PROLOGUE - BEYOND INURING

Blessed are the ones who are gifted at birth.

What of those who are born plain?

Are they the cursed?

Yes, they are.

For there are those who are born with everything, and they shall never need to strive to make it in this world; then there are those whose only fate is to work and die. The cursed are those who are born plain, for theirs is the life that is bound to be only one thing–insignificant.

He began to play the game to make friends.

But before he knew it, he fell in love with the game. Finding this love was like the light at the end of the tunnel, which he knew he had to reach. The light was far away but it shone so bright and so beautiful, he knew he had to touch it. He had to run, walk or crawl if he had to and reach the light and when he did...

When he did, he too would bask in its glory. He too would be seen. This darkness would end and he would shine brighter than anything the world had ever seen.

So he began his journey towards the light.

Blessed was he for finding the light. Cursed were those, who were grappling at nothing in the darkness.

Why didn't someone stop him? Why didn't someone hold him back and tell him that the blessed were only those who were born with the blessing?

Don't expect life to be fair.

Nobody stopped him as he ran towards the light. Day after day, he played and he fell more and more in love with the sport. He wanted to do absolutely everything and be nothing less than utter perfection. The passion had ignited the fire in his soul and he gave the thing he loved everything he had.

If you love something or hate something enough–then you go at it with everything you have!

Like you want to kill. Yes. That is how you pursue what you really want.

That is how he did things. Nothing touched his heart the way this game had. He lived so he could grow stronger and be better. His technique was achieved to perfection–his obsession for flawlessness was evident. To say he did his best would be an understatement. It was more.

And then he stood there, frozen on court as the boy dribbled the ball and jumped to dunk the ball with so much ferocity that everyone around backed off in fear. The triumph in the boy's eyes, the fear in the players' eyes and a soul being ripped apart.

Alas, the last part wasn't seen or heard. Why is it that the most painful things are impossible to see? Why do we not end up with ripped bodies when the pain is so much worse than anything else? The wounds would never exist in physicality. Isn't that the best part of all? The cruelty of looking so perfect on the outside while carrying a ripped soul and a shredded heart...

What was the point in being hurt just on the inside? The wounds should bloody well show.

He punched a wall on the side of a deserted street. He was tired of having to just hold it all in. He wanted the wounds to show! He hissed in pain as he felt the pain shoot up through his right hand. He closed his eyes and winced through the burning sensation on his knuckles.

"Are you insane?"

He couldn't open his eyes to see who the voice belonged to. All his efforts were directed towards calming himself down. He couldn't focus on the voice or anything at all occurring in his periphery.

"Come with me. You can walk, right? Well, you'd better be! You insane bastard! The hospital is right across the street."

The girl helped him stand as she grazed his knuckles. He hissed in pain and wanted to shoot some daggers with his glare but he was still seething. He wasn't a hot headed person. So he let her cross the street while holding his hand. It took him many deep breaths to be able to even remember what had happened. He found himself staring at tiled floors and then felt her push him backwards. He wasn't drunk or anything, but his body's coordination had worsened more than an alcoholic by the street.

By the street. Ha! That was where he had punched a wall. Whatever happened to the calm and collected boy with a cool head at all times?

He then heard the voice of a woman.

"Ma'am, we've been looking for you, there's been a situation. While you were away, the tumor near your father's heart caused bleeding in his lungs and trachea. We used a bronchoscope to remove the tumor but there was too much bleeding and we had to open him up. But when we did, the tumor had already eroded the pulmonary artery and there was too much damage. We took extraordinary measures, but his heart could not tolerate the excessive bleeding. He did not survive the surgery."

He had been staring at this woman in scrubs.

She was giving the news of death in the form of a foot long biology lecture. Her face held no emotion or sorrow and it annoyed him greatly.

The girl beside him wasn't moving. He noticed the dark brown pullover she wore with the hood in place. He waited for her to break down and wondered if he'd have to console her till her family came for her. He looked around in search of someone related to her but found nobody except for the woman in scrubs, now staring blankly. He could see the impatience in her stance, the anticipation of the news to sink in, so the girl would react and she could mutter the apology she didn't mean and walk away.

You are the only one who can feel your sorrow.

He heard the girl speak, "This boy here…has hurt his hand and you need to check if its okay. You have to make sure that its okay and absolutely fine, because if it isn't then he won't be able to…he won't be able to play basketball! He has to play basketball because he's so insanely good at it and he's also insane enough to run his hand through a goddamn wall! So go! Don't just stand there!"

When she turned to him and all he saw were her eyes. They were the strangest set of eyes he had ever seen. He couldn't get past those silvery grey eyes that were almost translucent. Anyone could easily mistake her to being blind, but not him. As he gazed into her eyes that were full of tears that threatened to fall any moment, but surprisingly didn't; she merely just looked away. He spent too much time searching for the eyes that he'd lost contact with and before he knew it, she had vanished.

Now, as he fixed his seatbelt and settled in, the flight attendant smiled a smile he knew was far wider than the one she normally gave out.

So Tatsuya Himuro smiled back at her. The one he normally gave to anyone who took an interest in him and that covered a lot of ground. He closed his eyes and saw silvery grey eyes full of tears. He wondered if they looked more beautiful when they smiled…

And decided that against it. Anything more beautiful than what he'd seen was impossible.

He had come to this country with no real dream in his mind. Here he was, leaving for home–once again with no real dream. But he did hold on to that image.

Author's Note:

Hello, everyone! My name's Eden and I'm new to this website. However, I've been reading off fanfiction dot net almost for as long as I can remember. This story, I can say, is the result of my blood, sweat and tears. I've worked very hard on this story, so hard that each chapter has a part of me embedded in it. The OC, Yuri, is a manifestation of everything that I want to be and I cannot because real life is cruel. I hope this story makes you laugh, cry and entertains you. I hope you'll remember this story for as long as you can, and I hope it teaches you something as well. Thank you for giving this a chance. I hope this will make you stay.