" Takao's grin was wide enough to cut through the gym's silence. "Thought you'd bail on us after gym class."
Riku shot him a look, heading to the ball rack. "I'm here, aren't I?"
Before Takao could respond, another voice rang out. "Oi, Bird Brain! You're running your mouth already?" Daiki Ogano strolled onto the court, his wild hair as untamed as his energy. A ball spun lazily in his hands as he sauntered toward them.
Takao turned with a smirk. "Relax, Broccoli Head. Someone's gotta bring life to this team."
Ogano's eyes narrowed, but the grin tugging at his lips betrayed the playful banter. "Keep talking. By the end of this, you'll be eating those words."
Their back-and-forth echoed through the gym, filling the empty space with their usual antics. Riku couldn't help the faint smile tugging at his lips as he watched the two. For all their teasing, it was moments like this that breathed life into a team still reeling from the end of the season.
As his gaze wandered, Riku noticed someone else near the far end of the court. Aoi Himekawa stood quietly, taking deliberate mid-range shots. His build was average, his frame neither imposing nor particularly athletic. His light brown hair was neatly cropped, his gentle face framed by a Tsubakihara headband tied snugly around his forehead. Large, dark eyes focused intently on the hoop, their intensity belying the shy demeanor he exuded.
The ball arced perfectly with every shot, landing with soft swishes that were almost drowned out by Takao and Ogano's banter. But Riku noticed the tension in Himekawa's shoulders, the way he seemed to shrink as if trying to make himself invisible.
"Yo, Himekawa!" Ogano called, his loud voice breaking through the quieter rhythm of shots. The younger boy flinched, his wide eyes darting toward them.
"We're starting. Let's go!" Ogano waved him over, his tone impatient but not unkind.
Himekawa nodded quickly, jogging toward them without a word. His movements were precise, his knee pads snug against his legs, but there was a hesitance to him. He moved like a shadow, his quiet presence a stark contrast to Takao and Ogano's larger-than-life personalities.
Coach Jon Scheyer blew his whistle sharply, the sound slicing through the idle chatter and faint echoes of bouncing basketballs. The gym fell silent almost instantly, as if the air itself had been pulled tight. Standing at the baseline, clipboard in hand, Scheyer's presence was impossible to ignore. At 6'5", broad-shouldered, and sharp-eyed, he carried himself with an authority that didn't need to be explained.
"All right," Scheyer began, his voice calm but deliberate. It wasn't loud, but it carried. His Japanese was fluent, though his faint American accent gave it a rhythm that made you listen. "The season's over. The third-years have moved on. This team? It's yours now."
The words hung in the air. Teppei Kiyoshi's name didn't need to be spoken—it was everywhere. In the glances exchanged between Takao and Ogano. In the slight stiffening of backs and the way the gym suddenly felt colder. Teppei had been the heart of this team, and now that heart was gone. What remained was just potential, unformed and untested.
Scheyer's gaze swept over them, his eyes sharp enough to make you feel like he could see through you. "Now it's up to you to decide what kind of team you want to be," he said, his voice even, measured. "If you're just here to fill space, you're in the wrong gym. Every spot on this court has to be earned."
The tension in the room shifted, subtle but unmistakable. Riku shifted slightly, straightening his back. The words felt like a challenge, one aimed directly at him. He hadn't expected it, but he welcomed it. This wasn't the time to blend into the background. Not anymore.
Scheyer's gaze continued, pausing briefly on Himekawa, who immediately dropped his eyes, his shoulders curling inward. Then on Ogano, who fidgeted but held his ground, his usual energy dialed down to something quieter. Takao, of course, met Scheyer's eyes head-on, his grin still intact. Confidence radiated off him like heat off pavement.
Then Scheyer's eyes landed on Riku, and for the first time, they stopped. It wasn't hesitation exactly, but there was something there surprise, maybe? Riku didn't flinch. He held the coach's gaze, sharp and unwavering. He wasn't just listening. He was taking every word and locking it away, making it his. Scheyer's lips twitched, almost like he wanted to smile but decided against it. Then he moved on.
"We're starting over," Scheyer said, stepping forward, his voice breaking the stillness. "That means building each of you into the kind of players this team needs. There's no room for hesitation. No excuses. If you think you can rely on someone else to carry you, forget it. That time is over."
The words hit differently for everyone. Takao looked thoughtful but unfazed, like the speech was something he'd already decided he agreed with. Ogano clenched his fists, his energy simmering under the surface. Himekawa's head dipped lower, but his grip on the ball tightened, a small act of defiance against his own hesitation. And Riku? He felt a spark catch in his chest, the fire that had been building since Saturday's game finally taking hold.
Scheyer blew the whistle again, the sharp sound breaking through the quiet. "Three-man weave," he called. "Half court. Last player with the ball defends against the other two. No slacking."
The players exchanged glances, the unspoken challenge hanging heavy in the air. Riku reached for a ball, the ache in his legs pushed to the back of his mind. This was his chance and he wasn't about to let it slip away.