IMPORTANT NOTE!

Hey everyone! It's been a WHILE. I hope all is well!

I decided to revive this piece mainly to relieve an itch, but also to keep in practice writing consistently. So in case you've wondered where I've been all these years, I've been in college! WRITING! HAHA what a LIFE it's been.

Creative writing is actually my minor, and I've learned so much about storytelling, characterization, poetry and more through it. Because of that, I wanted to have at it with The Basketball Which Kuroko Plays... except... revamp it.

That's right. This is the first chapter. (Please don't kill me)

I will be updating on my brand stinking new account, PEACHYJINSOL! Just search me up! I promise it's real it ain't fake. I hope with my updated writing style, you'll fall in love with Mitsu's story all over again! And in case you have your doubts, I at least have chapter one below for you to see if it tickles yo fancy.

Though, if you're out of the KnB fandom, wyd. If you're longtime fan/very new, I welcome you!

Here for fun, so I hope you have fun too!

ALL THE LOVE,
Mia/Sol


THE BASKETBALL WHICH SNOW WHITE PLAYS.
by peachyjinsol

DISCLAIMER: The author doesn't own the Kuroko no Basuke franchise— especially the manga. She might read it one day, but in the meantime.. alley-oop!


00 : I Am Shirayuki : 白雪は私です


WHEN I WAS young, like, nine years old, I moved to the United States of America. Isn't that crazy?

Of course, there was frustration in moving and adjusting there because of many reasons. One, I was always that kid who you just had to say ni hao ching chong to, despite my not-so-Asian appearance— or being Chinese, for that matter. Two, I was the kid who knew English pretty well (since my father is really talented at languages and taught me while I learned Japanese), but didn't want other kids to know just so they could just not talk to me.

Three, a lot of kids are curious, and curious kids suck. They'd ask about my hair all the time. I begged my mom every day for three months to get my hair dyed or buy a wig, but my mom was 1) too attached to my unique white hair, 2) all-knowing that I would definitely not last with an itchy wig on for more than a day, and 3) offended that I hated how I looked, especially since her hair was naturally white too.

Thing is, my mom was a bit famous in her teen years. She was an international model in the 80s and loved the spotlight (while I certainly didn't). Her manager back then was my father's best friend. Black-haired, loving, multilingual businessman father. I repeat, black-haired. Didn't think it'd be such a weak gene for me. God did it, I guess.

Oh, and four, I lived in an area where there were mostly black and white people. I knew, like, two Asians. Lucky for me, they were both Japanese! God did it again, I guess!

You might be wondering, are they the Kagami Taiga and Himuro Tatsuya? Were we friends and stuff? Yes, that's right. I had two friends in America: the Kagami Taiga and Himuro Tatsuya. We were, in fact, friends and stuff.

In a way, or maybe in several ways, those two have ruined my life. But one thing's for sure. They definitely changed the flow of my whole world and future from the moment we met... mostly because I was a curious kid, and like I said, curious kids suck.

Maybe this is an exception— up to you to decide.

Or... God, I guess.


I would watch them play basketball at our elementary court. I didn't dare say a word to them. Sometimes, there would be kids who'd come and want to play, saying, "Hey, it's our turn n—"

But then they'd see me— the white-haired ghost staring with wide eyes at the two Japanese kids playing a little more intensely than what could be called child's play— and run away.

It became a pastime since my parents never picked me up from school on time and I'd never have enough homework to be busy with. (I think my mom never picked me up on time on purpose because she totally could, I mean this woman didn't even have a job then.) After school, I'd walk over to the basketball court and stand behind a tree, peeping and staring. I gradually became entranced. Through them, I learned how basketball worked. Kind of. Not really yet, but still.

If it wasn't obvious, I wasn't interested in basketball itself for a good chunk of the time I watched them. That sunk in later. But what first drew me in, hook line and sinker, was definitely the look in their eyes.

That passionate, fiery look that seared something deep in my chest. The heat that evidenced purpose and mission.

