o.o.o

Those First Baskets

o.o.o

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o.o.o

First Basket—Free Throw

o.o.o

Kuroko hadn't once been interested in sports as a child, nor ever expected to be. His parents were under the impression that he was doomed to be the shortest student in his class for the rest of his life. He had next to no stamina and absolutely zero drive to get his nose out from the pages of his books. So long as his grades in school remained just above average, he didn't put much effort into studying either. After all, it just took time away from reading.

It was an unusual day when he did happen to glance up from his book. Besides being eight in the morning on a Saturday, it also so happened that he was home. This was extraordinarily uncommon because he almost never got up before ten on weekends. In the event that he did, it was to bike to the library and camp out in the historical literature corner that the elderly head librarian had all but reserved for his use. Today, however, he was with his father. His mother and grandmother were at the bus station, waiting for the hourly bus to take them over to the hospital for his grandmother's valve replacement operation.

Even more unusual was his presence in the family room with his eyes focused not on his book, but on the match his father was watching on the television.

It couldn't be said that his only interest was literature (though it wouldn't have been a far jump). He found something mesmerizing in art, trying to interpret what its creator wanted to convey. There was a certain intent to each stroke of the brush, a longing in each edge of the clay, an emotion affixed to each change in hue. Looking at art was not so different from reading a book, if a little less accessible.

So when he chanced a glance up as his father cheered for the home team, Kuroko happened to see, from the corner of his eye, a sweating, muscular figure leaping to drive an orange sphere through a hoop half a meter above his head. Yet, at that moment, he didn't notice the score, the team name emblazoned on a pale striped jersey or even the identity of the player. All he saw was the purposeful rippling of muscle and a ball arching perfectly through a net. It was…art.

The moment came and passed, but the fleeting sensation left its mark. His eyes remained glued to the novel in his hands, as was his interest. He made no move for the remote when his father changed the channel nor did he show any sign of noticing. Five hours later, when his mother called the house to say that his grandmother was in surgery and she might be late for dinner, he finally closed the book, folding it together with his palms, and told his father that he would be back in an hour.

He found himself in a vacant park minutes later, his jacket folded neatly on a bench and his fingers wrapped around an abandoned, half-inflated basketball. There was only a half court set up for the neighborhood kids, but he hardly noticed. His eyes darted between the ball in his hands and the net, which loomed far, far overhead. In fifth grade, the hoop seemed so far out of reach.

His first try was sloppy. It fell short in both distance and height. He flexed his fingers, tried judging the distance again, and once more missed. The ball just brushed the side of the net. A small breeze would have made it move farther. His forehead wrinkled. Basketball was difficult.

As he grasped the ball again, trying to figure out how much higher he should be aiming, two larger hands fit themselves over his. He looked up at the unfamiliar figure.

"Hey, I noticed you playing on your own." The boy smiled down at him. Kuroko barely came up to his shoulder. "First time?"

He nodded.

"Sugoi! Then I can be your teacher! I'm Ogiwara Shigehiro, but you can call me Shige-kun. Everyone else does."

"Kuroko Tetsuya," he responded in a voice that had never surpassed a loud whisper, even when announcing that he was home. "How long has Ogiwara-sensei played basketball?"

Ogiwara pouted, his hands raising to cross in front of his chest. "Two years, but I've been learning from my dad since there aren't any teams out here until middle school. Can't you call me Shige-kun?"

"Ogiwara-sensei said he would be teaching me. It seems fitting."

A gleam entered his eye. "Then you're like my student, so I can call you Tetsu-kun!"

"Ah, if Ogiwara-sensei insists."

"When Tetsu-kun has mastered all of my teachings," he continued proudly, "we will stand as equals and I will force you to recognize me as Shige-kun!" From a shoulder bag, Ogiwara removed his own basketball, one that was in considerably better shape than the beat-up one Kuroko had found on the court. "We can hardly play with that thing," he insisted, pushing his own into Kuroko's hands. "I couldn't disgrace my name by allowing Tetsu-kun to learn without decent equipment."

He took a moment to admire the differences between the basketball rolling limply away with the barely used, fully inflated one he was now holding. Perhaps there was something to what Ogiwara was saying.

"Now, the first thing you need to do is dribble, but that's boring, so I'm just going to show you how to shoot. Besides," he winked, "that's the fun part." He put his hands on Kuroko's shoulders to maneuver him to a white line drawn inside the half-oval that circled around the basket. "This is the free-throw line. We'll go over more rules and boring things later, but for now, I just want to let you feel how you should throw from this distance. Basketball up!" His palms covered the smaller ones, as they had when he first approached him. "Okay, we need to fix your hands. One of them is going to push the ball up, and that will be your dominant hand. Which one do you write with?"

