The afternoon sun beamed down mercilessly over the open court, where the buzz of excitement crackled in the air like static. PE class had turned into a mini-tournament, and students from all around gathered to watch. Today's match? Class A-4 versus Class C-1.
The court was surrounded by classmates shouting, whistling, and waving whatever they had on hand. From Class A-4, all eyes—and voices—were on one person.
"Yano! Yano! Yano!" Came the booming chant, rising like a drumbeat.
Makoto Yano stepped onto the court with a calm smile, soaking in the cheers like a seasoned star. His classmates leaned over the railings, jumping and waving, while a group of girls near the front practically melted when he glanced their way.
"Kyaaa! Makoto-kun's so handsome!"
"Did you see that smile?!"
There was no denying his popularity. He stood tall and athletic, with naturally tan skin that shimmered faintly in the sunlight. His short, fluffy hair bounced slightly with each step, giving him a cool charm that contrasted his chiseled build. His friendly energy, easygoing smile, and sharp reflexes made him not just admired—but adored.
Makoto's reputation as the ace of Class A-4 wasn't just talk. His record of victories spoke for itself. And today, his class expected nothing less.
Meanwhile, at the edge of the crowd, someone was trying to squeeze his way into the mess of bodies and noise.
Renjiro exhaled sharply as he was shoved aside by an overenthusiastic fan waving a towel. "Excuse me—ow—move—gah—hey!"
He finally popped out near the front like a cork from a shaken bottle. Beside him stood his classmate, Sato, who was all smiles and sparkles. Eyes locked on the court.
"Isn't this exciting?!" Sato beamed, clasping his hands like it was a concert.
Which Renjiro also finds new, considering his timid and shy look.
"Yay," Renjiro replied flatly, his smile strained and eyes hollow.
He glanced at the players on the court, then back at the crowd. This definitely wasn't how he planned to spend his afternoon. But alas, Sato had begged him to come support his boyfriend—who just so happened to be playing for his class—and Renjiro, being the unlucky soul within reach, got dragged along.
He shifted uncomfortably in place, eyes half-lidded, trying to summon even a shred of enthusiasm.
The crowd erupted again when the whistle blew, marking the start of the match.
"Woop! Let's go, Class A-4!" Someone screamed beside his ear.
Renjiro flinched. "Right... thrilling," he muttered.
Still, as his eyes briefly scanned the court, he caught a glimpse of Makoto—confident and fired up, smiling at his teammates. Renjiro blinked slowly.
"... Huh. So that's Yano."
The whistle blew, and just like that, the game between Class A-4 and Class C-1 was underway. The court came alive with squeaking sneakers, sharp passes, and the roar of the crowd.
As expected, Class A-4 scored the first basket within moments. The students exploded with cheers, banners waving, and chants louder than ever.
"Yano! Yano! Yano!"
It was only the first round, but the excitement felt as if victory had already been sealed. The energy remained high as the match went on, and Makoto continued to lead the team with sharp instincts and near-flawless execution.
By the time the buzzer marked the end of the round, Class A-4 had secured their win.
Applause erupted like fireworks. Makoto's teammates surrounded him, clapping him on the back and ruffling his hair.
"That last shot, Yano! That was amazing!"
"Only you could pull that off!"
Makoto offered his usual sunny smile, scratching the back of his head humbly. "It was just lucky timing."
Off to the side, Renjiro remained seated in the crowd, arms crossed. His face was expressionless.
He blinked once. I must give it to them... that Makoto guy is really good at his game, he admitted inwardly, though not a word of praise left his lips.
Just then, the coach stepped forward to announce the next matchup—the rival for Class A-4.
His voice rang out over the speaker: "Next up... Class A-1!"
The crowd collectively tilted their heads.
"What? A-1?" Someone said in disbelief.
"Didn't they skip every tournament match before?"
"That's because some of them are in the student council, right?"
Everyone's curiosity sharpened. The once-chattering bleachers turned quiet as players from Class A-1 entered the court. Their movements were in sync, calm, and coordinated—as if they'd been summoned from a dramatic movie.
And then came the last player.
The entire gym seemed to freeze.
"Wait..." one student muttered, standing up in shock. "Am I seeing this right?"
"Yeah, you're not alone," another whispered.
