Chapter Text
“I’m Kise Ryouta, a freshman! My hobby is basketball, and my specialty is karaoke–”
Kise Ryouta was used to being the center of attention. Not just on the court, but everywhere he went—whether it was classmates crowding around for autographs, girls giggling at the back of the gym, or even opposing players whispering his name with a mix of awe and resentment. After all, being part of the Generation of Miracles meant that he didn’t have to prove himself to anyone.
So when he transferred to Kaijou and walked into practice expecting admiration and got none, he was more annoyed than humbled.
Kasamatsu-senpai had kicked him in the face. Literally. Then acted like some big shot, barking orders just because he was older and wore the captain’s jersey. Kise couldn’t help but find it ridiculous. What was the point of all that posturing? Being two years ahead didn’t automatically make you better. Experience only mattered if it actually showed results—and frankly, it didn’t. Not against him.
All this fuss about hierarchy, seniority, "respect." For what? In the end, weren’t they all here for the same reason? To play basketball. And if they weren’t as good as him, what did it matter how long they’d been at it?
He still gave it his all, of course. He wasn’t the type to half-ass tryouts just because no one was clapping for him, but in the back of his mind, Kise thought he was better than this team.
Not that he said it out loud. He didn’t have to. The gap was obvious.
But he had to admit, Kasamatsu-senpai’s little display must’ve put the fear of god in the first years. Ever since that “welcome gift” to Kise’s face, the underclassmen had been running like hell during sprints.
Some of them had crumpled onto the gym floor after the final whistle, gasping for air and peeling sweat-drenched shirts from their backs. One had nearly thrown up in a trash can. Kise hadn’t broken a sweat until the last drill.
The third years didn’t say much, but their presence loomed heavy. You could feel it in the way they stood on the sidelines, arms crossed, barking out timing during drills, calling out mistakes with voices that left no room for negotiation. No one questioned them. Coach Takeuchi seemed to be more than content in having Kasamatsu or one of the other third years handle the first years.
Kise had no choice but to fall in line. For now.
His first day in Kaijou Basketball Team ended with a sharp blast of the whistle and a curt nod from Kasamatsu-senpai.
“Don’t get cocky just ‘cause you made it through today,” he said, voice steady but laced with a bite. “Sloppy footwork means you’re useless in a real game. Fix it before I fix it for you.”
No one dared to answer. The first years bowed their heads, murmuring tired hai’s as they stumbled toward the side of the court, barely upright.
Kise didn’t say anything either. He simply walked over to the bench and sat down, towel slung over his neck. He dragged it across his face with a slow exhale, golden hair damp and clinging to his forehead.
“Good work today,” came a voice in front of him, calm but flat as a line on a scoreboard.
Kise blinked, lowering the towel to get a better look.
The girl standing before him wore the Kaijou tracksuit zipped all the way up to her neck, sleeves neatly rolled, a clipboard tucked under one arm. Her black hair was pulled into a tidy side bun, and square black glasses framed her face. A single mole sat just beneath her right eye, the only thing softening her otherwise severe expression. She was holding out a bottle of water with one hand, not making a show of it, just offering it like it was part of her job. Which, judging by the setting, it probably was.
Kise accepted the bottle with a friendly smile. “Thank you, manager-san.”
“You’re welcome. That’s Takeuchi Yaeko-senpai to you,” she replied factually.
Even with him seated and her standing, she didn’t lean forward or meet him at eye level. She simply looked down at him with that same unreadable expression.
Ah , Kise thought dryly, there’s that seniority thing again .
Still, he kept his smile in place, softened the edges a bit, made it amicable. No point in starting another tug-of-war over something as silly as a title. Not when the whole team seemed obsessed with reminding him where he stood.
“Thank you, Takeuchi-senpai,” he said, voice smooth, letting the name roll off his tongue with a little warmth. Something in his face must’ve slipped, though, because the girl tilted her head slightly.
“You’re probably not used to this,” she said. “Coming from Teikou.”
Kise paused, unsure if it was an insult, an observation, or both.
Takeuchi’s attention drifted toward the court, where Kasamatsu was in the middle of ripping into Moriyama with his voice raised, gestures sharp and emphatic. Kobori stood between them, clearly trying to mediate, though his efforts were doing little to calm the situation.
“Kasamatsu is hard on himself. You probably noticed.” She didn’t wait for him to agree. “But he expects the best from everyone. Doesn’t matter if it’s your first day or your last year. That’s just how he operates.”
Kise noticed it then, the hardness in her features softened as she looked at them. But when she turned back to Kise, that softness vanished. The wall came back up like it had never dropped.
“To be honest,” she said, voice returning to that flat, even tone, “we had to work extra hard to scout you. Generation of Miracles, star rookie from Teikou, it's true that everyone had eyes on you. So maybe you think we don’t have the right to make demands.”
She tilted her head a little, eyes sharp behind the glasses.
“But it’s not like you were the best one at Teikou, either.”
The words weren’t cruel, just matter-of-fact, like a scouting report being read out loud. “So try not to throw your weight around.”
