Disclaimer: I DO NOT own Kuroko no Basuke.
to raze the court
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["Who do you think had the Generation of Miracles subservient?"]
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Footsteps echoed; the trembling roar of spectators just up ahead,
Bright and terribly sudden, the blinding light filled the room,
The court was a stage; and them mere actors held by taunt strings.
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The Generation of Miracles assumed their designated roles,
With bated breath the audience watched in rapt attention,
Deafening, anticipatory silence befalling on them.
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Foolish men stared them down from the downside of the coin,
Sneering contempt transforming their faces into monstrous features,
Trying fruitlessly to intimidate the aces everyone knew as a Miracle;
but they are not the real monsters here.
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Four Crowned Miracles; High Projectile Shooter, Titan Center, Formless Ace, Copycat
The Phantom Sixth Man,
and at the helm of their group,
leading the Miracles one tasteless victory one after another,
The Emperor.
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["To hate something that you love is very painful."]
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Spiraling down, hurtling towards the ground,
A head cracked on impact against the pavement,
Five merciless eyes stared down the broken player,
Their respective hands stayed by their sides.
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Sinister red seeped into the cracks and crevices,
Clear blue skies overhead bleed into imperious gold,
As the Sun begins to set on the far distant horizon,
The day quietly faded into the night.
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Their warped shadows danced on the white walls,
The light too bright, the shadows too dim;
Unbalanced.
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["The only one who can beat me is me."]
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It was at the very tip of the precipice where they all stood,
Teetering dangerously over the edge of a looming chasm.
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The Generation of Miracles stood together but not together,
All sense of camaraderie was shed long ago at the numbers:
111 11
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When they eventually parted ways,
Each following a separate path of their own choosing,
The phantom threads of their promise followed them,
A sly noose around their wiling necks.
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["Hyakusenhyakushō." Ever-Victorious.]
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At the dawn of the Winter Cup, the Generation of Miracles stand,
The acrid, bitter taste of their promise on the tip of their tongues;
To fight as enemies on the a court they will raze down to ashes.
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