Chapter 20 — Reiha
For the first time, I go out of my way to find Ogiwara. With Inter-High approaching, the club has taken a day off for rest, and while others might appreciate the break, I feel restless. By asking some of Ogiwara's friends, I was able to track him down to the school's dōjō.
Being Rakuzan, the dōjō is a finely polished area, with the best equipment and everything. A few students are in bōgu, with their bamboo swords held at the ready. For a moment, I watch them quickly jab at each other, their shouts echoing through the room, then I move to find Ogiwara.
He's in the armor, sitting with his helmet in front of him, to the side of the dōjō. With his legs crossed and palms stretched out, it almost appears as if he's meditating.
"Shige," I say.
His body jerks, and he almost falls over. "Reiha? What are you doing here?"
"I can't come watch you try out a new club?" I smile, which he returns.
"I'm not actually trying it out," he says.
"Why not?"
"You can't join two sports clubs. It gets a little impossible with all the practices . . . My grandpa's really into kendō. Medal-winner and all. He was a little disappointed when I switched to basketball. Not that that keeps him from challenging me every time he sees me." He smiles wryly. "So when my friend heard I was free today, he wanted me to do some demonstrations . . ."
"Sounds cool. I'd like to watch."
He hesitates. "Okay."
"You told me that you'd explain everything," I say, bringing up earlier. "Looks like we have some time. Wanna do that now?"
He lets out a laugh. "Still thinking about that? Okay, then." He pats the space beside him. "Might as well sit down."
I nod and collapse into the spot beside him. I'm not sure if he does it on purpose or not, but he leans his shoulder in slightly, until it touches mine. I don't pull away.
He says, "So you wanted to know what was bothering me."
"That's right."
"It's because you're the manager, right?" His eyes search mine briefly. "You want the team to do its best."
"That's . . . right."
He looks a bit disappointed for some reason.
"Well, I told you before that I've played basketball for a long time, right? That's not exactly true . . . I mean, it is. I did start as a kid, but I haven't always played. There was a time, nearly two years ago, when I quit."
Ogiwara . . . quit basketball? I can't seem to imagine it. He, who always seems so upbeat, who always is talking about how much he loves the sport . . . quit?
He continues. "I first got into basketball because my parents recommended it. I thought it was really fun, and soon I was playing as much as I could. One day, I met this one guy named Kuroko. I taught him how to play, and we became friends. We promised each other that we'd play against each other in a real match someday.
"Eventually, we separated during middle school. He went to this big-name school called Teikō, and I attended Meikō Middle School. We'd send letters to each other every now and then, updating the other about our basketball experiences. Like when I was made ace, and when he finally got onto the first string on his team. That meant we were going to see each other at Nationals! But I . . . my team lost too soon, and Kuroko's team — Teikō — won. We didn't face each other that year, but the next year, I thought, for sure. . . ."
Ogiwara stares into the distances, lost in his memories. "And somehow we made it. My team finally managed to get paired up with Teikou. But it wasn't what I thought it was going to be. Kuroko had gotten injured in the previous game, and when I tried visiting him, I ran into the captain of his team. It was . . . Akashi, actually. He told me that Kuroko wouldn't be able to play against us. And then . . . he wished me good luck, though he said the result would be the same either way." Ogiwara lets out a humorless laugh, and I notice his fingers clenching into a fist. "I got so angry at that, and so I probably said things I shouldn't have. Like, I asked him if he liked playing basketball, and I told him that while Teikō was strong — unbelievably strong — all they were doing was winning. They weren't getting any enjoyment out of it. And he . . . he said nothing mattered without victory. That those who can enjoy basketball while losing are just weak. And that he really didn't think we were worthy opponents at all.
"I couldn't stand that. So I made a foolish statement. I asked him to tell Kuroko that we'd definitely play again. I have no idea if he even listened, but the words he said and the way he said them haunted me. And it only got worse after that. The Generation of Miracles, the team we were facing . . they were all monsters. You could see it in their eyes, the coldness. When I was standing up against them, I felt like there was no hope at all. And in the end, I guess there wasn't. We lost. One hundred and eleven to eleven. And those measly eleven points we scored? That was all just a game to them. Those were all points they allowed us to score. I — couldn't do anything for my team.