"My right."

"Then that one is going to be more to the back and down." Ogiwara moved the hand as he spoke, demonstrating which lines it should cover. "Your other hand is going to stay on the side, right where you had it before. You don't want to put much pressure on the ball with your left hand, or it will throw off your aim. Now, stance." He nudged the heel of Kuroko's feet with careful bumps. "See how that's different? You want to be centered and well grounded. Bend at the knees a little. Little more… Good! Now bend your elbows about the same way but still pointing straight. Good! I'll throw this one with you, so you get the idea." He pressed his palms down, though his fingers were slightly curved. "Ready… Set… Now!"

From the free-throw line, the shot was a simple one for a boy who had spent two years on a court with a dedicated father. But watching his arms arch, guided by the taller kid behind him, sending the orange blur straight through the hoop for the first time was a new feeling for Kuroko. It was an incredible feeling, like watching the art come out through his own, careful gestures.

Ogiwara grinned with the energy and brilliance of a hundred thousand suns, retracting his hands to ruffle Kuroko's blue hair. "See? Nothing to it! Want to try it for yourself?"

Kuroko gave him a shadow of a smile, which, Ogiwara would discover over the course of their friendship that year, was the equivalent of his broadest, happiest grin. "Yes." And, like the moon, he couldn't help but reflect that bright energy right back. "Yes, I would."

Neither the sun nor moon were ever any good that year—the shadowy satellite all the more so—but they made a promise that their orbits would cross once more to eclipse on the full court of a junior high match.

o.o.o

Second Basket—Slam Dunk

o.o.o

Akashi had a dilemma.

He had a perfect first string of players, each uniquely fitted to their position with a high probability for success in the future should their given skills continue to flourish and those on the side able to substitute with efficiency. He was even more satisfied after replacing Haizaki's brash, uncoordinated plays with Kise's smoother, skilled ones. It was impossible for all six of them to be on the court at once, but he preferred to have at least four or five of them present for a first-string match.

And yet, he was not looking forward to competing against their upcoming opponents with only Murasakibara, Kuroko, Kise and himself. Aomine and Midorima both had to stay after school, Aomine for detention and Midorima to assist a teacher with tutoring. The match date had been changed, and it was only because he had been given a mere twenty-four hour advance warning that he had been unable to get the two of them out of their responsibilities.

Which brought him to the reason the Generation of Miracles, Momoi and Nijimura were sitting on the gymnasium floor, eating their lunches while they assembled for a last-minute planning session. Their main obstacle, Momoi had insisted, was getting around the ridiculous height of the opposing team without Aomine and Midorima's high shots.

"Our defense is good as is," she explained, "because Murasakibara is even with them on height and far surpassing in strength, but we don't want to be stuck on the defensive the entire time."

"Agreed, and Kise should not be solely responsible for scoring tomorrow," Nijimura added.

Akashi tapped his chopsticks against the side of his sleek black bento box. "None of our substitutes are particular adept at scoring, and none have above average height to take advantage of."

Kise's face scrunched up. "Why aren't you going to score, Akashicchi?"

"As acting point guard, it would be irresponsible to set up situations that require me to score," he repeated for the fifteenth time that year. "With our defense as it is, we will all be pushed harder. We will have to rotate everyone on and off the court at the appropriate times to maintain a strong lead."

"Then why can't Kurokocchi score?"

Everyone paused to stare at the blond. Aomine rolled his eyes, throwing a hand around the blue-haired teen at his side. "Duh, because Tetsu's a terrible shot. If he were taller, like me or Murasakibara, he could just dunk it in. 'Sides, he handles passing for everyone." A small hand pushed his head to a steep tilt.

"Aomine-kun, I can't eat because your shoulder is in the way."

"Ah, sorry Tetsu." He could feel his neck crack with the strain being put on it.

"Don't worry, Tetsu-kun! I will feed you!"

"Please don't, Momoi-san."

"Sooo," Momoi and Aomine both turned from Kuroko, who was using one hand to move his light away and his other was curled around his set of chopsticks, blocking Momoi's from his lunch. Kise had a strangely thoughtful look on his face. "What if Kurokocchi could do a dunk? Like if we gave him a boost?"

Midorima sighed. "That's ridiculous, Kise, not to mention completely impractical. How would that possibly be usef—?"