Since way back then, these two had something they loved. Like they could do that something for the rest of their lives. I couldn't blame myself for not having anything I was passionate about, since I was so young, but I knew for sure that I was jealous. I wanted to love something too. I wanted to be good at something.

"Modeling!" my parents would say to me, a nine-year-old who hated being in front of cameras.

"A child actress!" some kids would say at school, never forgetting to add, "For horror movies!"

Once, my perfectly-content single teacher said to me, "You can just marry a rich man and live in the mountains."

It was a pretty good suggestion.


One day, I saw them on the sidewalk after school. The boy with his left eye hidden by his dark hair was giving the redheaded boy a ring, and they bought chains to wear their matching rings around their necks. I was watching them, hiding behind a tree. The envy of their bond started to plague my brain.

Somehow, the older-looking boy glanced over and paused to stare, head tilting.

I froze for a minute.

Not knowing what to say or do, I just kept staring instead of pretending to be occupied with something else. I didn't have a phone then, so I couldn't pretend to be busy with that. There wasn't anything interesting about my plain shoes, or that tree beside me with the jeering squirrels and abandoned bird nest. My quick child logic laid out three options: A) run away, B) walk forward and past them or C) approach them and apologize or something.

I found myself doing C. I don't know why.

"Ha—hello!" I twitched a smile, stiffly bowing before them and cringing.

The redhead blinked. "Who are you?" he asked in English. I froze again. Oh gosh. I'm speaking in Japanese. I unlocked a new level of nervous antics.

"Oh, um," I stood up unnaturally straight, "Sorry." I wanted to smack myself. Why can't I talk in English?

The other boy smiled a little. "You look... familiar," he said. In Japanese. I got nervously overexcited all of a sudden, so much that I wanted to throw up.

"I, um, watched your games!" I said, then added in meek English, "Y-Your basketball games! On the court at school! It— it's so super cool." I looked down again and tried to swallow. But my brain's will somehow couldn't communicate with my throat. I just couldn't swallow.

I was actually boy-avoidant when I was little. Nothing crazy happened to me or anything. It was just always me and my mother. Papa was always working when we moved to the U.S., so—

"You were watching?" the younger boy asked, squinting at me. Something about that made him seem twice his height. I wanted to shrink into a speck of nothing.

"That makes sense," the older boy said before I could run for it. He stood in front of me and smiled. I tried to look him in the eye without shaking. "I'm Himuro Tatsuya. Nice to meet you, um—?"

"Ah, it's S-Shirayuki Mitsu!" I burst with a bow, quickly realizing the volume of my words and slapping my hands over my mouth.

Himuro chuckled as I blushed under my mess of hair. He held out his hand, his smile never wavering. What a skill. As my trembling hand shook his, I just hoped he didn't notice my palms beginning to sweat. "Your name is so unique, Shirayuki-san. I think it suits you." He turned to the redhead and said, "This is my friend, Kagami Taiga. Taiga, this is—"

"Shirayuki Mitsu. I heard," he interrupted in Japanese, giving up on speaking English and causing me to shiver. The feeling was like ice cubes dumped on my bare back. In my ten-year-old mind, he looked unbelievably intimidating— and he sounded even more intimidating.

"You must know how we play, huh?" Himuro said. "Shira. Can I call you Shira?"

I opened my mouth. It seemed a bit hard to breathe, with him calling me "Shira" and all. After all, omg-senpai Himuro made words somehow difficult to come out, with the way he looked so princely and acted like a young little gentleman. Even mothers would probably swoon and dote and wish he was their child.

Wait, what did he ask again? I wondered. Something like... just make up an answer, gosh. Is it a yes or no question? I spaced out pretty hard, but they seemed patient enough.

"Yes," I said slowly.

"Oh, so you do know how to play basketball, Shira-san?"

"Well uh, um, ah, yeah."

This part's just embarrassing.

I can only imagine what facial expression I must've put on then. A classic deer-in-the-headlights face? The mortifying I'm-trying-to-lie-but-I'm-really-bad-at-it face? A doom face?

"Is that a yes?" Kagami asked, cocking a brow. He was clearly surprised and suddenly interested, and that was not a good thing.