Kise wasn’t sure if she was trying to provoke him, but he didn’t rise to it. He knew himself better than anyone. He knew exactly who he was chasing, who he admired, and who he was dead set on surpassing. He never claimed to be number one (yet), but he sure as hell was closer to it than anyone in the room at present. He was well aware of what his name meant.
Kaijou knew it too. They wouldn’t have fought tooth and nail to recruit him if they didn’t see what he brought to the table.
Then again, if anything, the manager’s attitude suited him well.
He’d barely stepped onto the court and already students were peeking through the windows, whispering and pointing. His reputation had clearly arrived before he did. Even in just a day, he’d picked up a few familiar signs: girls giggling behind their hands when he passed by, classmates shyly asking for selfies between breaks, and someone had already left a juice box and a handwritten note in his shoe locker.
Kise knew the routine. Smile when expected, laugh when it helped, never look too bothered even if it got annoying. He’d perfected that role at Teikou. He was a professional at being adored.
But Takeuchi-senpai looked at him with the same enthusiasm someone would have when checking inventory.
Kise didn’t mind that. At least he wouldn’t have to deal with a starry-eyed manager fawning over him during practice. That alone made things easier. Having to politely dodge compliments while shooting free throws wasn’t exactly high on his list of priorities.
He let the silence hang a little longer, then finally accepted the water bottle with a pleasant smile.
“I’ll keep that in mind, Takeuchi-senpai,” Kise said with an easy smile, twisting the cap off the water bottle. “I guess I still don’t really get how things work around here... but hey, I’m just here to play basketball, right? As long as we’re all having fun.”
He took a sip, then added with a casual shrug, “Still, if you guys went through all that trouble just to scout someone from Teikou… I’m glad I could give Kaijou the opportunity.”
Takeuchi’s eyes narrowed, just slightly. She didn’t flinch or scowl. She just stared at him for a moment, like she was running some internal checklist and filed him neatly into a category she didn’t like.
She looked away without comment and moved down the line.
“Tozawa, good work today,” she said, handing the nearest first year his water bottle with a simple nod.
Tozawa beamed, practically wagging his tail at the praise.
At least that one’s friendlier , Kise imagined her thinking.
He watched her for a moment longer, a smile lingering on his lips, but the shine had dimmed behind his eyes.
First day, and already, this team was shaping up to be more trouble than expected.
The results of the tryouts were released the next day, pinned neatly to the bulletin board just outside the first-year hallway. As expected, Kise Ryouta’s name was right at the top of the list. He’d made the cut, of course, he was listed as part of the starting lineup, an announcement that might have shocked anyone who didn’t already know who he was. Kise, however, wasn’t surprised in the least. He barely spared it a glance.
From where he stood, he could see Takeuchi-senpai and Moriyama-senpai taping the sheet into place. She held the corners steady with the precision of someone who did this often, her expression unmoved as yesterday. Moriyama struggled with the last edge of tape as he flattened the corner against the glass. Neither of them said anything to Kise, but their eyes, particularly Moriyama’s, didn’t miss him, nor the growing crowd that surrounded him.
They flocked to him like moths to a flame—asking about practice, cooing over his achievement like it had been a suspenseful miracle instead of an inevitability, complimenting his hard work and his “focus” as though he hadn’t barely broken a sweat.
Kise smiled through it all, generous but detached, tossing out lines like, “Ahh, thank you, I’m just lucky to be here,” and “Everyone’s been so welcoming,” even as his attention drifted elsewhere.
He didn’t miss the way Takeuchi’s eyes flicked toward the group for a brief second—cool, unreadable, and swiftly back to the task at hand.
He also didn’t miss the way Moriyama was now staring at him with a look that was far too intense to be casual and far too focused to be mistaken as passive interest. Kise tilted his head, curious. Moriyama looked like he was steeling himself for something. And before Kise could react, the upperclassman was suddenly marching toward him, purposeful, determined, and a little dramatic, like a man preparing for battle.
Then came the arm around his shoulder.
“Eh—Moriyama-senpai?” Kise blinked, thrown off as he was gently but undeniably guided away from the crowd. “Where are we going?”
Moriyama didn’t answer. He led Kise a few paces down the hallway and away from his admirers, planting them just out of earshot behind a vending machine alcove. When he finally let go, he turned with the seriousness of someone about to deliver life-changing news.
“Kise,” Moriyama began, voice low and full of gravity, “there comes a time when a man has to look into the mirror and accept that he has been bested in every measurable way.”
Kise blinked, expression politely puzzled. “Huh?”
Moriyama raised a hand to halt him, eyes burning with strange conviction. “You arrived yesterday. One day. And already, the hallway looks like the set of a romance drama. They’re following you around like you're the main character and the opening credits just started rolling.”
“I, uh…” Kise glanced over Moriyama’s shoulder, where the group of girls had started peeking from behind corners, wondering if he’d return soon. “…didn’t ask them to?”
Moriyama opened his mouth, maybe to elaborate further, but he never got the chance. A sharp hand grabbed Moriyama by the collar and yanked him backward like a misbehaving cat.
“Moriyama,” Takeuchi’s voice cut through the air, flat as ever, “stop harassing the first-year.”