All eyes dropped down toward the court in disbelief.
Stepping into view was none other than Kaito Yugen—the dignified student council president.
Yukio, who had just arrived near the back of the crowd, blinked hard. President Yugen...? Playing basketball?
He wasn't the only one bewildered.
Yugen adjusted his sleeves casually, trying to ignore the avalanche of stares thrown his way. He hadn't played in an actual match since middle school, and even then... well, let's just say dribbling wasn't his strong suit.
In fact, the last time he tried, Renjiro practically banned him from touching a ball ever again.
But today, the PE coach had other plans. "We need someone to fill in and lead the class," the coach had said sternly. And saying no wasn't an option.
Now, here he was. In front of the whole school. Up against Yano Makoto.
Yugen sighed. His usual poker face faltered slightly. He already knew this wasn't going to go well.
Then, from the crowd, he spotted him.
Renjiro.
Grinning devilishly. Watching him like a hawk ready to feast.
Yugen's heart dropped. Oh crap... he's going to roast me for the rest of the semester.
Yugen gave a nervous laugh, his confident smile melting into a thin line.
Sato, standing beside Renjiro, noticed his expression and gently nudged him. "Koizumi-san? Are you okay?"
Renjiro didn't blink. His eyes glinted darkly. "Uh-huh," he replied slowly, lips curving into a wicked grin. "I'm totally excited, Hirota."
Sato swallowed.
This wasn't going to be just any game—it was about to become legendary. Or so, what they all thought.
The court buzzed with anticipation as Class A-1's players took their positions. Some faces were tense, others pale, clearly unprepared for this unexpected spotlight.
At the center of it all, Yugen took a deep breath and looked at his team.
"Alright, let's do our best out there," he said, projecting a calm and steady tone. "Don't worry about the crowd. Just focus."
One student visibly relaxed and gave a thumbs-up, eyes a little teary. "Thanks, President!"
"We can do this!" Yugen added, trying to pump them up.
His teammates nodded in agreement—but their bodies betrayed them. Knees wobbled, hands trembled, and nervous energy clung to the team like static.
"Relax, everyone. We've trained for this... sort of. I believe in you all," Yugen said, still smiling warmly.
Then, a voice piped up from his side. "But... your legs are shaking too, President."
Yugen froze. "What? No, of course not."
"But you are."
Yugen's smile strained. "It might just be your imagination. I'm totally okay."
"But—"
Suddenly, another teammate clamped a hand over the boy's mouth. "He. Said. He's okay!" He hissed, eyes narrowed.
"You're just imagining it! Focus!"
The rest of the team snapped back into attention. "Yes!"
Yugen turned away quickly, and the smile dropped from his face like a mask falling off. The weight of reality returned and sat heavy on his shoulders.
Right. This is really happening.
But he pushed through it.
No turning back now. I'm the team leader. I have to carry this through. I can do this.
He tightened his grip on the ball and squared his shoulders.
"Calm down. I believe in my team," he muttered to himself. "We can do this."
The referee raised the whistle to his lips.
Tweet!
The game began.
But the ball... simply bounced on the floor.
And kept bouncing
Nobody moved.
The gym fell silent. So silent, it felt like even the air was holding its breath.
Yugen stood there—completely frozen—while his teammates had already spared out to their positions, glancing back at him in confusion.
He hadn't moved an inch. The ball bounced innocently beside him like it was taunting him.
A student in the crowd muttered, "Is he... lagging?"
"President!" One teammate called, his nerves returning tenfold.
And then—
"PFFT—!"
Renjiro bursted out laughing from the bleachers. He clutched his stomach and practically doubled over.
"HAHAHAHAHA! Oh my god—Yugen!! Are you buffering?!"
Sato jumped in surprise. "Eh?! Koizumi-san?!"
Yugen's face went bright red. He snapped out of his daze, quickly bending down to pick up the ball.
"S-Sorry!" He called out, voice cracking slightly.
He stood upright, gripping the ball tighter, now flushed with embarrassment—but strangely, a new kind of determination sparked in his eyes.
The crowd still hadn't recovered from Yugen's frozen moment, some students snickering while others watched in secondhand embarrassment. But Yugen gritted his teeth and squared his shoulders.
Alright, enough humiliation. Let's try to survive this.