"W-Well, I can't play with you guys," I stammered, already tripping on my words and trying to use my hands to make it at least half-understandable. Doom face. "I just, I have this way, and— gosh," my hands flung down to my sides, shoulders rising up to my ears, "I-I-I'm rusty."

"I'm sure you're great at basketball!" Himuro assured with a calm smile. He was so kind and patient. I was mind-blown at how he clearly didn't get it.

Before I knew it, even though it was around six in the evening and I'd usually go home and eat dinner at that point, we went onto the basketball court at our school— yes, the one where I'd watch them play all the time. Kagami had a ball, of course. In my little mind, I couldn't walk away. There was no way out of it. Maybe there was more to it than I realize, like a force of the unseen, a tug of fate, a magnetic pull into the first of many turning points in my life.

On that day, I touched a basketball.

There was something electrifying about this particular moment.

Sliding my fingers over the roughness and seeing the black grooves on the orange, I suddenly felt the adrenaline I never knew I had. It was both a pleasant and suffocating experience, coursing through my veins. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced in my entire life. Even though I hadn't lived for that long.

But above all, I was a big ball of oversensitive nerves, about to short-circuit and faint.

"How about you shoot the ball instead of staring at it?" Kagami asked me, jolting me from the feeling. It wasn't completely gone though—in fact, it shrunk due to reality, and built up inside, pulsing in my head and hands.

I twitched a smile. "S-Sure thing!" I exclaimed. It wasn't like I could escape from this. Well, I could've, but I didn't do that, so—

I tried mimicking something they'd do. I bent my knees, raised the ball above my head, and hesitated. After a heavy short breath, I closed my eyes and threw the ball as confidently as I could.

Big surprise: I missed.

Not only did I miss, but the ball flew nowhere near the hoop. Nowhere near.

Kagami looked at me all weird, back and forth from the hoop to me. His eyes squinted in what I perceived as a death glare. I felt my face flushing in humiliation and smacked my hands over my face.

"Have you really played before?"

"Um!" I barely let out. "I— like I said, I'm rusty."

Liar, I could've sworn his face said.

Himuro just chuckled. I wanted him to stop. "Maybe you are rusty," he said with a casual shrug. "You're probably amazing if you get the feel."

The what?

Maybe I had "the feel," just stuck inside, going haywire. But that was probably mixed with my strong urges to just make a run for it. Stupid, stupid, I kept repeating in my head again, not sure what to do at that moment. I wasn't even sure why I was there and didn't just run away in the first place. This moment just... made no sense. It was as if there was a puppeteer above pushing me along the lines of an uncontrollable fate. And that is not okay, Mister Puppeteer!

Kagami ran to get the ball, which was ridiculously far in the right, and tossed it at me. It was so shocking I almost cried, dodging the ball and letting out a small yelp. Internally, I was shrieking. How could he throw it like that? I shook my head, scrambling to get the ball, but it was bouncing out of control as I chased it. By the time I finally caught it, I was already crawling for it.

At that moment, I really considered just running away and never crossing paths with them again, maybe switch schools—

"Let's go, Shira-san!"

At Himuro's cute little cheer, I wanted to cry so bad.

After taking huge breaths and closing my eyes, barely convincing myself to just try again, I found myself walking back to the court. I twisted my left foot a bit more, using my left hand for more boost onto the ball. It went farther.

But it was still way off to the right of the hoop, hitting the green wire fence.

I wondered why I even tried.

"I'm so sorry! I'll get that!" I exclaimed, not wanting Kagami to pass it again and have me relive what happened ea— Eek!

Kagami was making this face again, this time more intensely. At this point, I wanted to pass out on the spot.

I was about to run to get the ball, but he beat me to it, leaving me swallowing that lump forming in my throat. "There's no way you've played before," Kagami said bluntly. "Your form isn't right at all."

I couldn't even bother to be ashamed of lying. Telling the truth was the lesser of the two undesirables. Defeated, I opened my mouth, "I—"

"Taiga!" Himuro interrupted, smacking the younger boy's head, causing Kagami to reel back and hiss. "Seriously, why do you have to be so rude to her?"