"And so I quit. Because after that defeat, I didn't think I could ever play basketball with a smile on my face anymore. I thought . . . Akashi was right. Pretending to enjoy yourself while losing . . . it's just a lame excuse."
I can barely think. Ogiwara's story has left me numb.
"But . . ." My voice sounds somewhat strangled. "You came back."
He nods. "Soon after we lost, my father transferred jobs, so I switched schools, and it was easy enough to pretend I'd never played basketball. But then, for my first year of high school, I had to transfer again. To here. To Rakuzan.
"And I missed it. Even if I tried denying it, I missed playing basketball, so one day, I went to the gym . . . and there he was." He lets out a small, derisive laugh. "It's not cool to say this to you, but I was terrified. I was terrified he'd see me and call me out, so . . . I ran away. And for the rest of the year, I tried to disappear.
"But then I heard that Rakuzan was facing Seirin in the finals, and I knew that's where Kuroko went . . . He'd told me, right after I first transferred. He'd told me he'd found a good team and that he was going to bring down the Generation of Miracles. . . . I never replied to him. I know I should've — but everything I thought of saying . . . just weren't the right words. I wanted to believe in Kuroko. I wanted to believe he would be able to defeat the Generation of Miracles, but after witnessing their power firsthand . . ."
He pauses and breathes in deeply. "I wanted to see Kuroko play again, so I went to that match. And there he was, with his teammates. And they were doing everything they could to beat Akashi . . . and when they were at their lowest point, I couldn't help myself. I shouted out to him, 'You can do it, Kuroko! Don't give up!' And looking back on it now, those were the exact words I wish someone had said to me that last year. So in that moment, I felt like I everything I had endured to that point . . . was just to make me stronger, so that I could keep playing. Keep doing what I wanted to. And so, yes, I came back this year. Because no matter the defeat, I just can't stop playing . . . because it's something I love."
"Even knowing you'd be on the same team as Akashi?"
He gives a small smile. "Well, Kuroko helped with that some. He told me about it later. About what Akashi went through . . . and while I can't forgive him, he's had it tough, too. And Kuroko managed to change him during that game. Now . . . he's different than when I first saw him. I don't really know how to explain it, but he seems less intense. More considerate of you. That one time when I talked to him I felt like I would wet myself. And, you know, he's still intimidating now, but he can be almost . . . nice sometimes, too. But sometimes, I wonder if he doesn't even remember me."
"What?" I consider this. It's true that Akashi treats Ogiwara a little different than the other regulars. "What if he's just avoiding you?"
"Avoiding me? Why would he do that?"
"Maybe he feels guilty."
Ogiwara looks thoughtful, but after a moment, he says, "You helped, too."
"Me? Why? What did I do?"
"You were so bold that first day. I thought I should be like that, not caring a bit what anyone thinks of me."
That's an interesting way to take me deceiving him and pretending to be my sister. . . .
"Why didn't you go to school with Kuroko, then?" I ask. "Since you want to play with him so badly."
"That would've been great," Ogiwara says, "but my family moved here instead. Plus, my promise to Kuroko was for us to play against each other in an official match."
I'm not sure if wording really matters that much, but whatever. Maybe it's a thing of honor.
"So if that's the story," I say slowly, "how does that relate to now?"
He shrugs. "It doesn't, really. You just wanted to know, so I thought I'd tell you. And I guess . . . Akashi has been acting weird lately. I mean, he was never really friendly to me, but now, it's like he completely ignores me. The look in his eyes . . . it's similar to back then. I guess I don't mind, but like you said, if it's for the team . . ."
"Akashi is the ace, isn't he?" I muse.
"Huh? Yeah, he is. He's a Generation of Miracles."
"And that guarantees you an ace position?"
"Well . . . pretty much."
