Chiaki Murakami's lungs burned with each breath. His jersey clung to his body, soaked in sweat, and his legs felt like sandbags dragging beneath him. He gritted his teeth as the crowd's distant cheers echoed around him, blurred into white noise by his frustration.
"God dammit," he muttered, dragging a wrist across his forehead. "These guys are good."
The opposing team had speed, coordination, and relentless energy. They closed off every passing lane and punished every mistake. His team was doing their best, but their defense had holes, and the offense couldn't keep up.
"Chiaki! Catch!" Syouta Watanabe's voice snapped him out of his daze.
Chiaki turned just in time to catch the ball lobbed at him. His fingers closed around the leather instinctively, and he rushed forward. With a quick sidestep and a fake to the right, he slipped past his defender and laid the ball gently off the glass and into the hoop.
"Nice one, Murakami!" Akari called from the sidelines, clapping her hands above her head. Her cheer was bright, hopeful.
But Chiaki's heart remained heavy.
I know that she's cheering us on and all... but we're down by 23 points. 60 to 83. With only five minutes left. We can't win like this.
"Nice shot, Chiaki!" Syouta called out as they ran back to defense. "We just need ten more!"
Chiaki wanted to believe him. Wanted to share in the optimism. But the truth settled in his gut like lead.
Their opponents weren't slowing down.
Jun Fuchizawa darted forward and stole a lazy pass, intercepting it with ease. He dribbled quickly to the other half of the court, the ball pounding the hardwood like war drums.
A cocky voice rang out from the opposing bench.
"Your team is trash. Just give up already."
Jun ignored the taunt. He crossed the ball between his legs, spun past a defender, then stepped back fluidly and launched a deep three-pointer. The shot arced high above the court—and sank clean through the net.
Swoosh.
Akari's voice rang out again, unwavering. "Nice one! You guys are doing good—keep it up!"
But then, just as quickly, the opposing team responded. One of their forwards drove into the paint and scored a swift layup with barely any resistance.
Chiaki's shoulders sagged.
I know that it's not possible to close this gap. We're going to lose... but at least I did my best.
He received another pass and, with a quick pivot, rose for a mid-range jumper. The ball left his fingertips clean, slicing through the air like a promise.
Swish.
The buzzer screamed across the gym. The game was over.
Final score: 90 to 70.
The crowd clapped politely. Their opponents high-fived and embraced, their coach grinning from ear to ear. Chiaki's team slumped together near the bench, drained and silent.
Later that evening, Chiaki sat on the edge of the school rooftop, the city stretched out before him in shades of blue and gold. The wind tugged gently at his hair, and the noise of the court below had long since faded.
"So we lost. Ninety to seventy, huh…" he whispered to himself. "I can't believe we dropped out in the fourth round. This is where my high school career ends."
Footsteps echoed behind him. Syouta appeared, two cans in hand. He offered one to Chiaki.
"Here. It's cold, just like you want it."
Chiaki took the can, grateful for the small gesture. "Thanks, bro."
Syouta sat down beside him. "This is it, huh. The end of our high school season."
"Yes," Chiaki replied simply.
"We did our best. We were only one win short from the Inter-High preliminaries, so… we didn't do half bad."
Chiaki nodded. "Yes."
Jun joined them shortly after, holding a drink of his own. "You guys are also forgetting that it's our last year of high school. We've got exams to prep for."
Syouta groaned. "You're always ruining the fun in everything, Jun."
"What do you mean?"
"Why do you have to constantly remind us about exams? I haven't even started studying."
Jun shrugged, amused. "Sucks to be you, man."
Without warning, Syouta put him in a playful chokehold. "You keep rubbing it in, and I really will make you pass out."
Jun flailed. "Dude, chill out! You're gonna choke me to death!"
Chiaki stood up. "I'm going home."
Syouta loosened his grip. "Okay, see you at school tomorrow, dude."
Jun gasped. "Can you let me go, please?"
"Only if you agree to help me study."
"Okay, okay!"
As Chiaki descended the stairwell, his footsteps echoed in the empty hallway. He was halfway to the doors when he heard someone call out.
"Murakami!!"
He turned around.
Akari stood there, slightly out of breath, still wearing her manager's jacket.
"Huh? Oh, it's you, Akari."
"You did well," she said sincerely. "Stand proud. You guys fought until the very end."
She smiled warmly. "And I'm happy that I got to be the manager of this team. I had a lot of fun—on the bus rides, when we went out to eat as a group… those are memories I'll treasure forever. So don't let this bring you down."
Behind her, Lara strolled up, arms crossed. "Why are you getting so emotional? He always has next season."
Akari shot her a look. "Shush, you're not helping."
Chiaki gave a tired smile. "Thank you for being our manager this year, Akari. It meant so much to me and the team."
He turned and continued on his way, his heart heavy.
Lara tilted her head. "Chiaki looks really bummed out."
Akari gave her a flat look. "You think?!"
Outside, Chiaki glanced over the school's basketball court—now empty under the pale evening sky.
This is the end for me. Without basketball… I feel so empty. Like there's no drive in me to move forward. As if my whole world has stopped moving.
The alarm screamed in his room in the morning. Chiaki groaned and turned it off, curling deeper into his blankets. A knock came at his door.
"Chiaki?" his sister Chizuru called.
"What is it?" he mumbled.
"I sent off Chidori to school."
"Okay."
"Do you plan on going today?"
"No."
"I see. Well… your breakfast is on the table. And please take out the garbage. I'm heading out now. Take care, big brother."
Chiaki sighed. "Alright."
He dragged himself out of bed, brushed his teeth in silence, then sat at his desk and pulled out his sketchpad.
After being home for a few months… I've gotten quite fond of drawing. It brings peace and calmness to my boring and mundane world.
His pencil moved steadily. The picture began to form—lines and shading taking shape with each stroke.
Chiaki stretched. "It's finally done."
He stood, gathered the trash, and opened the front door.
His phone buzzed. Syouta.
Chiaki picked it up. "Yes? What do you want?"
Syouta's voice was firm. "It's been two and a half months since you've attended school. What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I just don't feel like coming."
"You know that those exams will decide your future. Whether you'll even attend university. Remember—your high school career has ended… but there's always university. It's important. Listen, I understand how you feel, but you have to think about your family. Your future."
Chiaki hesitated. "You're right, but—"
"Great, see you at school tomorrow."
"Hey! Syouta, wait—!"
But the call had already ended.
Chiaki stared at the screen. "That bastard hung up on me…"
He looked out at the sky.
"…Well, he's not wrong. Maybe I should attend school tomorrow."