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Winter Cup, January, the Generation of Miracle’s First Year of High School
Murasakibara couldn’t help the frown that crawled onto his face when Kiyoshi approached him with his stupid smile on his face. He looked away from him, glaring at the air as Kiyoshi said, “Let’s play again sometime!”
Angered by his words for some reason he could put a finger on, he directed his glare back at Kiyoshi instead. “What? No way,” he growled, undoing his hair from the ponytail he’d tied it in. “I’m quitting basketball.” He turned his glare away from Kiyoshi’s face as it fell, ignoring the pang of guilt in his chest when he thought of leaving Himuro behind. “I played until the end because Muro-chin was so desperate, but it wasn’t fun.” His tongue felt awkward in his mouth for some reason. He could feel Kuroko’s gaze on him from the other end of the court, but he ignored it. “It’s already a boring enough sport. There’s no reason to keep playing after I’ve lost.”
He turned away, heading for his bench, when Kiyoshi spoke up. He paused—not because he wanted to hear what Kiyoshi had to say! Mostly because he was pretty sure that Kiyoshi would follow him around to make him hear it. He was a persistent idiot. “I see. I guess it can’t be helped, then." He paused, but Murasakibara could feel that he wanted to say more. “If that’s how you really feel.” Murasakibara could hear the stupid smile in his voice, so he just walked away from Kiyoshi before Kiyoshi’s awful attitude made him do something stupid.
When he reached the bench, he grabbed his towel, throwing it over his head to hide his face. He could feel his eyes burn slightly, but he wasn’t sure why. Huh. Weird.
Himuro came over to him, still full of determination in that way Murasakibara could never understand. Himuro was never going to be talented like Murasakibara—or even Kagami. Why did he try so hard? “We’ll win next time, Atsushi!” He proclaimed proudly. He was sad, but his voice didn’t have the bitterness that Murasakibara could feel growing in his own chest.
“What?” Murasakibara couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice. “I told you, I’m quitting!”
“You sure?” Himuro asked, and Murasakibara hated him, just a little, for how gentle his voice sounded. “It doesn’t seem that way to me.”
Tears fell on his hand where he was trying to zip up his bag, and he realized, with a start, that he was crying. Huh? When did that—
Oh. The burning in his eyes. He screwed up his face, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to rip their way out of his chest.
Okamura’s hand landed on his head. “You’re just getting started. Keep at it!” he told Murasakibara, and Murasakibara wasn’t sure if that was a threat or a promise. He knocked Okamura’s hand off his head, shoving it away with a waving arm.
“You did well, guys.” He heard Coach Araki say to the team. “Let’s go home.”
“Yes ma’am!” The team replied in unison, Murasakibara excluded. When the team respectfully ignored the tears that continued to fall down his face as they headed for the locker room to get changed and when someone shared some sweet snacks with everyone in the locker room—well, he thought that they might not be such a bad group after all.
Even if they were stingy. One snack wasn’t nearly enough for him!
~
Kuroko couldn’t help the feeling of ecstasy that rolled through him every time he thought back to the match earlier that day. They’d won! Against Murasakibara! Against Yosen, the Shield of Aegis! They’d made it to the semi-finals! He honestly couldn’t believe it. It felt more like a dream than reality . . .
But as he watched Kaijo play against Fukuda Sougou, it became more and more real to him. Kise was down there, battling against Haizaki for the sake of Kise’s team. For the chance to face Seirin. It was enough to make him want to cry, though he refused to actually do so.
However, the more time that passed, the more he itched with the need to find Murasakibara. He’d never expected that Murasakibara could go into the Zone, and so it had completely blind-sided him when it happened. But it was a shred of proof, finally, that Murasakibara loved basketball!
Kuroko wanted to tell him—
Well, he didn’t know what he wanted to say. But he could figure it out on the way . . . hopefully, it would be some time before the words actually came out of his mouth. It would be quite embarrassing if he tried to speak but no words came out.
~
Kuroko was apprehensive of the outcome of Shuutoku and Rakuzan’s match. Shuutoku and Seirin had tied in their last official game. The two teams were relatively well-matched and had played many practice matches together over the summer. And to be honest, he knew Shuutoku on a personal level better than he knew almost any other team.