The game finally kicked into motion. Yugen dribbled cautiously at first, then passed to a teammate. Their plays were clunky, and some passes barely made it. The contrast between them and Makoto's smooth, athletic team was like watching a group of a baby deer try to fight a pack of lions.
Class A-4's offense was relentless, and Makoto—true to his ace status—dominated the court with his speed, sharp passes, and clean shots.
"Makoto! Over here!"
"Nice one, Yano!"
Another clean shot. The crowd roared. The scoredboard tucked upward.
Renjiro, still leaning against the bleachers with his arms crossed, chuckled under his breath. "Yugen's team doesn't stand a chance at this rate."
Sato tugged at his sleeve. "Koizumi-san, they're trying their best.
"Trying isn't going to win them points, Hirota."
As the second round round began, A-1's defense began to crumble. Their nervous energy hadn't gone away, and with each point lost, their morale dropped lower and lower.
Yugen wiped sweat from his brow. We need something. Anything. We can't keep getting crushed like this.
As Yugen caught his breath near the sidelines, a calm voice came from behind him.
"President."
Yugen turned and instantly relaxed. The corner of his lips curved. "Miura-kun!"
Ken nodded once, the same calm expression on his face.
"Great timing," Yugen said, his voice still breathless but laced with relief. "I leave the rest to you. Sorry," he added with a sheepish smile.
Ken patted his shoulder firmly. "You did enough. Let me take it from here."
As Ken stepped onto the court, the entire gym fell into a hushed awe. It was like someone had just summoned a final boss mid-game.
"No way..."
"Is that—Miura?!"
"He's playing?!"
Sato practically bounced in his seat, his eyes wide with joy and pride. "Miura-kun!"
Renjiro leaned on the railings, grinning. "Heh. Took him long enough."
The atmosphere shifted. A-1's players straightened up. With Miura now leading, their passing tightened, their confidence stabilized. Momentum returned.
And before long, the scoredboard confirmed it: Class A-1 had caught up. The once insurmountable lead from Class A-4 was gone.
Makoto's eyes widened. His rhythm began to falter.
"That's Miura Ken..." murmured one of his teammates. "He used to be the ace before he quit the basketball club..."
"And he's still this good?"
Makoto clenched his fists. His breathing turned shallow. Every move he made, Miura was there—reading his patterns, intercepting passes, keeping up with impossible footwork. It was like trying to outrun a shadow.
With each successful shot, Miura made—even a clean three-pointer from just over the arc—the crowd exploded.
Makoto's body was tense. His vision tunneled. The cheers blurred. The pounding in his chest drowned out of everything else.
This isn't working. I'm messing up.
From the bleachers, Yukio watched silently, tension etched across his face. I wanted to see president's team win... but Makoto—
He saw Makoto's lost expression. It wasn't the ace he knew. Not the boy who used to light up every court he stepped on.
Yukio's fists clenched at his side. He gritted his teeth.
"Tch..."
And then he stood up.
"You can do it, Yano!" Yukio shouted with all his might.
His voice pierced the atmosphere.
Makoto blinked, stunned. The muffled noise of the crowd snapped back into focus. His head whipped toward the bleachers.
There—front row—stood Yukio, hand cupped around his mouth, his face burning with urgency.
"Don't give up! Get your head back in the game!!"
Makoto stared for a second longer.
Then his eyes widened.
That voice... it was Yukio.
Hope surged into his chest like a second wind. His heart steadied. He broke into a wide, grateful smile and raised a hand toward the stands.
"Thanks!"
With that, he dashed back into position. His footwork is sharper. Eyes clearer. Shoulders light.
The girls in the crowd screamed at the top of their lungs, losing their minds over his dazzling smile.
"KYAAA—!"
"So cool!"
"Did he smile at me?!"
But Yukio slowly sat back down, head lowered, hiding his face behind his arms.
The student next to him blinked. "Kawaguchi, are you alright?"
Yukio didn't answer immediately. His ears were red, the pink trailing all the way to his cheeks. He finally muttered, barely audible, "... Yeah."
I can't believe I said that...
That's exactly how he used to cheer him on back then.
He peaked through his fingers to see Makoto—now moving with renewed vigor—take a pass and drive toward the hoop. The crowd surged again.
And Yukio sat there, a small tremble on his lips.
