The Black King
黒の王: 序幕
No one knows quite how Kings are made. They are not born. Certainly there is a particular mentality, a specific passion required for the aura to be maintained, but no King in history has ever released their records to be examined for similarities. It is highly probably that none ever will be.
Because for all their power, there is something indefinable about Kings that sets them apart. Not necessarily above. Apart.
Kuroko Tetsuya understood standing apart as well as he did standing alone. It was a dreadful thing. Even with a team, he was the only one unseen on a court composed of just twelve individuals. Twelve. And for all the talent Aomine and Akashi had believed him to possess-when they were only teenagers, not godlike-beings above all others-it only served to push him further from his once-friends and classmates.
He couldn't remember the last time someone had said his name aloud, not since he had quit the team. One week until graduation. It was something to look forward to (escape the oppressive Teiko atmosphere how can they be so heartless) and something to resent (at least he had a seat reserved he couldn't even eat at restaurants anymore). If his parents were ever home, maybe they would have reminded him that he was indeed visible if one looked hard enough. If his grandmother weren't in and out of dialysis maybe she would be awake long enough to pinch his cheeks.
Whether it was Kuroko's loss of friendly ties and state of internal devastation or the kindness that remained defiant and sure, something flared to life in the vacuum filling his chest. It resonated quietly, a faint hum in his ears when all was utterly silent. The week before graduation was a muddled blur. His nose dripped nonstop, and though his sneezes were barely a whisper, his head gave the impression that a bomb had just been dropped. Either his practices had truly paid off and been ingrained as unconscious habits or he was completely invisible to those around him.
In the days after his resignation, Momoi had tried to get him to talk to her, doing her very best to back him into a corner at every opportunity. While a cold should have disrupted his ability to maintain misdirection, it only empowered it further. He fell into crowds and shadows as if it was second nature.
If he were not so fogged up and congested, Kuroko would have analyzed the inconsistencies. As it was, he barely had the energy to make himself visible long enough to go through graduation and make it back to his apartment.
For three days the apartment was utterly silent. No one entered. No one left. The lights were off. Not a sound escaped.
On the fourth day, Kuroko walked into the small bathroom adjoining the kitchenette and dining area. He placed a towel on the rack, twisted the shower on, adjusted the temperature until it was lukewarm, and stepped in. The usual procedure. A squirt of shampoo scrubbed into his roots with a quiet hum, another of conditioner, then a round with the soap. When his eyes were de-crusted and he felt somewhat human again, he shut the water off. Short showers with minimal heat cut back on monthly bills. It was how he preferred it: convenient.
He emerged from the shower, it was to the surprising conclusion that he was quite possibly content. Not happy, not so soon. But, perhaps, his cold had helped flush out the worst of his depression.
Towel around his waist and toothbrush sticking from his mouth, the past was only a bad dream, not quite the open sore that had festered at his chest.
Two minutes later, once the morning routine was complete and he stepped into the hallway, the clock on the kitchen wall was visible. Only then did he question where three days of his life had gone without a trace of memory left behind.
Two days later, his cousin visited. They had seen each other in passing at funerals, but neither were the type to stir up conversation on a whim. Their first conversation was anything but familial. Only when his cousin had left did he question when he had been left with nothing but obligations.
Two years later, he could have buried it all in the past. But things buried have a way of cropping up when you least want them to. Some things cannot be left undone, incomplete, especially those things unwanted. Only when he had a light did he question how he had fallen into shadow.
But that was later. For now, the newborn Black King was brewing a pot of coffee, wondering where he had left his slippers.
A/N: Am I the only one who doesn't think Mikoto sometimes acts a lot like Kuroko? This idea has been sitting in my brain since last year so I might give it a go. Set in K verse (pre-anime), but mostly revolves around Kuroko no Basket characters.
Chapters go up on my tumblr (see my profile) before , and notifications/trigger warnings/Q&A for all of my stories are on my tumblr as well.