But he had no idea how Shuutoku (and, by extension, Seirin) would match up to Akashi and Rakuzan.
He was as hopeful as he was nervous.
When he started to head down to his seats with the rest of his team, he spotted Murasakibara and Himuro arriving out of the corner of his eye. He frowned, confused, wondering how Himuro could have possibly convinced Murasakibara to willingly come to watch the match, but quickly realized that he’d probably been bribed with junk food.
Kuroko grimaced at the thought of all the junk food Murasakibara constantly ate. Sure, Kuroko liked the occasional (dozen) vanilla shakes, but Murasakibara was just too excessive for him.
Impulsively, he decided to approach them.
When he was finally close enough, he reached up and tapped on Murasakibara’s shoulder, causing the other boy to jolt in shock. He looked around wildly for a moment before looking down and meeting Kuroko’s eyes. Murasakibara’s eyes narrowed. “Kuro-chin,” he said in acknowledgement.
“Hello Murasakibara-kun, Himuro-san.” He gave them both polite nods as Himuro jumped and then blinked at him in surprise.
Himuro smiled at him politely and warmly enough. Though Kuroko could see his slight bitterness (though it was well-hidden, he might add) towards one of the players that had defeated his team yesterday in his eyes. “Ah, hello! Have you come to talk to Atsushi?” When Kuroko nodded, Himuro responded quickly, cutting off the complaint Murasakibara had been about to voice. “The match won’t start for another few minutes. I’m sure you guys will be done by then, yes?” Himuro turned his smile on Murasakibara.
After a few seconds of wavering, Murasakibara crumbled. As he reluctantly followed Kuroko back towards the hallways and away from the overwhelming noise of the crowd around them, Kuroko couldn’t help but feel an amused smile slip over his lips. Himuro was a sneaky one. And probably a good influence on Murasakibara.
When he turned around, Murasakibara was eyeballing him with reluctance (and a bit of thinly-veiled hostility). “Whaddaya want, Kuro-chin?”
As Kuroko stood there, he realized that he didn’t know what he wanted from Murasakibara. And that as much as he disapproved of Muraskaibara’s attitude, he couldn’t help but feel so proud of the fact that he’d gone into the Zone. That he’d found a friend like Himuro.
But he couldn’t say any of that. Murasakibara would just walk away from such “sentimental garbage.” And so when he opened his mouth, he honestly wasn’t sure what would come out. Which was why he was as surprised as Murasakibara when what did come out was: “Himuro-san and Kagami-kun.”
Murasakibara stared at him like he didn’t know why Kuroko was saying something like this before grunting. “What about them?”
“I told Kagami-kun that he and Himuro-san could be rivals and brothers. That he should stop being an idiot.” Kuroko was surprised by the amused snort from Muraskaibara.
“Sounds like you,” he grumbled, and Kuroko decided to take that as a compliment.
“It’s something that I realized when I was playing Midorima-kun in the Tokyo Championship League. Aomine-kun and Kise-kun reminded me of it recently. That we were friends and rivals. Midorima-kun even gave Kagami-kun advice that helped him play better this summer. Without that advice, he likely would have won against us the second time. But he doesn’t seem to regret it at all. And after yesterday. . . Kise-kun will be my next opponent today. And yet, I rooted for him all throughout that match. I was proud when he won. And—”
“Is this going somewhere?” Murasakibara drawled lazily, and Kuroko narrowed his eyes at him.
“And Aomine-kun helped me learn how to shoot in a way suited for me.” Kuroko paused for a second, thinking over all the words that had just come tumbling out of his mouth. They were truer than he had realized. “Maybe wanting to have it all makes me selfish, however, I can’t help bu—” Kuroko shook his head, stopping that train of thought. “I suppose what I’m trying to say is—” Kuroko dug around in his pocket. “Put your new cell phone number in my phone,” he demanded, sticking his phone out to Murasakibara.
Murasakibara glared down at Kuroko, and Kuroko felt so silly. He didn’t know what he was doing here, there was no way Murasakibara would—
“Yeah, okay, Kuro-chin,” he said, taking the phone and plugging his number into the ‘new contact’ option. Kuroko stood there, staring in shock at nothing but air all the while. When Murasakibara plopped the phone back in his still-outstretched hand a minute later, he blinked, returning to reality. He looked up and met Murasakibara’s gaze just in time for his large hand to land on his head. Kuroko scowled at the hand patting his head, before watching, still in disbelief, as Murasakibara strode away back to Himuro.