"Wait, no! He's right! I— I lied! I'm sorry! I don't know how to play at all, I just— I just wanted to—" I messed and yanked at my hair, crouching down on my knees. "I'm so sorry."

"Stop apologizing! Geez," Kagami growled, causing me to wince even more. I wasn't sure what kind of faces he and Himuro were making, but I was more preoccupied with trying not to cry. I heard footsteps pacing towards me, and each step made my ears thrum and pulse uncomfortably with it. Someone crouched down in front of me. I didn't want to look up.

"Hey."

Wait, I thought, expecting Himuro's voice. I lifted my head at stared at red eyes. Kagami-kun?

With the basketball tucked under one arm, Kagami took one of my arms with his free hand and gingerly tugged me up a little. His touch was strangely shy for his rough expression. Looking into his fiery eyes, I thought that maybe his parents had a name picked out for him before he was born but then changed their minds after seeing his face. Taiga— a tiger boy. The way his eyebrows split halfway at the ends— "Hello?"

"W-What?"

Kagami sighed, pushing my back towards a certain line in the court. "Listen, I don't know why you came up to us and lied and all, but if you want to play, then don't waste my time. You want to try again or not?"

I squeaked, blinking down at my hands. I didn't even realize when I started to hold the ball again. It was about to slip from the offensive amount of sweat I was producing on my palms. I felt like those wire fences caged me in with this tiger.

When I was about to position myself again, Kagami gently pushed my small shoulders down. "Don't put your shoulders up to your ears, stupid," he told me. "Also, you're not bending your knees enough. Your left ankle is twisting to the side way too much. That's gotta hurt like hell."

I nodded blankly, my heart beating fast and blood rushing to my ears as I felt his hands leave me. They were just... boy hands, small but bigger than mine, tanner than mine, more calloused than my delicate, pale fingers and unscarred skin. I was straining to hear with my blood pulsing in my ears. The ball was in my hands, my nails short enough not to get caught in the small bumps and ridges, my hands sweaty enough to grasp it and control it. I closed my eyes, trying to block out every pesky thought, and focused on my breathing.

So, when I aimed and threw— guess!

It hit the headboard and it bounced back.

Himuro ran to get the ball, giving it to me. I felt myself paling, which was quite a feat since I was the palest person I knew. "You're doing really well, Shira-san!" he assured me when I was actually tearing up. "Don't give up now."

But at that point, I felt like poop and I needed to get flushed down a toilet.

Sniffing, I raised my head and couldn't help but ask, "Why not? I don't know the first thing about this basketball stuff. I'm not really smart, and I don't belong here in America, but I'm only here because my papa has to work and my mom would like it if I picked up more English—"

"Whoa, we didn't ask for your life story," Kagami said. Himuro jabbed him in the rib.

"Hey, Shira-san! You are smart!" He grabbed my shoulders. "And you're doing just fine. You're actually picking this up pretty quick for someone your build."

"Someone... my build?" I repeated, lost for a minute, but then— my eyes widened. "Wait, did you know?"

Himuro laughed. "You caught me, huh?"

"W-W-Wait, so you knew I couldn't play? From the beginning?"

"I can't believe I believed it for a second," Kagami muttered, staring down at his shuffling feet. Himuro smiled.

"That's what I think is pretty great about you, Taiga," Himuro said, glancing at me. "I knew she couldn't play by the way she looked, but I think you saw her eyes first."

My eyes? I covered my entire face, hiding in my white bangs.

"Hell are you on about?" Kagami asked.

"Come on, Taiga. You looked right at her. I knew you noticed something."

What does he mean? Are my eyes weird?

Himuro gently took my hands off my flushed face and pulled out the band on my wrist, walking behind me and threading his fingers tenderly into my hair. "Wh— what are you doing?" I stammered, shivering at his physical contact on my scalp.

"I'm sorry," Himuro murmured, his fingers pausing before gathering as much of my hair as possible. I blinked. "Are you uncomfortable?"

"I-I don't... no."

"You don't know?"

