Ririn looked at Maya. There was pain in her words that reminded Ririn of Andrew's expression the day before.
Ms. Granna nodded slowly, her sharp eyes sweeping across the room. "Well said, Maya. Family is complex. It's not just structure—it's the dynamics within: support, conflict, sacrifice... and pain." Her gaze lingered briefly on Andrew's empty seat before moving on.
"Every family carries its own history," she continued. "A history that can shape you—or break you. Your task, as individuals growing into adulthood, is to understand that history, then decide: which parts you'll carry forward, and which parts you'll leave behind."
Her words struck Ririn like thunder. She'd always been focused on her dreams, her endless training. She rarely thought about her own family, who had quietly supported her all along.
'Maybe, besides the external problems at Harran, Andrew's been trying to escape something internal—something painful within his family's history.'
•••
[Lunch Break]
As soon as the bell rang, Ririn stood up. Normally, she'd head to the cafeteria with Serina—but today, she had another plan.
"Rin, where are you going? The cafeteria's this way!" Serina called as Ririn turned down another hallway.
"I'm heading to the library first. Need to find references for... that sociology lesson," Ririn lied. She couldn't admit she wanted to look for information about Andrew's brother, Arron Swan.
"T-That's weird! Ms. Granna didn't give us homework yet!" Serina protested suspiciously.
"Exactly. I just want to get a head start. I'll catch up later, okay?" Ririn said quickly, rushing off, leaving Serina sighing in defeat.
The Almorus library was well-stocked, even keeping local newspaper archives and sports magazines. With her heart pounding, Ririn began searching through the dusty stacks—looking for the name "Swan".
And she found it.
A five-year-old local newspaper, with a small headline: "Young Student Dies in Streetball Accident." The photo showed a bright-smiling young man—just as she'd imagined. It was "Arron Swan".
She read quickly. Arron Swan, student of Almorus Sports High, was found dead after a single-vehicle accident en route to an unofficial streetball tournament. Investigators suspected faulty brakes. The article described him as a talented basketball player, not affiliated with the school's official club, yet driven by dreams of playing professionally.
Ririn closed the archive, emotions churning. She finally understood. 'Almorus wasn't just any school for Andrew. It was his brother's school. The place where Arron's dream ended. Andrew came here not by chance, but to follow the echoes of a life that burned out too soon.'
His burden was far heavier than anyone realized.
•••
[Old Basketball Court]
4:40 p.m.
Ririn didn't go straight home after practice. She followed the narrow path behind the gymnasium, drawn by a strange feeling that she'd find Andrew there.
And she was right.
From afar, she saw him sitting by the court's edge, hugging his knees, staring blankly at the broken rim. He looked smaller, more fragile than the day before.
Ririn approached quietly. The sound of her steps made Andrew glance her way.
"Your eyes are still red," Ririn said plainly, sitting beside him without asking.
Andrew blinked, trying to steady his expression. "I didn't sleep well."
"I know about Arron," Ririn said softly. No pretense.
Andrew stared at her, shocked. "How...?"
"The library archives. He was an alumnus here. That's why you chose Almorus, right? It wasn't coincidence."
Andrew exhaled deeply, gaze fixed on the hoop again. "Yeah. I thought coming here would make me feel closer to him. But instead, all I see are memories of how Mom used to forbid him from playing—forcing him to focus only on academics. Every corner of this school screams reminders of their fights." He closed his eyes. "Today... I fought with her. Badly. Everything I'd bottled up just... came out."
"You said what needed to be said," Ririn replied.
"Then why does it feel so awful?" His voice cracked. "Seeing her cry... I felt like a terrible son."
"You're not terrible, Andrew. You're hurt. And sometimes, people who are hurt can't heal others until they heal themselves."
She picked up the old basketball lying nearby and tossed it to him. "Yesterday you said I reminded you of the process you'd lost. Today, let me return the favor."
Andrew caught it, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"Teach me," Ririn said.
"Teach you what?"
"Your no-look pass. Your blocks. How you read your opponent. Everything." She stood, eyes burning with resolve. "You said I'm too predictable. Make me unpredictable. If you're tired of playing for yourself, then play for me. Be my secret coach. Let our process be a shared one."
Andrew stared at the ball in his hands. The offer was wild—but within its madness was redemption. A reason to play again without the weight of expectation. Not for a team. Not for fame. Just for meaning.
"Shared process..." he murmured. He finally stood, a spark returning to his once-dim eyes. "Alright, Ririn Nataya. Prepare to suffer. I'm not a gentle coach. I demand perfection."
"You think Coach Zack doesn't?" Ririn smirked. "I'm used to it. But this time, I'll be learning from someone who plays with soul, not just with rules."
"Soul, huh?" Andrew smiled—a real one this time. "Souls can be messy, Ririn. Like this court."
"That's where beauty comes from," she said. "Like you said—it's about creating illusion. Teach me your illusion."
Andrew began dribbling. The rhythm changed—from slow and heavy to quick, alive.
"Lesson one: forget your eyes. Use your peripherals. Feel where your opponent and your teammate are—without looking."
He moved behind her, gently covering her eyes with his hands. "Now, sense where I am. Listen to the bounce of the ball. Guess which way I'll move."
At first, Ririn felt uneasy. But soon, her other senses sharpened—she heard the scrape of his shoes, the rhythm of the ball, the faint shift in air pressure.
It was a new language. One not taught in Almorus's polished gym. The language of the streets.
And for the first time since meeting him, Ririn felt she truly began to understand the person behind the name Andrew Swan.
Meanwhile, from the gym's window in the distance, a woman with white hair and silver glasses—Ms. Granna—watched them quietly.
A thin smile curved on her lips. She had taught long enough to recognize when a broken soul found its way to healing. And sometimes, healing didn't come through words, but through a basketball and a forgotten court.
"Poor Swan," she whispered. "You have the same fire as him, but it's been frozen for far too long."
She turned and walked away, leaving Ririn and Andrew to their process. The road ahead was long, but today—they had taken their first step.
.....