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Nijimura stepped into the Seirin gym, following directions Momoi left after the former captain had tried contacting some of his troublesome underclassmen. The practice slowed to a stop as the players turned to inspect the newcomer, some starting out a greeting, but the ex-Teiko student was already busy scanning the group for fluffy, light blue hair. If he couldn’t see him amongst the other teens, then either these players were more impressive than he realized or…
“Hello, Nijimura-senpai.”
Nijimura felt his heart constrict, but managed to keep from jumping. He reflexively reached a hand out to his side and, without looking, mussed up the hair of the shorter teen.
“Guess a year and a half isn’t enough to get used to that. How have you been Kuroko?”
Several of the Seirin players gaped at the familiar greetings and the uncharacteristic willingness, or resignation, the phantom showed towards the unknown person’s action. He detested having his hair touched.
“I’ve been well. I still play basketball.”
Nijimura sighed.
“How did I ever think the others were more basketball idiots than you? The world could be falling apart and you’d still be perfectly happy if you had a basketball in hand.”
The calculating gray eyes turned and studied the defined arms and calloused hands of the diminutive boy.
“Then again, you’d probably be more effective using a basketball as your weapon of choice in the apocalypse than anything else.”
“Oi! Kuroko, who is this?”
“Ah, sorry everyone. Allow me to introduce Nijimura Shuzo, former captain of the Teiko basketball team. He held the title of strongest middle school power forward before Akashi took over and the team received the Generation of Miracles name.”
The senior snorted.
“Bet the other brats loved that title, huh?”
Kuroko turned his unnervingly blank gaze onto his old acquaintance.
“Wouldn’t you know? You would not have found me here unless you’ve met with them already.”
Seirin watched as the taller student’s fingers went from softly slipping through Kuroko’s locks to gripping the phantom’s skull with strength enough to shake the smaller boy about by his head.
“Yeah, speaking of – care to tell me why all you idiots are going to different schools? I leave Japan for fifteen months and you brats fall apart? Did you at least wait until my plane took off to bicker amongst each other like little kids?”
The only thing keeping Seirin from tearing their sixth man away from his ex schoolmate was the unfazed way Kuroko held his body and face.
“You shouldn’t have that little faith in us, senpai. Whatever Midorima has told you is likely just his perception because we both know he is an argumentative person.”
“Yeah, and so is Aomine. And Murasakibara. And even Akashi. The only people who didn’t argue were you and Kise and even then, you’d join in because you always have an opinion and that pup always has to loudly take your side.
Don’t beat around the bush and fill me in! I already saw Akashi at that bougie school he goes to and I know for a fact you idiots got into some sort of trouble for him to start acting like that.”
Kuroko’s eyes dulled and Nijimura released his grip, nonchalantly brushing flyaway hairs back into place as he walked past the Seirin team to sit down on a bench. In a softer tone, Nijimura offered an alternative.
“Either tell me here or we can go to Maji burger – you still like Maji, right? We can go to a different one than the one you went to with Aomine if its that bad. But I’m not leaving until I get the least biased explanation for what you six are doing to yourselves. Lord knows I won’t be getting it from the others and Momoi couldn’t get through two sentences without tearing up.”
Kuroko walked back towards his new team, ball in hand.
“I guess our situation must be very strange. I forget it must seem unnatural for people that weren’t there during our third year.”
Nijimura’s response was soft, but clear.
“None of you smile anymore. Not even Kise. Not real smiles. And I never thought that you and Aomine would go to separate high schools, at the very least. The seven of you were always a loud, annoying package deal. I couldn’t pull you off anywhere to talk about practice without the six of the trailing behind and bickering.
What happened to all of you, Kuroko? Teiko was never a buddy-buddy club, but all of you were as close to it as we could have been.”
Kuroko stared at the ball, fully aware of the audience around him, before passing the ball towards Hyuuga.
“Did you enjoy basketball, senpai?”
“What kind of question is that? Of course I liked basketball, why else would I have joined the club?”
“Even towards the end? Even with Teiko’s motto? Their philosophy?”
The black haired teen tilted his head as the Seirin players started to move, slowly diving back into practice as they followed Kuroko’s lead. Riko studied the retired player from her spot on the other side of the bench.
“I don’t see how absolute victory changes my enjoyment of the game, Kuroko. There’s nothing wrong with a drive to win. Did you not hold the same belief? I could have sworn that victory was all that mattered to you.”
The two benched teens lost sight of Kuroko as he blended into the shift of players on the court, but the response was as clear as if he were right beside them.
“No, you are right. But I have changed quite a bit since then. There is nothing wrong with wanting to win. You can still enjoy the game with continuous victories.
The issue lied in what the school decided after you retired. With their strength came fame and the administration liked that. The others were already getting too strong. You saw how Aomine was feeling before you left – and the others started to feel it too. Whole teams would stop playing against us before I could even be put in. But the coach insisted on continuing to play the others in every single game.