"Ryouta, you used to play volleyball, correct?" Midorima's brow wrinkled as he turned toward Akashi in confusion. Their captain looked…odd.

"Yep! I played a ton while I was little and I used to be on our school's team!"

"Aka-chin," Murasakibara mumbled around a mouthful of rice, "what are you planning?"

The small smile the team received made their very bones shake. Kuroko thought that he should have given Kise one of his passes sooner before he gave the redhead strange ideas regarding his playing style. Then Akashi's smile turned to him. Aomine felt his shudder through the hand trying to wrench his head to the side. "Tetsuya, I do believe we will make a slight change to your position for our next match. How would you feel about switching with Ryouta?"

There was a dark aura in the gym that sent small children running back to their teachers in tears at that very moment. The seven people sitting before the source of the terrifying presence very much felt like doing the same thing.

Ten minutes later, Kise stood midway between the free-throw line and center court with his back to the net. His left hand clasped his fisted right and his arms were set as if he were ready to serve a volleyball. Unlike a volleyball stance, his knees were stiffly bent, his feet were in a wide stance and his fingers were grounded to the floorboards. Kuroko was on the opposite end of the court, just beneath the basket with a ball clenched in both hands. Their teammates stood by the sidelines, Akashi's jacket trailing dramatically behind him despite the lack of wind in the gymnasium.

"Ready, Ryouta?"

"Absolutely, Akashicchi!"

"Ready, Tetsuya?"

"…"

"Go!"

Kuroko sprinted forward as quickly as he could possibly go and straight towards Kise. Rather than curve around to avoid his teammate, his final two steps were clipped short so his last one landed on top of Kise's fisted hands. As he did, Kise pushed all of his strength through his knees and abdomen and thrust his arms up with everything he could muster. Kuroko flew over his head as Kise, acting as a counterbalance, toppled over backwards and lost a shoe in the process.

For those few seconds that he was airborne, he couldn't help but recall that first basketball game he'd watched over his father's shoulder. Just as the basketball flew in a graceful arch through the air so he was now, farther above the ground than he had ever imagined. He shut his eyes and grimaced as he slammed the basketball through the hoop, grabbing the rim of the hoop as he did.

"We finally did it, Kurokocchi!" From the floor, Kise's arms flew up in excitement

Aomine sweatdropped from the sidelines. "He…really did it. Akashi? Are you seriously about to cry?"

Murasakibara was draped over his captain's head, a protein bar in his mouth, and Akashi's crimson red eyes were shining with unshed tears. He was uncharacteristically overflowing with emotions. "But I'm so happy. Finally, Tetsuya."

Except everyone had forgotten that Kuroko was still dangling three meters above the ground until he let out a quiet, "I did it!"

There was immediately chaos as his teammates scrambled beneath him. Midorima's lucky item of the day just so coincidentally happened to be Kuroko's lucky item too: a ridiculously large butterfly net. Kise and Aomine dashed over, arms held out wide. Momoi took ahold of the opposite end of Midorima's net, getting it into position under the post. "Watch out!" Aomine shouted up to him as he let go of the rim on their say-so. "At least get the landing right!"

"Congratulations, Kurokocchi! Tomorrow is going to be so awesome!"

"For tomorrow's game," Akashi nodded, wiping at his eyes with his sleeves and a small hiccup.

Murasakibara leaned down over his head, a box of pocky in his hand. "Don't cry Aka-chin. Want some snacks?"

Nijimura stood on with a blank expression, trying to figure out what exactly had just transpired in front of him. Sometimes his underclassmen did the strangest things. It was, indeed, just as his coach had warned: geniuses were the oddest bunch. He blinked and brought his lunch hour back into focus. Wait a second. Wait wait wait. "What the hell are you guys planning to do at tomorrow's game?!"

o.o.o

Third Basket—Phantom Shot

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Kuroko had been surprised when Kise had shown up at Seirin, fangirls in tow, with his copying abilities at a level that was ten times what it had been his last year at Teiko. Was he—the phantom sixth player—the weakest of the Generation of Miracles? He hadn't thought so when he left, but seeing the latest bloomer of the Teiko team spin Kagami in circles made him rethink that sentiment.

He had left because he was no longer needed, because the shadow had been forgotten in the brightness of the Teiko lights. Akashi had said as much to him. He had left in hopes of seeking out stronger lights to rival his former teammates and prove Akashi and the rest of them wrong. He had left to show them that basketball could be fun again. He had left to rebuild their friendship.

And yet, the lights just seemed to stretch farther out of reach with one simple move of the copycat.

