Work Text:
The teachers didn't circle around him like vultures the way they did with Miyagi -- who had given up basketball for the third-year exams, just like Akagi and Kogure before him -- or even Rukawa this year, with whom Kitagawa-sensei timorously raised the subject before realising that he'd fallen asleep in the middle of her lecture.
But him-- they assumed and accepted that Sakuragi wasn't going to give up on basketball, no way. Perhaps, though, at the back of their minds, Sakuragi was still a yankii no-hoper who would end up crashing out of high school and killing himself on Kanagawa's highways at the back of someone's motorcycle. Nobody expected him to go to university, least of all Sakuragi himself.
Except Anzai-sensei. Who didn't expect so much as hoped that a university would overlook the red ink liberally spread over Sakuragi's school records -- but this was Japan, not America, and few university scouts could afford to overlook Sakuragi's grades for the fact that he was a power forward who could out-rebound and shut down his enemies on the court as sweetly as any pro.
"He needs a team to play for," Anzai-sensei said to his wife, who took his words with gravity. "If he wasn't injured in the Nationals, there was a chance he could have been picked for the All Japan junior camp the way Rukawa was. Then it would be easier for him to be noticed, and to go to America."
They both smiled, remembering Sakuragi's increasingly heated declarations. Anzai set down his cup, fragrant steam wafting from the pale green liquid.
"Sakuragi has to take a slightly longer route now. The JBL is young, and the best place for players to develop is still in the university teams. He's not ready to go abroad -- in a few years, yes. But not now."
His wife hmmed. "What will you say to him?"
"I don't know. Yet."
If anyone were to be asked what Sakuragi's dreams were, they'd probably say something like this:
Assuming they knew and cared who he was beyond a scary red-haired wannabe-yakuza -- and knew him as a basketball player -- they would say, "To go to America, of course!" With all the ensuing fame and glory and big money. If they knew him a little better, they would add Haruko to their speculation. Sweet and bright at his side in award ceremonies, present in the audience at all his games. A big, tacky beach house with its own basketball court. An equally big, gas-guzzling car (and safe for Haruko). Oh yeah, and for the kitsune to fall at his feet, weeping over Sakuragi's greatness.
To all this, Youhei would probably say: You don't know him at all. Okay, yeah, so the last one's right. But that's all.
Sakuragi had a knack of meeting the right people at the right time. First Youhei and the gundan, then Haruko -- who sent him, love-struck, headlong into Shohoku's basketball club (and not a few incidents which would've embarrassed a smarter man; happily, Sakuragi was not).
"OI, WATCH IT!"
The guy who'd been so rude as to stop, and thus forced Sakuragi to bump into him, turned around with a sigh that might've been annoyed if it wasn't edged with disinterest. Something about him was terribly familiar to Sakuragi-- something that reminded him... of an old man?
Sakuragi's shout echoed around the neighbourhood, setting off several car alarms.
"And here I thought I'd have to remind you with flashcards," Maki said, and -- just faintly -- smirked.
"You're not that memorable," Sakuragi growled, conveniently ignoring the fact that he did remember the match against Kainan very clearly. And, by extension, Maki himself.
Maki looked different enough that someone who knew him only in passing would have to do a double-take: he was even taller now, broader, his dark hair cropped close to his head. There was a subtle change in the way he carried himself, something as pure and defined as lines drawn with black ink on white paper. Sakuragi vaguely remembered Haruko saying something about Maki going to a university in Hawaii. There he would have had to prove himself again, establish himself all over again to earn the awe and respect he had in Kainan.
He had always behaved like a man old before his time, but now Maki was truly an adult.
"How are you?" Maki asked. His eyes relaxed. "Still giving coaches around Kanagawa a heartburn?"
"None of your business," Sakuragi muttered, and walked off into the cold -- in the opposite direction to his intended destination, because he'd be damned if he was going to be following Maki's footsteps.
"We have to stop meeting like this," Maki said.
"La, la, la, CAN'T HEAR YOU!"
