Hyuuga knew exactly what failure felt like. He got to experience it after every game. Every painstakingly brutal game that would leave him shaking and heaving and gasping for breath. He ran his feet raw, tried to toss in three pointers until his hands were dry and cracked and bleeding. There was no denying it- his Junior High School Basketball team was terrible. They were the underdogs with no happy ending. No matter how hard they tried, how many countless hours they spent practicing, how many sleepless nights before games, hours and hours of hunched over tv screens analyzing their next opponent's skills- all of it was for naught. It always was, but a small part of Hyuuga- the Junior High School'sclutch shooter ace part of him- that wanted to believe that it could change. He was the clutch shooter, so why was it that when he panicked his shots banked too far to one side and missed? He would chock up for half a moment, and then blindly sprint down the court, desperate to make up for his mistake that may have cost them the game- it didn't, of course, because the entire team was responsible- but Hyuuga felt that it was his fault and his alone. He loved basketball so why was he so shitty at it? It filled a void for him. The void of being average.
He adored basketball, but he wasn't great at it. His shots went in on most days, but they weren't perfect. Just like his grades and home life and everything else. He longed for something above average. And maybe, just maybe, the small, conceited, selfish part of him would die just for the opportunity to be the very best. In no way could that chance be within his reach. Even if every other team didn't whip them- Teiko would. Teiko always would. There had never been a single time when his school played the Generation of Miracles- albeit their glorious captain of course who never wanted to waste his energy playing such an awful team- where Hyuuga would not get his ass handed to him. The entire team would, no matter what. No amount of training and conditioning and practicing and analyzing would do them any good against any other team. His Junior High just wasn't meant to have a basketball team. They weren't good enough, they weren't strong enough, they didn't put in enough time, they couldn't act on their feet, their aim was off, their spirit had been slaughtered since his first year.
The clutch shooter had walked onto the court of his first Junior High practice with a smile plastered to his face, ready to work, and ready to win. He would be the next Ray Allen, he could feel it. They had a week before their first game. Hyuuga came to practice early to work on his three pointers, and he would leave last, only to go to the Aida Sport's Gym and improve his conditioning for an hour, and then would he return to his tiny house on the outskirts of town and try to scrap up his homework into something worth turning in. He cared deeply about his grades, getting into a good high school and university were important to him, but basketball mattered more. It was his life. It filled the void that had been created from his fear of being average. He had been given the chance to prove he was worth keeping around, that he was more than the kid who could sometimes maybe shoot decently. By the time their first game ended, it took everything in Hyuuga to not break down until he reached his bedroom. They had been scored on in the first five seconds, and the first shot revealed the momentum of the game. Then they scored again- Hyuuga ran faster- and again- Hyuuga jumped higher- and again- Hyuuga would make more shots- and the point gap increased to thirty eight points by the beginning of the fourth quarter. By that time, the clutch shooter was exhausted and frustrated and desperate, he fouled three times within the last eight minutes, and his coach threatened twice to have him pulled off the court. They had been massacred, and Hyuuga was crushed. But by the next day at practice, he had pushed it to the back of his mind. It sucked, but they could get up and have a comeback. That is, they could have, if they didn't lose brutally at the next game. And the next. And the one after that. And the one after that...
Often times, Hyuuga would sit in his bed and turn his clock around so he didn't technically know how late it was, and try to figure out what he was doing wrong. He tried so hard and what did he have to show for it? Nothing. Because the bruises from the games didn't count. Finally, a sob would crack through his throat, and he would shove a nearby pillow over his head, as if ashamed of crying. He was a man- the ace- the clutch shooter who would rather die than go the entire season without winning a single game- he couldn't cry. He couldn't waste any energy on something that wasn't productive. He had to put in more time. But how could he? How? He didn't think it was physically possible for him to try any harder and put in any more effort than he already was without going absolutely mad. On most days he nodded off in class due to lack of sleep. His mother had been starting to get on his case about being depressed because he was so numb. They hadn't won a single game and Hyuuga was on the brink of breaking down from trying so hard, and had absolutely no proof of his efforts. How could he not be a little numb; a fair bit disappointed, light headed and broken? Another sob would break through and he would punch the closest thing that wouldn't break upon impact. Only to realize that he just wasn't good enough. The team wasn't good enough. But maybe, just maybe, if he put his heart and soul into the game, game 110% all the time, lived and breathed basketball, they would have a chance, a comeback, lead by him.
And then they played Teiko, and it was a blur. They were beyond massacred- they were picked up, torn to shreds, and tossed aside. The entire team had given up by the start of the fourth quarter, even Izuki. Everyone, that is, except for Hyuuga. Despite the score of eighty nine to zero. It wasn't the one man comeback he had hoped for. He was playing the game all by himself. Racing up and down the court, gasping for breath, jumping to block impossible shots and landing funny and stumbling, wincing from a rolled ankle and falling, scrambling to his feet and starting over again. An intense pain in his sides from sprinting so much, his throat raw- he couldn't breathe. He was so discouraged he was close to tears which was cutting off his airway- which was affecting his running- which affected his playing- which affected the already hopeless game. The Generation of Miracles were emanating power- a power that made Hyuuga tremble in anger and fear and jealousy. How could they go around and have no regard for the teams they were facing? Act like they were better than everyone else? It was as if they expected him to get down on his hands and knees and kiss their feat. But what made him even more sick was the fact that his team had given up. Hyuuga had made it halfway to the bench before his legs started shaking, two more steps and his vision was going black, and he woke up on the massage table of the arena's hospital. He tried to deny passing out, thinking it was just another reminder of his weakness, but he couldn't. The entire team and audience and Teiko had seen. He had been too weak to even walk, let alone put up a fight.
And with each passing year, Hyuuga never stopped playing until the buzzer sounded. He managed to never pass out again. He didn't have any more physical pain. But that was only because he was channeling it to something else. He couldn't risk being injured or sore for any game or practice, so all of the pain that should have been wracking his body from over exertion had turned into mental pain. Every should be injury or pulled muscle was another scar. Every loss another wound. Such were all the years of his Junior High School career. Until finally, he had been broken mentally.
Slowly, unbeknownst to anyone else, except possibly Izuki, Hyuuga Junpei was dying on the inside. With every practice he would inwardly flinch, but never let his uncertainty in the rest of his team show. Every loss would leave him uneasy and break off a small part of him. He was quietly retreating into his shell, desperate to find something that wouldn't cause the occasional breakdown and constant feeling of numb disappointment. Everyone was upset, frustrated, sad. But Hyuuga was furious and shattered. He was shaking and seeing red every time he thought of basketball. It was just one more reminder that he would never be above average. He couldn't even win a single game, and no amount of effort would ever change that. He had given up and no one noticed. He wouldn't be the next Ray Allen. But a small part of him- the same part of him who once believed that all of his work wouldn't be for naught- that couldn't change his screen saver. Ray Allen starred back at him, and Hyuuga dreaded looking at his phone.
Seeing as he couldn't change the sport of his own abilities so that he could win, he would change himself. He dyed his hair blonde and put up a facade that he didn't care about anything. Not basketball not school not his friends not anything. His only reason for existence chewed him up and spit him out, why should he do any different to the world? He made certain to enroll in a High School that didn't have basketball, and put all of his time towards playing video games that had much happier endings than his, and collecting figurines, figurines of men much stronger and braver than he was.
And then he ran into the Iron Heart and his love of basketball came bubbling to the surface like a volcano.