Chapter Text
Yuta Okkotsu had learned, over the years, that there were two kinds of people who hated photographers.
The first kind hated having their picture taken.
The second kind hated being photographed badly.
Maki Zenin belonged firmly in the second category.
At least, that was what Yuta would eventually learn.
For now, he only knew that she was the reason his right shoulder was beginning to ache.
The camera hanging from his neck was heavier than it had felt that morning, and the press box at the Tokyo Metropolitan Arena was considerably warmer than it had any right to be. Around him, reporters were typing furiously, commentators were talking into headsets, and photographers were shifting positions every few seconds as the game unfolded below.
Yuta barely noticed any of it.
His attention was fixed on the court.
More specifically, on number twelve.
Maki Zenin.
Star guard.
League favorite.
And, according to nearly every sports journalist Yuta had spoken to during his first week covering professional basketball, one of the most difficult athletes in the league to photograph.
Yuta didn’t understand why.
Until she stole the ball.
He raised his camera.
Maki moved like she’d been waiting for the opportunity.
One second, she was defending near the three-point line.
The next, she’d intercepted the pass.
She accelerated.
One defender.
Then another.
Her sneakers squeaked against the polished floor as she crossed half court, ponytail snapping behind her.
Yuta followed her through the viewfinder.
Click.
She took off.
Click.
The defender jumped.
Maki twisted midair.
Click.
The ball dropped cleanly through the hoop.
The crowd exploded.
Yuta lowered his camera.
For half a second, he simply stared.
Then he looked down at the camera screen.
The photograph was perfect.
Maki was frozen in midair, one hand extended toward the basket, expression fiercely concentrated.
The arena lights caught the edge of her glasses.
The crowd behind her was blurred into streaks of color.
And somehow, despite the chaos surrounding her, Maki looked completely alone.
Focused.
Untouchable.
Beautiful.
Yuta blinked.
He immediately looked away from the screen.
Professional.
He reminded himself of that word several times.
He was here because his newspaper had assigned him to cover the game.
He was a photographer.
She was an athlete.
That was it.
He raised the camera again.
Click.
Maki landed.
The game continued.
And Yuta told himself he didn’t think about her again.
He was lying.
After the final buzzer, the arena became a different kind of chaos.
Players disappeared toward the locker rooms. Reporters gathered near the tunnel. Coaches were pulled into interviews. Fans crowded the exits.
Yuta packed his equipment carefully.
His editor had specifically told him not to leave until he had at least three usable photographs.
He had approximately two hundred.
Still, he selected twelve.
Then eight.
Then five.
Then he found himself looking at the photograph from the fast break again.
He zoomed in.
Maki’s expression wasn’t triumphant.
That was what caught him.
There was no smile.
No celebration.
Just concentration.
Determination.
The kind of expression that made Yuta wonder what she was thinking.
“Nice shot.”
Yuta nearly dropped the camera.
He turned.
Maki Zenin stood behind him.
Up close, she looked different.
Not less intimidating.
Just more human.
Her hair was damp with sweat, and she’d changed into a black team jacket. Her glasses were still on, though she’d pushed them slightly higher on her nose.
Yuta stared.
Maki raised an eyebrow.
“Is that the face you make when someone compliments your work?”
“Sorry.”
She frowned.
“Why are you apologizing?”
“I—”
Yuta stopped.
He had no idea.
It was becoming increasingly obvious that he was terrible at talking to people.
“I didn’t hear you walk up.”
“Clearly.”
Her mouth twitched.
Not quite a smile.
But close.
Yuta looked at the camera.
“You saw the photograph?”
“Hard not to. You were practically standing in the court.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Again?”
Yuta winced.
Maki laughed.
It was brief.
Quiet.
But genuine.
“You apologize a lot.”
“I’ve been told.”
“By people who know you?”
“Mostly.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
“For them?”
“For you.”
Yuta smiled despite himself.
“Maybe.”
There was a pause.
Maki nodded toward the camera.
“Can I see?”
Yuta hesitated.
“Sure.”
He turned the screen toward her.
She studied the photograph.
For the first time since she’d approached him, her expression became completely still.
Yuta watched her eyes move over the image.
“That’s…”
She paused.
“Actually good.”
He laughed softly.
“Thank you.”
“I usually hate pictures of myself.”
“I’ve heard.”
Maki looked at him.
Yuta immediately realized he’d said that aloud.
“Sorry.”
Her eyebrow rose.
“There it is again.”
“Right.”
“You’re going to make me start counting.”
“Please don’t.”
She laughed again.
This time, Yuta couldn’t help smiling.
Maki looked back at the photograph.
“You made me look taller.”
“You are tall.”
“Not that tall.”
“Camera angle.”
“Hm.”
She handed the camera back.
Then she looked at his press badge.
“Yuta Okkotsu.”
He glanced down.
“Yeah.”
“New?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“You look terrified.”
Yuta stared at her.
“That’s reassuring.”
Maki shrugged.
“Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.”
“The photography?”
“The chaos.”
She started walking toward the locker room.
Then stopped.
“Hey, Okkotsu.”
Yuta looked up.
“If you’re shooting our next game…”
“Yes?”
“Get my left side.”
He blinked.
“Your left?”
“My good side.”
Yuta smiled.
“Got it.”
She disappeared down the tunnel.
Yuta stood there for several seconds.
Then he looked down at his camera.
For some reason, his heart was beating faster than it had during the entire game.