“Good luck, Kuro-chin,” he called. “You’re going to need it,” he muttered.
~
The fact that Akashi was terrifying wasn’t new information.
Murasakibara had experienced that terror first-hand during their one-on-one in third year of middle school.
But the fact that he had won the match against Shuutoku by so much even after Midorima had improved immensely? That had made even Murasakibara shiver a little in his seat when he had seen the final score.
And now, watching him play against Kuroko and the rest of Seirin, Murasakibara wasn’t sure how to feel. He respected Akashi more than almost anyone he knew, and he couldn’t help but feel bitter towards Seirin, the team that had defeated him and his team. So why . . .
Why did he feel the urge to stand up and cheer Kuroko on too when the rest of their middle school teammates had chosen to scream their support?
Loyalty and laziness kept him trapped in his seat, but as the end of the match approached, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward in his seat, tracking the action occurring in the game below him with intent eyes. He felt his palms and his feet itch—like he wanted to move—and scowled, flopping back in his seat to be contrary.
Despite the fact that all of his team had come to watch the match, he was pretty sure only Himuro had noticed the way that (even if it was only for a few moments) he had felt the urge, the want, to play basketball too.
When the cards fell and all was said and done, Seirin stood victorious. Murasakibara felt a strange tinge of unwanted pride. He had lost to the victors of this tournament, and no one less.
As he watched Kuroko’s team tackle him in hugs, the tiny figures dancing across the big, empty court, he felt that itch to play again. And when he watched Akashi shake Kuroko’s hand (his other self was clearly there to stay), he felt a warmth in his chest that almost overwhelmed that itch.
So he scowled and ignored both feelings, reaching into his bag for another snack to eat. Wanting to play basketball and loving basketball the way that Kuroko did was stupid.
~
Later that night, as he lay awake and stared at the ceiling above him, Murasakibara couldn’t stop thinking. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way that all of his teammates, even Akashi, had been changed by their matches against Kuroko and his team. He couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong with them!
(What was wrong with him, for not changing too.)
And he couldn’t stop thinking about what it was like to go into the Zone.
The way his focus had narrowed to him, tha players, the ball, and the court—as if nothing else mattered, as if the rest of the world had been drowned out . . . the way he felt like he’d been sinking down beneath the waves of the Zone had been . . . wonderful.
It had been wonderful for every moment that it had happened. It felt like the moment of euphoria that came when he took his first bite of something delicious, a feeling all the following bites could never capture as well as the first. And yet this version of that euphoria had been constant .
It felt like coming home.
And he hated himself for feeling that in the bone-deep way he felt it.
He knew that the other Miracles said you said to love basketball to go into the Zone—but that wasn’t true! It couldn’t be true . . . because he hated basketball.
He was quitting basketball!
He would just as soon as the season was over. After all, he didn’t want to let Himuro down.
But there was always a reason to keep playing, wasn’t there? At first he was just playing to join a club, any club! And then it was because he didn’t want to lose. Then it was because he was good at it. Because he didn’t want to let Akashi down. Because he didn’t want to fall behind all the rest of his teammates. Because he wanted to prove himself to be the best of them all, to beat Kuroko, to not let Himuro down—
There was always something.
But when this year was over . . . there was nothing.
There was no reason for him to keep playing, no reason for him to experience the Zone again.
He didn’t want to experience the Zone again—!
And yet he also did.
He wanted to play with Himuro next year.
He wanted to play against Kuroko, Akashi, and all his middle school teammates.
He wanted to go into the Zone again.
And he didn’t know why.
Groaning, Murasakibara threw an arm over his eyes, closing them and trying to block out the world. He heard his phone buzz. He threw out his other arm, groping around to find his phone. Squinting at the bright screen, he realized it was a text—
A text from Kuroko.
Did you come to the match today Murasakibara-kun?
Debating with himself for a few moments, Murasakibara shook his head at himself when he realized he wanted to reply.
yeah. congrats or whatever
He waited, tensely, for a reply.
Thank you. I was very proud of my team.