"I mean, no? Yes? I— I'm okay."

I turned around slightly to look at him. Himuro tilted his head. "Can I ask you something?" he asked me.

"I—" Not sure how to speak all of a sudden, I just nodded.

"Did you watch us because you wanted to play with us? Or did you want to learn how to play?" I felt my bangs being pulled back, some falling back into place for being too short. The hair at the sides of my ears refused to be tied either, and they tickled my face as some random draft blew. When the wind passed, I felt Himuro tilt his head to rest on mine, whispering on the top of my head while looking straight at Kagami, "Or is it something else?"

I felt frozen in place. Himuro's cheek on my head made me dizzy from, I don't know, cooties or something. "Wh— what do you mean?" I managed to ask.

"I mean, do you have a crush on Taiga, or—?"

I wanted to disintegrate.

Himuro burst out laughing, holding his sides. "I was just kidding, Shirayuki-san! Kidding!"

That was not a funny joke.

Kagami was awkwardly standing at a distance, pacing slightly, staring at his feet. He looked a bit guilt-stricken, but he quickly snapped out of it when he heard Himuro's laugh. "Oi, what are you laughing about?" he asked, scrunching his nose in distaste when his eyes fell on me. I was probably beet-red from the way my face felt on my hot cheeks. "Why are you—"

I don't know why it was at that moment, but I finally, finally ran away.


You'd think I'd never approach them again after that. If I didn't have a crush on either of them or have any interest in playing or learning basketball, then what could possibly be the reason I came back?

"Shirayuki-san! Hey!"

Who knew I'd be a target of Himuro Tatsuya's bullying?

Okay, I went too far there. It's just that, whether it be at school or on my way there— and especially after— he'd be somewhere there, walking with Kagami, minding his own business until he notices a flash of my hair in the crowd. It's like his mouth is on automatic, programmed to call me out whenever he sees me.

Why? I wondered this for about a month. See, though, a month feels like years to a child, so this felt like neverending, unfathomable torture.

Of course, I told my mom about them. "A boy, huh?" she mused, lying down on the couch with her arms straight up, as she admired her hands or nails or something. "Sounds like this Tatsuya kid has a crush on you, Mitsu. Nice of him to play basketball with you. You needed the endurance."

"Endurance?"

My mom ignored me. "Is he cute?"

"Kaa-san, I'm nine."

"I don't see why that matters here, Mitsu. I had five or six crushes at your age."

"But—"

"So, is he cute or not? Because if he's not, then there's no discussion here. Just stand firmly like this." My mom stood up, with her hands on her hips. "And repeat after me: I. Don't. Like. You. Go away. There," she flopped back on the couch and shrugged, "simple, right?"

"I can't do that!"

"Is it because he's a cutie or not, Mitsu?" my mom asked, playfully exasperated.

"Why does it matter if he's cute, kaa-san?"

"Because if he is, then this is interesting to me," she answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world. I shifted my weight on each foot, wondering why I told my mom anything when she's always been this unhelpful. "Do you need to pee or something?"

"No!"

My mom gasped, practically leaping off of the couch to embrace me in a choking hold. "So he is cute! What's his name? Is he white? Latino?"

"H-He's Japanese, but it's not like t—"

"Oh, so you like Japanese boys?" Mom sighed, pouting. "I wanted interracial grandchildren one day, but I guess it's fine as long as he's cute. Bring him over this Friday, Mitsu. If you don't, you won't be getting a cake on your birthday."

That was actually coded language for something worse. I'm too embarrassed to say it.

Anyway, I couldn't stand my mom anymore and walked away. I couldn't help but wonder if maybe that was all I was good at.


In the middle of my third-grade school year, my homeroom teacher quit in the middle of the year due to a medical emergency. I don't really remember what happened to her, but this did mean I had to move to a different class.

Of course, Kagami Taiga was in it.

I had to accept that there was no escaping from them.

A week passed. Kagami hadn't said a word of acknowledgement to me, which kind of stung, as much as I thought I wanted it to be that way. He would sit in class, space out, look bored out of his mind, and then rush to leave after class. During lunch, he packed like, five large burgers in his bag, scaring everyone away. I'd sigh every time, peering out the window and ignoring him back.