It didn’t even matter to them. The coaches, the teachers, the principal. Our opponents refused to play and the rest of the club started to hate us. It didn’t matter how anyone moved in the strings because none of our regulars would change. Aomine and Murasakibara even stopped coming to practice and the coach let them in favor of that absolute victory they desired.”
Kuroko was still unseen, for as flashy as his passes could be, and his voice grew in the raspiness of anger. He reminded the students around him of a vengeful phantasm, wronged and banished for circumstances outside of his control.
“Their victory was a sham, senpai. Their victory was ash and pain and disgusting. They used us as tools and ripped away our spirit in favor of some stupid glory and game that won’t even last them past this next tournament now that the miracles have split and left their teamwork behind, just the way they taught them.
Maybe I did think that winning was everything, but winning shouldn’t feel like that. Like poison. Like my heart was being ripped from my chest. I could have died on that nationals court, in our third year, and I don’t think any of us, including myself, would have cared.
They threw us away, and then the others threw me away. I resigned before we even graduated.”
Nijimura leaned back and hummed. Several of the Seirin players looked around, trying to find Kuroko and possibly comfort him – he was safe here. Welcomed and wanted. It didn’t matter what Teiko was because now Kuroko was here and working to be better than all that.
Nijimura’s mind could only summon memories of a bunch of goofy underclassmen. Bickering over favorite subjects, making their way to the cafeteria in a herd because, once Kuroko joined and they started talking, you could never find a miracle on their own anymore. He remembered finding them lounging under the cherry blossom trees before practice or running around the school pool because the idiots couldn’t help their games of chase. He remembered the look on Aomine’s face as he frowned at the floor, lost in thought about the game and the score, nearly unwilling to celebrate what must have been his fiftieth consecutive win.
Nijimura remembered Shirogane telling them not to do anything. The pained looks on his underclassmen’s faces as they watched Aomine start to fracture, lose the joy in the very sport he breathed. He remembered trying to comfort them in the brash way he had while Sanada simply walked away. He tried to imagine the rest of his brats following the same pattern, Kuroko left as the only one. HE could picture Kuroko fracturing under the weight of being forced to watch.
Nijimura remembered a still young, fresh faced, and passionate Aomine. Who lived and laughed and loved basketball with his entire being. Who found someone who loved the sport even more than him and suddenly brightened even more. Who was desperate to have that friend by his side. Who was convinced that friend would save the team, their team, from loss.
“Don’t forget your first resolution.”
Everyone paused in their search and none could figure out where Kuroko was in the room, but Nijimura spoke with a confidence, as if he knew Kuroko had heard and was listening from wherever he stood.
“I still think you brats are being overdramatic, but I’ve never been on the same level as the six of you to begin with. Aomine might have been speaking for you that day, but do what you swore to do, Kuroko.
Save them.
I know you heard. No one comes back from a failure looking that determined without knowing what was at stake. He was going to give up his basketball for you. You save them then, so save them now. From themselves, from Teiko, I don’t care who you think they need saving from. Just be sure to give Akashi a good tongue lashing on my behalf for letting this happen. You were supposed to look out for each other. Coach Shirogane was supposed to help. But I guess Sanada couldn’t fill in those shoes at the end.”
Nijimura’s relaxed gaze focused on the ball, now forgotten on the ground as the high schoolers listened to him. It was a pity that he couldn’t stay. Be the mentor to them that he used to be. He wasn’t Akashi, he couldn’t make them listen with strength, but they had some weird respect for him for being at Teiko first and for the strength he had before they grew.
Part of him felt responsible, too. Sure, he hadn’t been there, but he emphasized the motto to the club, and those annoying rainbow children, as much as the coaches did. He lived his Teiko days by the saying, so he had taught the others to as well. It was why he’d resigned from a position he wanted to keep so desperately.
In all this time, Nijimura never really questioned Teiko’s policies, He admonished Kuroko for his wishy-washy, kumbaya spirit. But at the end of the day, Kuroko was right. The idea of victory above all else really did rob all the joy from winning.
“For what it’s worth… you deserve an apology, Kuroko. I still think you’re too soft hearted, but you’re more than stubborn and strong enough to stand your own. I think you’ve got what it takes to beat them, now that you have the motivation to do it.”
Nijimura stood and stretched a hand out to his side, ignoring the confused looks of the Seirin players because, as always, Kuroko would be there – waiting to meet his hand. The taller student ruffled the light blue tresses. Kuroko would always be there. For all of his overly giving spirit, he was too faithful, too loyal, to be anywhere else.
“Be sure to let the coach and I know when you win.”
Kuroko blinked up at Nijimura. The first rainbow. The one who showed them how to put the team first and to expect the best of themselves. The one who reminded them that it was okay to celebrate before there was no point in celebrating. The one who loved winning enough to step down, because it was what the team needed. The one who preceded the bright individual colors that Kuroko shadowed.
“For someone who find the six of us annoying, you’re being very supportive right now.”
“God, who said you were the easiest miracle to get along with.”
“I believe that was you, because most people forget I exist.”
Internally, Nijimura couldn’t help but protest. The generation of miracles and their coach would never forget the clear blue sky.