Pre-Game: The Mask of Perfection
The studio lights had been brutal that morning.
Kenji Tachibana flexed his right hand subtly, the ache in his index finger a persistent reminder of Ami's "supervision" during his last shoot. "Part of your punishment," she'd said, twisting the joint just enough to make him flinch—but not enough to leave a mark that would violate his modeling contract.
Now, standing in the Shinwa High gymnasium, he rolled his shoulders and tried to ignore the dull throb. The Tokyo Principal Cup – Round of 16 was about to start, and his team—his real team, the one Kurogane Sports couldn't take from him—needed him.
Across the court, the Rakuto Military Academy players stood at attention, their uniforms crisp, their eyes sharp. They moved like soldiers, not athletes.
Akira slapped a sticky note onto Kenji's water bottle.
"NO FOCUS = NO WIN."
Kenji crumpled it.
---
First Half: The Performance
The whistle blew.
Shinwa played like a storm barely contained:
- Haru called out Rakuto's defensive patterns like a machine, but his voice wavered—even he could tell something was off with Kenji.
- Jiro showing off his street flair forcing Rakuto's point guard into two fouls, but his grin faltered when Kenji missed an easy pass.
- Rin compensating, always compensating.
Kenji's finger burned every time the ball slapped into his palm. He adjusted his dribbles, his passes, his shots—anything to avoid the sharp, biting pain when the ball caught the wrong way.
Halftime: 34-34.
Coach Morita's stare was a brand. "You're holding back."
Kenji said nothing.
Akira's asking him as he runs pass him: "WHO ARE YOU PROTECTING?"
He ignored it.
---
Second Half: The Cracks Show
Rakuto adapted.
Their captain—a steel-eyed forward with a buzz cut—locked onto Kenji like a missile. Every drive, every cut, every dribble was met with brutal, precise defense.
- Minute 8: Kenji went for a crossover. His finger jammed against the ball's seams.
The pain flared white-hot. The ball slipped.
- Rakuto's fast break ended in a dunk that shook the rim.
The crowd roared. Shinwa's lead evaporated.
Score: 52-50. Rakuto. 2:30 left.
Kenji's breath came in sharp gasps.
"Again," he growled, shaking out his hand.
"Again, you fail."
Ami's voice.
She wasn't here. But she didn't need to be.
---
Post-Game: The Unseen Wound
The locker room was a graveyard.
Kenji sat alone, peeling back the tape on his finger. The skin was mottled purple.
Akira stood in the doorway, his usual sticky notes absent. "Why hide it?"
Kenji laughed, hollow. "Would it have changed anything?"
Outside, a car door slammed.
Ami's voice carried through the open window, crisp and cold: "Your contract requires you at the studio in five hours, Tachibana. No excuses."
The engine purred. She was gone.