Soon enough, things changed. After school, instead of speeding away as usual, Kagami stood in front of my desk. When I was done packing, I looked up and jolted so hard my knees hit my desk. I let out a shriek.

Kagami slapped a hand over my mouth, promptly shushing me. "Hey, what's with that reaction?" he lamented, pinching the bridge of his nose like an old man.

With trembling hands, I took his hand on my mouth and held it for a second. I ignored the face he made at that. "Can't you just— just ignore me like you've been doing? P-Please?"

"What?" He seemed baffled, pausing to think. Then his mouth opened, eyes wide. "Wait, I didn't mean to!"

"Your head's full of basketball, I— I know," I said, letting go of his hand and slinging my backpack around my shoulders. I refused to meet his eyes. "I'm going home. See you on Monday—"

I froze.

I'm so dead, I thought, my palms rapidly sweating onto the straps as I gripped them tighter. If Mom remembers about Himuro...

"Mitsu?"

No, no, no! I yanked at my hair, eyes shut so tight I could see stars, biting my lip so hard it could bleed.

"Hey, you okay? Mitsu!"

I turned around, "What?"

"What's wrong with you?"

"W-What— no, why did you come to me now?"

Kagami blinked, then took a step back, rubbing the back of his head. "Well, I was just wondering something."

"What is it?" I asked warily, feet turned towards the door. Kagami noticed.

"Hey, don't run away again," he sighed, cursing under his breath. I'd slap him if I was his mom. "I just thought, well, I was wondering something."

"Wondering what?"

"Well this morning, I left the house early as usual, and I saw a lady across the street on her front porch just sitting on this swing," he started to explain, which I didn't get at first until he said, "She had white hair like yours. And she wasn't old, or anything, and blah blah blah..."

"Kaa-san, where are you?" I called out. My mom was the most listless person I knew. It wasn't until I left the house that I saw her snoring on the hammock on our front porch.

"No way," I denied under my breath.

"She's your mom, right?" Kagami asked.

"N-No."

"You're really bad at lying."

"Whatever, just— I'm going home!" I turned around and started walking out the door. "Go play basketball with Tatsuya or something!"

"Tatsuya said he's going home today!" Kagami hollered, following behind me.

"Stop following me!"

"We're going the same way home, stupid!"

I started running in the hallways all the way outside. Fifth-grade safety patrols yelled at us to stop, and I was mortified to hear that addressed to me. But I kept going, yelling in Japanese, "G-Go to Himuro-kun's house!"

"Go to Himuro— we're all neighbours, Shirayuki!"

I stopped abruptly. Kagami bumped into me, and I nearly fell forward when he caught me by the arm. Huffing and shaking, I closed my eyes and thought, This is so humiliating. I never yell in the hallways. I don't run either. I look so mean. I have no friends. Why am I running away again? Why, why, why?

And how the heck did I just realize we all live in the same neighbourhood?

My mind was flooded with the thought that if my mom knew about them, she'd make me walk home with them for sure. Which was probably the worst thought to circulate in my brain because I could feel a heart attack coming.

Kagami was concerned for my life. I was probably as white as a sheet. So he whirled me around by the shoulders. I refused to look up, hiding behind my bangs. He leaned closer, examining me. His gaze made me want to vomit on him. "Mitsu," he said as evenly as I'd ever heard him, "I don't know why you're acting like this, but honestly, I'm going to tell you this straight. Now listen up."

"I don't want to—"

"No, listen." He wouldn't let go of me, so I lifted my head up defiantly. I was thinking of being cool for a second and headbutting him, but the moment passed, and I could never do it anyway. Kagami opened his mouth, wavering for a moment, but his brows knitted in determination. "You probably think my head is full of basketball and stuff, but you think I don't notice you sit all by yourself at lunch and recess and stuff? You think I don't hear what our classmates say about you? You're so weak. Why are you letting them say that crap about you?"

I felt my eyes sting.