Sakuragi contemplated forcing the train window down and jumping out. But no matter how icy cold Kanagawa's winters were at their worst -- and no matter that they'd managed to disrupt even the reliably punctual shinkansen -- he doubted the snow was deep enough to cushion his fall. Stupid snow.
A soothing female voice tinkled from the speakers, "We apologise for the unexpected delay, and we hope that the technical problem will be resolved soon. Please stand by for further announcements!"
Around them, people sighed and grumbled, then settled down to wait. Some were dressed to the nines under their winter coats, probably on their way to Christmas parties, the women with their faces carefully painted and the men with their hair perfectly coiffed. Older women clutched their shopping to themselves, glancing at their wristwatches and frowning. A handful of salarymen were scattered throughout the train, sombre in their assembly-line suits, eyes fixed at their feet.
Finally, because he'd already read his basketball manga thrice (and he'd been sternly warned not to grab things from other people's hands), Sakuragi ventured, "Heard you were in Hawaii."
He wasn't actually looking at Maki -- because it wasn't as if they were having a conversation or anything -- but he saw that Maki's hands tensed briefly, before uncurling.
"I was. I'm home for the winter break before the next semester."
"You're studying. Really studying."
A smile. "Marine biology."
Sakuragi narrowed his eyes, shoving aside his earlier resolve to pretend that Maki was an empty seat. "But you're playing basketball."
"University team."
"Huh."
"You're still playing for Shohoku." Maki's eyebrows rose. "I heard from Kiyota."
Sakuragi shrugged. "Who cares about exams? I just wanna play basketball."
"If you get into a university," Maki said, as if explaining to a small child, "you'll play for its team."
"Not interested."
"It's still the best way up to the professional league."
"Whatever. I'll bust my own way in."
Maki chuckled. "You don't know much, do you?"
Sakuragi bristled, seconds from a meltdown, but Maki's voice was even and entirely free from insult when he said, "You might be scouted by a corporate team. Or you can scrape together the money to go to America and pray you find a sympathetic coach who'll pick you out of any number of hopefuls and find you an English teacher."
"What are you, some kinda--"
"Sakuragi. How's your back?"
"Bastard, it's fine. What're you saying?"
"I'm saying: don't limit your options." Maki's face was serious, and not unkind. "You've missed a few chances Rukawa had and took, but-- the best chances are the ones you make yourself. You have to get a foot in the door before you can show them how you dance."
"What-- DANCE?"
Maki's smile turned rueful. "Metaphor. My-- I'm dating an English major."
"Pervert," Sakuragi muttered half-heartedly, sliding down in his seat. "I don't have to listen to you."
"Mmm. No, you don't."
"I'm gonna play against you again one day. And I'm gonna kick your ass."
Maki flipped open a magazine. "I was hoping to play against Sendoh, but you'll do as a warm-up."
The train started moving again, just in time to pitch Sakuragi, flailing furiously, on top of Maki.
The third and last time they met in Kanagawa, it was at an outdoor basketball court. The glow of the streetlights fractured against the iced-up chainlink fencing -- and if you squinted just right, the sparkle could almost be camera flashes at a distance.
It was bitterly cold: their breath puffed out in cumulus clouds as they sprinted and jumped on the court, sliding slightly against the concrete. Maki had taken off his woolen scarf and coat and draped them over a bench, heedless of half-melted snow soaking into the fabric. Sakuragi's challenging laughter set off like firecrackers around the quiet street, echoed by Maki's low, dismissive rumble.
At some point, they stopped keeping scores.
"Best fun I had in a while," Sakuragi panted out, red-cheeked. "But don't let that go to your head, old man. 'S not like anyone here can challenge the tensai."
"I am winning."
"You are not! Take that back!"
Maki's mouth twitched, and he promptly scored another three-pointer.
"What do you dream of?" Anzai-sensei asked, not long after, as the sunset splashed streaks of red and gold against whitewashed walls.
"Basketball," Sakuragi said.
END