Murasakibara rolled his eyes at the response. “Typical Kuro-chin,” he grumbled to himself. But before he could tell Kuroko to leave him alone if that’s all he wanted to say, Kuroko sent another text.
Did you see that they were selling limited-edition sweets there today? I got some for you because I was not certain if you were there.
Murasakibara’s eyes gleamed. This. This was the reason he was friends with Kuroko.
And without realizing that he had started to think of Kuroko as a friend once more, he rapidly texted back, forgetting any reluctance and annoyance he’d previously had in a single moment.
Deep thoughts about annoying things could be saved for another time. Limited-edition sweets were far more important.
~
Kuroko's Birthday, January 31st, First Year of High School
Kuroko was thankful that Akashi had arranged a practice match between Rakuzan and Yosen in Tokyo yesterday, otherwise he doubted Murasakibara would have showed up at all. It was wonderful to see everyone again, but it was especially wonderful that they were all there for his birthday.
As they played match after match on the street court, he couldn’t help the small grin that he constantly wore on his face. He remembered playing in these various teams of three all the time in middle school, memories that were quite fond in the early days. While they had become tainted with the awful things that happened later on, it now felt like all the pain, anger, and guilt had been excised from those memories.
Kuroko was sure that the others had those memories too, but now all that was left was the enjoyment of the game that they all shared.
He could even see a smile on Murasakibara’s face as they played. Despite the complaints he muttered about them all being fanatics and the way he was constantly saying that he was exhausted from the practice matches between Rakuzan and Yosen the day before, he still kept playing until the rest of them decided to stop too.
After they took a group photo and Kuroko invited them all to the party that Kagami was hosting for his birthday, they all walked towards Kagami’s apartment. Momoi (he wasn’t sure he wanted to know why she knew everyone’s addresses) was leading the way with Akashi while Midorima, Kise, and Aomine argued. But Murasakibara was being quiet enough that he wasn’t dragged into their arguing (for once).
Kuroko fell back to walk next to him.
“Did you have a good day, Murasakibara-kun?”
Murasakibara jumped slightly, before giving him a bored look. “Ehh. It was annoying, but fine, I guess.”
Kuroko smiled, because (for Murasakibara) that was basically admitting that he’d had fun. “Are you excited to—”
“Don’t think that just because I went into the Zone you know how I feel,” Murasakibara snapped, cutting him off and clearly misunderstanding what his question had been about. Kuroko had been planning to ask if he was excited to eat, but well, they might as well have this conversation.
“I don’t know how you feel,” Kuroko agreed easily enough. And Murasakibara was surprised enough by this acknowledgement that he fell silent beside him. “I don’t know what the Zone is like, and I doubt I will ever know, no matter how much I love basketball. So I will only say to you what I have said many times before. And this time, I hope that you will actually hear me: Don’t squander the gifts you have been given. Please play your hardest, Murasakibara-kun.” Kuroko turned to look at Murasakibara as he walked, before nodding and speeding up to leave Murasakibara behind.
He had so much more he wanted to say. But somehow, he didn’t think Murasakibara was quite ready to talk about any of this. That’s why he was so surprised when Murasakibara said, quietly, “I’m not gonna quit my team.”
Kuroko’s pace stuttered with surprise, unsure if maybe he should slow back down to talk more or simply walk in silence. Or if Murasakibara would take that as Kuroko returning to say that he’d been right all along. So instead, he just murmured, “I’m glad,” and poked Aomine in the back to startle him.
He was easily swept up in his other friends’ conversation, but he kept an eye on Murasakibara all evening long. He tried not to be pleased about the fact that he was pretty sure that playing with them today had been a big part of Muraskibara’s reason for deciding to keep playing. But he failed, miserably.
Especially given the fact that he was watching all his friends celebrate his birthday with him, both on the court and off. In truth, he couldn’t stop smiling all day.
~
Vorpal Sword vs Jabberwock , Post-Interhigh, Second Year of High School
Getting benched with a hurt wrist in the middle of the game against Team Jabberwock sucked.
Because being able to play his hardest with a team that could keep up with him? Honestly, it was one of the best feelings Murasakibara had ever felt. And even if he had refused to admit it to anyone else aloud, he had finally become comfortable with the fact that he liked basketball at least a little after he had decided to keep playing basketball.