Then Kagami had done something he would never have expected. He didn't cry in frustration or crumple to his knees before an unattainable goal like he had seen so many opponents do in the presence of his former teammates. "Life is about challenges! Without strong opponents, living isn't fun. It's perfect if I can't win!"

He could have cried at that moment. Any final reservations he'd had towards Kagami had been destroyed by his declaration, the one he'd so missed hearing from Aomine. As dense and idiotic as he could be, he couldn't have chosen anyone to be his light over Kagami after that, nor would he want to.

Matches had only picked up speed after that. There was the practice with Kaijou that ended with Kise in tears and the promise of a real match at Interhigh. Midorima and Shuutoku had been their opponents not long after. Then had come the disastrous match against Aomine, and neither Kuroko nor Kagami had been able to hold a match to his blinding light. They had made it through with the addition of the upperclassman center Kiyoshi and the intention of making it to the top at the Winter Cup. In the preliminaries, they had battled once more with Shuutoku. It had ended in a tie, but it was enough to get Seirin into the Winter Cup and pit them against Touou for a second time, this time coming through with a last-second win.

But when Aomine had begun to truly enjoy playing basketball again in his one-on-ones with Kagami, basketball had become more than making his teammates like the game they were playing. He was playing for Seirin and himself. He'd allowed himself to become selfish. Kagami didn't have to be number one in the country, but he wanted Seirin to snatch the Winter Cup from the rest of Japan. He found that he really, truly wanted to play basketball with this intensity and camaraderie for as long as he could.

So he asked the question he had wanted to ask again for so long: "Please teach me how to shoot." It had been his first dream, his first goal upon picking up that dirty, beat-up basketball in a third-rate Tokyo park. He didn't need to shoot well (some things were still a bit out there) but he wanted to be able to make off a mediocre shot with at least a decent chance of making it. Aomine had done that and better. It had been far from the posture and hand positioning that Ogiwara had shown him years ago, but it felt more familiar too.

Against Murasakibara, the impenetrable center, he had finally made a basket by himself. From his own shadowy style, he had finally developed a light worthy of standing on its own two feet. As they faced off against Kaijou again, he had another chance to shine with his game-ending buzzer beater. It was the opposite of the winning combination they had used to defeat Kise in their first face-off a lifetime ago; rather than Kuroko passing to Kagami, the pieces were reversed. He was the one receiving that desperate pass and feeling the sensation of scoring the final points of the match. The chill it sent down his spine was like dying and being reborn simultaneously. Kuroko was certain that he was glowing just the slightest bit for the rest of the day.

And now…now he stood so close to the end—to Rakuzan and, ultimately, Akashi—only to stop and look back behind him. His past was like a bruise, just beneath the surface, but ugly and painful to the touch. Unlike a bruise, he couldn't simply let it heal. It was a cut, scabbed over and re-opened with every pick and scratch. He was ripping off the bandage, one he had left on to avoid looking at the damage, because their fight against Rakuzan tomorrow would be a match unlike any other. He had to show them his festering past to make it to an undamaged, limitless future.

He smelled the delicious (and hopefully innocuous) food cooking in the kitchen and insistently informed Kagami that he was hungry after their last, demanding match. This was like so many nights after school with Ogiwara at his friend's house, when his mother was trying out some new recipe and apologized constantly for her underachieving food even after stunning reviews from everyone in the room. It was even more reminiscent of those afternoons in the middle school locker room when the first string had been mercilessly driven into the floor by practice and everyone demanded that Momoi order takeout because she, Akashi and Nijimura had destroyed every muscle in their body.

When the meal was done, the plates put away and Seirin settled in for a long story, he felt himself lighten with the re-telling. His history was anything but light-hearted, and yet every match, every experience, every hardship, every basket and broken spirit had brought him to this point.

He would relive it all a hundred times over—for the sake of their next basket and that limitless future.

o.o.o

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A/N: I don't know how many of you have seen this hysterical short comic on pixiv or zerochan, but if you don't know what I'm talking about, search for pixiv ID 2136410 (or こがみなな＠). It's a two-page strip. If you can't find a translation (it's in Japanese) or have problems getting on to pixiv, feel free to send me a PM. I can translate into decent English, Spanish, French, Italian, Russian and maybe German if need be.

Oh, and for those of you wondering if that move of Kise's was legal, I still have no evidence that it isn't. Please don't attempt this at home unless you are a) on steroids, b) ridiculously awesome and/or c) have signed a paper that erases all responsibility I may have for any and all potential outcomes. You must also record said attempt and send it to me. ^^