Aomine Daiki was not a man who wasted words - not because he was a deep thinker or because words were a commodity to be spent wisely, but because he was lazy. So when he handed in his form to the homeroom teacher with his plans for after high school, it looked like it was still blank. On closer inspection, the teacher found Aomine's hastily scrawled handwriting on the bottom of the page. It said only one thing, and the teacher was not surprised: Basketball. Aomine however, was quietly taken aback when the teacher handed the form to him the next morning with a bright red "0/100" written across the top of it.

"Oi?" He asked, approaching the teacher later.

"Aomine-kun, the rest of this school may have given up on educating you because of your overwhelming talent on the basketball court, but work like that will not be tolerated by me."

Aomine stared at her with indolent blue eyes and, when she did not relent, he picked the paper up and shoved it into his bag. She did not think she would see it again.

Aomine didn't just play on a court, he occupied it, and he was vaguely aware of the fact that others had gathered to watch him dominate the imaginary foe he played against in his mind. None of these spectators were strong enough to even consider playing a game with – even for fun – and after a while, they were nothing more than shapes and colors, noises and smells, that meant as little to him as the refractions of light in an individual drop of sweat that fell from his brow. Tonight though, even if none of those eyes on him understood the inner turmoil that distracted his play, he knew there was something that was making him feel…less…perfect. He rolled with it though, knowing that in its own way, that stupid form (and that stupid teacher) was just another battle to win.

Alright, he decided, if it's about basketball, then I can't be beat. Ok, so maybe that's not true, maybe Bakagami had beaten me, and that other living black hole, Murasakibara, but hell, I ain't up against a team with a member of the Generation of Miracles here, it's just a stupid form. He finished off his imaginary opponent and went to the side of the court where his school bag waited. He found the form and used one of his gravure books as a hard surface to write upon. First Question: Do you intend to go to college immediately following graduation. That was easy. He checked the box for "no". If you answered yes, to the first question, continue on this side of the paper. If no, please flip to the reverse. Again, that was easy. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Question Six: Why have you decided to not attend college? I will not attend college because I'm not the smartest – he hesitated. He wanted to come up with a good, what was that word again, analogy, but he's wasn't known for his vocabulary and he ended the sentence right there… "I'm not the smartest. But I can play basketball."

Question Seven: What are your career plans following graduation? I will become the best basketball player in Japan and then the world. I will join the JBL and work toward joining the National Team. My ultimate goal will be met when I play in the Olympics. He'd decided long ago that dreaming of the NBA wasn't something he'd ever admit. If he got there, he'd get there. There were some dreams that were too personal.

Questions Eight: How will you go about making your plans a reality? I will become a better team player by practicing not only my own skills, but by supporting my team. Tetsu had taught him that. No team would want him, no matter how good a player, if he couldn't learn to play as part of a team.

Question Nine: How can Tōō support your plans? Tōō can support my plans by continuing to support my basketball.

It wasn't perfect, it wasn't even spelled right, but it was as honest as Aomine could allow himself to be. It was dark when he looked up from the paper and he was alone.

The next morning, Aomine dropped the newly edited form onto the homeroom teacher's desk without comment and took his seat in the back row. Somehow, every morning, homework with Aomine Daiki's name always got turned in, so his grades, while low, were still in the passing range, but as the Japanese history teacher handed out copies of the test paper, the two other members of the basketball team and Momoi Satsuki all groaned, knowing that their Ace was on his own. Was it too much to ask that he actually pass on his own merit? Unbeknownst to Aomine, there was a secret saying about his ability to do any type of school work: "The only thing that can beat Aomine is Ahomine."

Aomine knew the groans were for him, but he didn't much care; Japanese history was after all his best subject. He turned his attention to the test: Question One: In what year did Minamoto no Yoritomo and his younger brother, Yoshitsune, win the battle of Dan-no-ura?
A. 1181
B. 1183
C. 1185
D. 1187.
Aomine's gift with numbers usually only applied to the court, but something stuck in his mind the first time he heard the teacher talking about this particular battle. Oh yeah, it's got to be C because our final score had been 185 in the game right before that lesson. If Momoi had been privileged to Aomine's inner dialogue, she would have perhaps been less stressed for him and more concerned with her own test score. As it was, she barely passed the test herself.

At lunchtime, Aomine was feeling pretty decent about the sixty percent he'd received on the history test and he didn't even bother to steal Sakurai's lunch – well at least not actively. It's not really theft when he gives it to me. The homeroom teacher popped back into class long enough to return Aomine's form with a new grade printed in large red characters.

"If you had turned this in on time, Aomine-kun, you would have gotten full credit, but as it was a day late, I had to mark you down for tardiness. Consider that the next time."

Aomine rolled his eyes at her and said nothing until she left.

"Consider that next time," he parroted, and Sakurai laughed awkwardly.

"What grade did you get?" the nervous mushroom asked, as Momoi returned with her lunch and two drinks.

Aomine flipped the paper over on his desk: 90/100. Oh man, I so gotta show that to Oba-chan, she's gonna…

"Dai-chan?" Momoi asked, seeing the stunned, yet creepy, smile that blossomed across Aomine's face. When he didn't answer, she placed the items she was carrying down and took up his paper.

"Oi, give that back," he demanded.

"Dai-chan…this is…amazing. Hold this for a second?" she said, and he took the paper in hand. "No, hold it up, like this." She pantomimed putting the paper up next to her face. He sighed but did as she asked. The flash from her cell phone camera blinded him for a second and then he realized what she'd done.

"Oi! What are you planning to do with that?"

Lunch abandoned, she took off toward the classroom door before answering, her voice becoming more distant with each word.

"I'm sending it to Imayoshi and the team. Oh! And Kuroko. And maybe the others…"

Aomine was out of his chair and down the hall after her with a speed that he usually conserved for the court. Sakurai, for once, not only finished his own lunch, but had theirs as well.