But even though he was missing out on playing, the feeling that came when their team won the game was . . .
Indescribable.
It made him want to play a thousand more games with the Miracles and Yosen and all of his friends.
~
It was one thing to hear that Kagami was leaving. It was another for Kagami to actually leave. Sitting outside the airport on a bench with his middle school teammates surrounding him, he watched the planes take off and rise through the sky, above the clouds. He knew that Kagami was in one of those planes . . . and he actually felt somewhat sad about it.
“Huh, he’s really gone,” Kise realized with a downcast look on his face.
“Now we’ll never play with him again,” Murasakibara frowned, pausing in rummaging around in his bag of chips. “Not that I care,” he added.
“That’s not true,” Midorima asserted, turning to look at him.
“Huh?” Muraskibara asked.
Aomine, glaring angrily at the road, grumbled. “I’m going to America.”
“What?” Kise asked. “To see Kagamicchi?”
“Of course not, idiot! I’m obviously going to play in the NBA.” Aomine declared loudly.
Kise jumped, turning to stare at him with surprise. “What? When?”
“I don’t know yet,” Aomine dismissed him, as if blustering could cover up the fact that he definitely didn’t actually have any concrete plans, “but I’m definitely going soon.”
Murasakibara decided to ignore them. They were both idiots anyway. At least Midorima was a little less stupid (and a lot more mean). “Mido-chin, what are you talking about?”
Midorima’s gaze had returned to the sky and planes above them. “I could ask you the same thing. A slight smile curved over his face. “Aren’t we going to keep playing basketball?”
He looked back at the rest of them, but Murasakibara didn’t want to say “yes,” even if it was true.
“Midorima’s right,” Akashi spoke up, his hands elegantly folded together in his lap. “Kagami’s just playing somewhere else now.” He turned his whole face up to the heavens. “As long as we keep playing basketball, we’ll fight him again.”
See you again soon, Kagami, Murasakibara thought, strengthening his resolve and pushing any sadness he might have felt away. He reached for a handful of chips and turned his gaze at the planes overhead like the rest of his friends had.
When they met up with Seirin at the front of the airport to take the bus back together, it felt like it was on purpose that Kuroko chose to sit down in the seat next to him.
Aomine and Kise battled for Kuroko’s attention as much as they did anything else. Midorima’s scoldings just added more noise to the mess. Murasakibara decided that ignoring Midorima was his best bet to avoid being scolded by Akashi—a terrifying prospect. In truth, only Akashi’s iron-clad control over the worst of all of their behavior stopped them from being kicked-off the bus all together. Seirin was surprisingly noisy too, but Murasakibara supposed that made sense. Kuroko wouldn’t know what to do with a peaceful, calm team.
He and Kuroko sat together for most of the ride, not often interacting with each other given all the chaos that was around them. When they finally got close to their stop, he offered some of his sugary snacks to Kuroko. Kuroko took a vanilla wafer with a small smile.
Staring directly at the seat in front of him as he spoke, Murasakibara finally said. “I like playing basketball.”
It was something he wasn’t sure he’d admit to anyone else in the world besides Kuroko—except probably Himuro and maybe Akashi.
Kuroko simply said: “I know.”
He scowled. “Ugh, you’re so self-righteous, Kuro-chin. I still don’t think that liking basketball makes me, or anyone else, a better player or anything!”
“I know.” Kuroko didn’t push the point, like Murasakibara had feared he would.
So he heaved a sigh and changed the subject. “I wish you’d just shut up sometimes.”
“I know,” Kuroko said, but he was smiling.
Murasakibara couldn’t stop the smile that was growing on his own face, thankful that Kuroko wasn’t making a big deal out of this. He was simply letting this moment happen between just them, without the scrutiny of their ex-teammates or Kuroko’s current teammates.
This time, when he felt that warmth in his chest he associated with friendship, that itch in his soul to play, he chose to smile instead of frown.
For once, he chose to lay down his shield, his walls, and let those feelings in.
He wanted to play. He loved to play. And he wouldn’t have it any other way. After all, he may have to say goodbye to friends over the years, but one thing he wanted to hold on tight to was basketball. As long as he kept playing, he would see friends he’d thought were long gone, friends like Kuroko, again.
And that was why he would never stop playing basketball.