... Idiot. Why did I do that?
After long minutes of tight exchanges, unpredictable turnarounds, and an almost unbearable tie that left the crowd holding its collective breath...
Class A-4 finally landed the last winning point.
The gymnasium exploded with cheers. The students in the bleachers jumped from their seats. Hands waved, shoes stomped, and classmates yelled Makoto's name at the top of their lungs.
Yukio stood too—his heart racing, his breath catching his throat. He felt his chest tighten... then release. A deep exhale escaped him.
They did it.
He clutched his chest, overwhelmed. His eyes stung unexpectedly. His lips trembled, trying to hide a smile, but it betrayed him and curved anyway. He quickly wiped under his eyes and looked away, cheeks flushed.
On the court, Makoto's teammates swarmed him—slapping his back, ruffling his fluffy hair.
"You're the man, Yano!"
"That clutch play!"
Makoto laughed breathlessly, still riding the adrenaline, and still catching his breath.
But then—his smile faltered just a little.
His eyes scanned the bleachers.
Where...
His eyes wandered among the standing students.
Yukio... where did he go?
His gaze finally landed on a familiar silhouette, just at the exit of the gymnasium, slipping away quietly.
Makoto's eyes widened.
Without hesitation, he broke from the group and ran.
"Oi—Yano! Where're you going?"
Makoto didn't answer. He was already dashing past the crowd, shoving gently past shoulders and squeezing through the parting students. His feet slammed against the floor as he bolted into the walkway.
His heart was pounding—not from exhaustion, but something else. A deeper, louder thud. Something urgent, old familiar.
His throat tightened as he saw that unmistakable small frame walking ahead, head slightly bowed.
Makoto's voice broke free like instinct. "Yukio!"
Yukio froze.
Before he could even turn fully—
"Wha—AH!"
Makoto lunged forward and wrapped his arms around him from behind, almost knocking them both over.
"Hey—Makoto?!"
Makoto laughed, breathless and full of relief. "Got you."
Yukio stiffened in the hug, caught off-guard, but didn't pull away. He just turned his face, flustered.
"You idiot... what are you doing?"
"I heard you," Makoto said, still hugging him. "Your voice... it reached me. I wouldn't have made it without that."
"I-It wasn't anything. I just... yelled like everyone else did..."
Makoto gently pulled back, placing his hands on Yukio's shoulders and lowering himself slightly to meet his eyes. His expression softened.
"No. It was you," he said. "Everyone else faded. But I heard your voice clearly. Just like back then."
Yukio's eyes widened.
Back then?
Makoto smiled gently. "It's because you told me not to give up. Those words encouraged me to pull myself together and focus on the game."
"You used to be the only one cheering for me when no one else noticed me. You haven't changed, Yukio." He added.
Yukio's lips parted, but no words came out.
"And I... I guess I haven't changed either," Makoto added with a sheepish chuckle. "I still lost focus on the court when I get overwhelmed. And only you will be able to bring me back."
Yukio lowered his gaze, cheeks slightly burning.
"... What's with that? Cheesy."
Makoto laughed. "Only for you."
Yukio let out a tiny huff—but it wasn't annoyance. It was something soft. He looked up again, and this time, didn't shy away.
"You did... great out there today."
Makoto blinked, his eyes shining. Then he beamed—wide and bright, but not for the crowd this time.
As he looked down, gently smiling into Yukio's shoulder. "Thanks, Yukio."
Their bodies were still locked in a hug, the warmth of familiarity still lingering between the two of them.
But then...
Yukio's eyes widened. His breath hitched.
What am I doing...?
As if an ice-cold water suddenly thrown on his back, really hit him all at once. He tensed and without a warning—shoved Makoto away.
Makoto stumbled slightly startled. "What—?"
Yukio stepped back.
His face was pale, nervous even. His chest rising and falling unevenly.
Makoto blinked, stunned. "Yukio?"
"..."
"Is something wrong?"
But Yukio didn't respond. His lips moved, a murmur too faint to understand.
Makoto leaned in a step. "What did you say?"
"... This isn't right," Yukio finally said, louder—but his voice cracked.
Makoto paused.
Yukio's hand suddenly raised—not to push him again, but to keep him from coming closer. His fingers trembled.
Their eyes met.