"I thought that the job of the ace was not only in your abilities, but your attitude. To me, Akashi has never seemed to have much of an ace personality."
"Well . . . I don't know about that."
"An ace should be someone who's concerned about their teammates, who wants to lead them to victory — but in the right ways. An ace should be someone who always has the best interests of the team in their heart, and the strength and the positivity to hold their team's hopes and dreams. Do you really think Akashi is that kind of person?"
"But . . . he's . . ."
"I'm just saying. I think you'd be a better ace, Shige."
"Me?" His eyes are wide. "I'm definitely not ace material, please don't say that."
"Weren't you an ace in middle school?"
"And look at how that turned out."
"That wasn't your fault."
"But because of me — I couldn't do anything. Didn't you hear me?"
"But you tried your hardest until the very end, didn't you?" When he doesn't answer, I repeat myself. "Didn't you? If I know you like I think I know you, you never would've given up. You would've kept trying to pass and to shoot until the very end. No matter if the other team is a hundred points ahead — you'd keep trying. Isn't that right, Ogiwara Shigehiro?"
He looks slightly pale at my words. Finally, he whispers, "Even if I was the ace, what could I do?"
"I'm not saying you have to be the ace or that you even have to think about. For one, I don't recommend challenging Akashi for his position unless you have a death wish. But . . . it's not about what you can do, but what you can hope to accomplish. And for someone like you, that's an awful lot."
He's quiet for a few moments. Then a man approaches us — the kendō sensei, I'm guessing. "Ogiwara-kun, you want to get ready?"
Ogiwara glances at me, a strange look on his face, then he stands up and nods at the man. "I'll be back," he says to me.
I watch the other students practice while I wait for him. A buzz of excitement rises in me. I've taken some self-defense classes before, even some karate in the States, but the atmosphere there is totally different than here. The karate teacher couldn't even pronounce the Japanese words right.
But in this room, there's a calm air — even though people are crossing swords, the actions seem peaceful and controlled.
Ogiwara returns a few minutes later, his helmet under one arm. He turns to smile at me, then lifts the helmet over his head and accepts a wooden swordfrom a classmate.
He faces the teacher, and the two begin to perform a series of kata. His movements are smooth and powerful, and it's clear he knows what he's doing. I watch, entranced, and every time one of them shouts, I almost jump. The shouts — the kiai, if I remember correctly — are filled with such passion that they ring through my heart.
Ogiwara and the teacher finish the kata. Then, he does a few bouts with other students. He beats more than half of them, each time he does followed by loud applause, mostly by me.
Finally, he's done. The other students resume their normal practice while he removes his helmet. I can see the sweat pouring down his face, and I can't say it's unattractive. His gaze finds mine, and I grin, holding up a hand.
A few minutes later, he rejoins me, back in his school uniform, his hair damp from being rinsed.
"You were great!" I say, standing up to meet him.
He smiles shyly. "Thanks. Actually . . . I'm probably better at kendō than I am basketball. After years of Grandpa drilling techniques into me." He looks uncomfortable when he says this, like I'll get onto him or something.
I cock my head. "But you enjoy basketball more." It's not a question.
He nods. "Kendō is fun, but it's more of an individual sport. I like the teamwork aspect of basketball better."
We both frown at his words, remembering the current situation with the team.
"Don't worry," I say. "I'm sure things'll work out in the end."
His frown disappears, replaced with surprise. "What's this? Are you reassuring me?"
I scowl. "You better not get used to it." He laughs, then he tugs on my arm and we leave the dōjō. I know, without him saying, where we're going next.
A/N: So we finally get the backstory of Ogiwara and Akashi! It's complicated, of course. And I knew when I was writing this that I wanted to include some discussion about the ace role. For a lot of the GoM, the ace position was given to them simply because of their talent. Of course, what's above is solely Reiha's opinion. I think Akashi's a fine ace (especially now in his second year). But then you have people like Aomine . . .which, he definitely gets better, and with Touou's individual play style, it seems to work out well enough. Anyway, just some thoughts. Thanks for reading!
~ J. Dominique