Kiyoshi Teppei has had a lot of time to think. Hours and hours during the lonely nights at the hospital, session after session of painful physical therapy, and he'd come to a point where he realized that he could still protect Serin, even if he wasn't on the court anymore.
His grandmother certainly didn't understand his frantic need to have all the piled up back issues of Basketball Monthly, but she loved the fact that there was passion in his voice once again, and she brought him that and his laptop the next morning. There were clips on the internet of most of the Tokyo teams, and he studied them with the same determination as he did everything – yeah, this could be fun. In between the school assignments that never seem to cease and physical therapy, he read, watched, lived, breathed, and consumed everything about the teams that Serin would face again this season. He knew the way the players moved, who they passed to the most, the direction they'd most likely move after a turn-over. Oh yeah, this was more than fun.
Once he had progressed enough to earn day passes out of the hospital, Kiyoshi didn't return to his friends, his family, or his team, but instead took a series of buses and trains to watch Shūtoku's opening match against Senshinkan. Thankfully, all the travel took place during off-peak times, and while no one actually took pity on the 193cm man trying awkwardly to negotiate turnstiles and bus stairs with crutches, they didn't impede him either.
When he arrived at Shūtoku, Kiyoshi wasn't sure he was in the right place. There was Midorima, and his shadow Takao, and some other players he recognized, but the place was in shambles. The crowd who'd gathered were sitting on folding chairs because the bleachers wouldn't open. Doors were propped open with rocks to circulate air, a light on the score board blinked even though the game had yet to begin, and there was a persistent and tireless leak dripping into a bucket right behind one of the baskets. The only part of the entire room that looked in good shape was the floor and that appeared newly polished. It's no wonder Midorima wraps his fingers, Kiyoshi thought,this place could give you splinters just by being here.
He found a spot against the wall to lean his aching body. He didn't want to sit; sitting was for the hospital. Sitting was for when the pain was too great to handle anymore. He was fine, he didn't need to sit. He spent the time waiting for the game to begin by taking photographs of the players. He didn't have a especially good camera phone, but it was high enough in the megapixel range that he wouldn't have to wonder who the subject of the photo was when he got home. Then he switched over to the voice recorder app and began dictating notes about each player.
"Takao, number ten, in better form than last year," he spoke directly into the microphone to avoid being a distraction to the other onlookers. "As team Captain, he has excellent skills, this is obvious even before the game. He gives his players space, but brings them together. His easy way with people reminds me how I used to be, but he also shares a wider vision like Izuki. He will be a dangerous opponent this year, especially in combination with Midorima."
When he said the name of the Shūtoku ace, he felt the green eyes on him. Midorima was curious but unphased by Kiyoshi's appearance in his home gym. They locked eyes for only a moment and the shooting guard nodded once in recognition of the worthy opponent, then turned back to Takao as he rounded up his players at the bench. Kiyoshi accepted the compliment and resumed his notes.
"Midorima, number six. His overall presence on the court has not diminished, however there is an interesting softening to his caustic manner. This may be indicative of his seniority on the court – he is the vice-captain – or the lack of senpais with any real skill. Reminder: keep an eye on number four, jersey name Ono, who appears to be a third year student. All the others have high double-digit numbers, indicating first years."
"Number four, Ono Daisuke, was in the starting line-up before Midorin and Takao-kun came to the team," said the dainty little voice thirty-one centimeters south. The pink hair and cute clothing were excellent camouflage for the serious opponent in whose company he found himself. "Although I must say, I didn't predict running into you here."
"Ah, well," Kiyoshi grinned and dropped his phone into his breast pocket. "I needed some time away from the hospital and physical therapy, so I thought I'd catch a game for fun."
"That's a long way to come for a game, Kiyoshi-kun."
He blushed, knowing he'd been caught.
"Serin helped me meet my goals, I can't just…leave them. I may not be able to play, but my mental game is sharp. So, I decided the most fun I could have while giving them support was to re-join the team as their manager."
Momoi's giggle was neither condescending nor surprised.
"They don't call you the Iron Heart for nothing, Kiyoshi-kun, and now it seems I've found an interesting opponent of my own."
"I look forward to testing my skills against yours," he said, never taking his eyes fully off the game, in just the same way he noticed she didn't either.
Thanks to my Beta Reader Andarkness23. I'm also indebted to editorial help from SoulsSwords, NeoMiniTails, and Great Angemon.