And in that moment, Makoto saw it clearly—fear, pain, and something he didn't expected at all: the raw vulnerability of someone trying desperately not to fall apart.
It was the kind of expression Yukio had never shown him before not even when they fought. Not even when they drifted apart.
It stabbed into Makoto's chest like a blade.
"Yukio..." He whispered, taking a tentative step.
But Yukio flinched.
"I'm sorry," his voice shaking. "I need to go..."
"Wait, what do you mean?" Makoto asked, voice low and cautious. "You—you're just gonna leave like this?"
Yukio bit his lower lip. He looked like he was about to say something more... but stopped himself.
Instead, he turned his back, head bowed low—and ran.
"Yukio—!"
Makoto instinctively reached out, but his hand only caught air.
He stood there in the now-empty hallway, the sound of Yukio's fading footsteps echoing in his ears.
Makoto's breath hitched. His heart, still pounding from the game, now twisted in his chest.
For just a second, it felt like things were like how they used to be.
He lowered his hand slowly, his eyes dimmed.
Maybe I imagined it all.
Maybe Yukio only cheered because he saw him struggling.
Maybe... he didn't mean anything by it.
Makoto stood till—victories on the court, bit defeated in a way he hadn't felt in years.
Yukio didn't know where his legs were taking him—all he knew was that he had to get away.
Away from Makoto.
From that warmth. From that look.
Or from himself.
His feet pounded against the floor, shoes squeaking slightly as he turned corner after corner in a daze, until at last—he found a quiet stairwell at the far end of the building.
It was cold, quiet, and untouched by the noise of celebration still echoing faintly behind him.
His steps slowed.
Then stooped.
With one arm, he pressed against the wall for balance, slightly bent over, gasping softly. The other hand clenched tightly at his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his uniform like he could rip something out of himself.
He dropped to sit on his feet.
The silence wrapped around him like a blanket—yet if offered no comfort.
His eyes shut tightly. But his body betrayed him.
Because just now, in Makoto's arms...
He felt it all again.
The warmth that used to make him feel safe.
The subtle, clean scent of Makoto's cologne—calm and familiar.
The sound of his heartbeat—so near and alive.
The way his voice cracked with joy when Makoto said those words.
Yukio trembled. It has been so long.
Too long.
He thought he had buried it—locked it deep beneath years of distance, silence, and half-lies.
But it came crashing back, uninvited and merciless.
And with it, the truth he didn't want to face.
Ah...
Because if he chose to stay with him.
Then, Makoto would feel the weight of his years of longing.
And Yukio was terrified of that; if Makoto knew all about this... he'd surely pull away.
His cheeks flushed a deep pink as the thought fully hit him.
He bit down on his lower lip, so hard it stung.
No matter how long I try to ignore it...
No matter how far I run...
He wanted to laugh or cry—or maybe both.
I still love him. I always had.
His breath caught in his throat.
There it was—the truth.
A truth that clung to him like static—he couldn't untangle, no matter how hard he tried to cut it out of himself.
Yukio curled up slightly on the step, burying his face in his arm as his other hand remained over his heart.
He didn't cry. But his eyes burned, and his whole body felt like it was trembling on the edge.
He thought he was over it.
Unbeknownst to Yukio, he wasn't as alone as he thought. Not too far from the stairwell's entrance, leaning quietly against shadowed part of the hallway wall, was Renjiro.
His arms were crossed, one foot resting lightly against the wall behind him. His posture was relaxed—but his eyes were anything but.
He happened to be just passing by, on his way to return to the dorm but then—he witnessed something he knew wasn't supposed to be seen by anyone.
Then, he followed Yukio and it led him here.
And now, he just stood there.
Watching.
He said nothing. Made no sound. He didn't dare call Yukio's name. He just watched.
From where he stood, Yukio looked small.
Renjiro's eyes softened, his usual smirk was nowhere to be found. No teasing glint. No sarcastic remark posed on his tongue.
Just silence.
His thoughts lingered quietly.
I see... so that's what this is.
He tilted his head slightly, gaze thoughtful.
It's as if he's already thinking something—an idea maybe?
Renjiro exhaled quietly and turned his gaze away for a moment.
It might not be the time for him to act as a matchmaker yet. But it doesn't mean, he won't be anytime soon.