Moriyama flailed slightly as she dragged him half a step back, startled more by her strength than her sudden arrival. “Yaeko! I wasn’t harassing him!”
“You were being weird in a hallway during lunch. Do you want to get banned from another floor?” She gave him an unimpressed look, then turned her gaze to Kise. “Congrats on making the team.”
It was delivered with all the energy of a cashier saying Next please , but Kise caught the underlying intention. She wasn’t surprised in the least. It wasn’t really congratulations so much as a box checked, a formality observed. Another expression of this upperclassman performance everyone at Kaijou seemed to treat like gospel.
Still, he offered her a warm, polite smile. “Thank you, Takeuchi-senpai.”
She gave a brief nod in response, then turned and began pulling Moriyama away by the arm.
“Let’s go,” she said. “We still have to run things by the coach before practice.”
Moriyama glanced back over his shoulder with a face full of unfinished poetic longing, as though he were being torn from a once-in-a-lifetime philosophical breakthrough. “Kise,” he called, pointing at him like an omen. “ Remember what I said—! ”
Kise just waved lightly, smile unfaltering, even as he quietly filed Moriyama away in his mental folder titled: Senpai – Harmless (Probably) .
The gym wasn’t quite full yet. Kise Ryouta sat near the wall, one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee, casually rotating his ankle as he watched the dust catch sunlight in the high windows. The court was quiet for now, just the dull thuds of early arrivals warming up and the occasional squeak of sneakers on polished wood.
He wasn’t usually early, but after yesterday’s tone-setting welcome, something in him didn’t want to give Kasamatsu another reason to complain.
“Yo. You’re here early.”
Kise turned his head to see Kobori entering with a relaxed gait, duffel bag over one shoulder, and a net bag full of balls swinging from the other. There was a bit of sweat on his brow, like he’d come from weight training or running errands, and he dropped the equipment beside the sideline with practiced ease.
Kise shrugged, offering a light smile. “Figured I’d try not to give Kasamatsu-senpai a reason to kick me in the face this time.”
Kobori laughed lightly as he knelt to untie the net bag. “Smart move. Less bruises that way.”
There was no edge to his voice, no condescension. Kise found that a little refreshing, especially compared to yesterday’s parade of clipped remarks and scolding tones.
“You settling in okay?” Kobori asked as he began pulling out basketballs one by one.
“Still figuring everyone out,” Kise admitted, running a hand through his hair. “The team’s kind of intense.”
“That’s fair,” Kobori said easily. “We’re not exactly a laid-back team. But once you get used to the pace, it starts to make sense.”
Before Kise could respond, the gym doors slammed open like someone had tried to kick them off the hinges.
“YEAH! WARM UP! GET HYPED!”
Hayakawa came charging in like a storm in human form, fists pumping, feet pounding the hardwood. A couple of first-years and second years visibly flinched as he blazed past them, letting out a roar that might’ve been meant as motivation but came off closer to a war cry.
Kise blinked, slowly lowering his water bottle. “...Is he always like that?”
Kobori gave a small laugh. “You’ll get used to it.”
“Hayakawa!”
Kasamatsu, already dressed, stormed out from the locker room like a man on a mission. His whistle bounced off his chest with every step as he zeroed in on the culprit.
Hayakawa skidded to a stop mid-run. “YES, CAPTAIN!”
“You were supposed to be setting up cones. What are you even doing?”
“I—I was psyching myself up!” Hayakawa declared, thumping his chest.
“You left the cones in the equipment room.”
“RIGHT!! I’m on it!!” He whipped around with the urgency of someone trying to dodge divine punishment, dashing toward the storage room so fast he nearly knocked over a stack of benches.
Kasamatsu muttered something under his breath, then looked around the court. His eyes landed on Kise.
“You’re here.”
Kise offered a little shrug and stretched his arms up, feigning innocence. “Trying to make a good impression, senpai.”
Kasamatsu didn’t look impressed, but he didn’t look annoyed either. “Didn’t you say you might miss a few practices because of work?”
“I said I might. Didn’t say I would.”
There was the briefest pause, then Kasamatsu muttered, “Good. You’ll be with Hayakawa today. Try to keep up—and don’t let him drag you into whatever weird motivational rituals he does.”
Kise gave a salute, half-joking. “Roger that.”
Right on cue, Hayakawa returned from the storage room, cones in hand, eyes blazing with excitement like he’d just finished slaying a dragon.
“KISE! I GOT THE CONES! LET’S SET ‘EM UP AND TEAR THROUGH THIS PRACTICE!!!”
Kise stared for a beat. “That’s great, senpai. Really.”
Hayakawa beamed like he’d just been handed a trophy. “THAT’S THE SPIRIT!”
Kise had no choice but to stand. He dusted off his shorts, and jogged over.
As he joined Hayakawa for warm-ups, he found himself smirking a little. The yelling, the strict captain barking across the gym, the general mess of energy bouncing off the walls—it was all a bit much. Teikou had never felt this noisy, this unfiltered. Especially not by the time they were graduating.
It wasn’t what he was used to, but it didn’t feel bad at all.