"I'm not your babysitter or anything, but I think I'm just fed up with them and the way you're dealing with it."

Why is he telling me this?

"Don't you dare cry," Kagami warned, probably because he wouldn't know what to do if I did. "Tatsuya's noticed too, you know. He talks about you all the time. It's getting really annoying now. He wants to be your friend, and I want you to stop acting like such a loser."

Eyes on each other, mine too watery to see, I hung my head down and resigned. When I shrugged his hands away from me, I took deep breaths. I didn't realize I was hyperventilating until then.

"Hey—"

"St-Stop heying me," I stuttered, wiping my tears quickly. I started walking, quiet at first. Kagami followed me still. "U-Um... can you come over? To my house?"

It was Kagami's turn to stop. "What did you just say?"

My mouth quivered, but I added, "Himuro-kun is invited too. My mom... she wants to, um, meet you guys."

"What do you mean she wants to meet us?" he asked. When I didn't respond, Kagami seemed to mull it over the rest of the way home.

In the end, they both came over.

My mom thought it was her birthday.


Before I knew it, I was dragged into their shenanigans like it was only natural. (And like I predicted, my mom never picked me up from school again.)

We'd play basketball after school, go to Burger King, and do our homework at each other's houses. I hung out with them almost every day. Kagami would pay for mostly everything we did together because, as I kind of suspected, his family was rich as heck.

At first, I spent an insane amount of time with them because it was Mom's orders, which Himuro made a point to reiterate a hundred-thousand times a day. Later on, though, I realized how odd they were— but in a comforting way. They never talked about my hair or asked any of the usual questions I got. Maybe it was because we were all Japanese, so that shut down all of the stupid Asian jokes. Their minds were only interested in basketball anyways, so there wasn't that much to talk about beyond that. Except for maybe homework. Kagami's grades were terrible.

Once again, though, I was back on the basketball court. Initially staring, admiring their passion coming to life. Darting my eyes around from the ball to the look in their eyes, down to the giant grin on their faces. It dawned on me why I liked watching them so much. Maybe I should say it hit me like a ton of bricks.

I wanted that too.

Beyond wanting friends, which I suppose I had, and beyond wanting something more interesting to happen in my life, I wanted passion.

This desire later sprung into my legs one day, as I found myself playing with them. Not an easy thing. I'd say I was pretty gutsy. But Himuro was always patient and, to my surprise, Kagami was also invested. Excited, even. I wasn't very self-aware, but I occasionally thought that maybe I really did show that I was excited to learn and play with them.

I wouldn't say I was any good, but I could definitely sense what is good. It was like an intuitive sense. It was so sensitive, I could tell whenever distracting emotions came into play. It was as if I was in tune with the player's thoughts... or something like that.

Later on, we met Alexandra Garcia— young, retired WNBA player Miss Garcia. Blond-haired, blue-eyed, the baddest and often the most inappropriate bespectacled woman I've ever met to this day. She was incredible at teaching Himuro and Kagami. At first, I'd just sit and watch them grow at an exponential level; later on, though, Miss Garcia would drag me beside her to analyze and be her eyes at times, since somehow, she managed to pick up the reason why I stuck around them.

"So which one?" she asked. I blinked listlessly.

"Um, which one what?"

"Which one do you like, Mitty. Do I even need to say it?"

At this point, I was emotionally over it. After hearing that question from Mom, some nosy classmates, and even Himuro (jokingly), I became numb to that question. If anything, I recoiled at the sound of Mitty. "Neither," I replied without stuttering. I sighed, resting my chin on my knees.

"Why not? I think Taiga would be interesting to have a crush on," Miss Garcia commented. We watched as Kagami dribbled the ball across the court while Himuro chased after him. They both had the most enthusiastic expressions on their faces. "You both are so different, yet there's something about you two that's similar."

My eyes trailed down to my feet. Inside my shoes, my toes were curling. "What do you mean?"

"Can't say. It's just something I feel deeeeeep down, you know?"

She never gave me straight answers like my mom. Miss Garcia would rather pick me up by the armpits and swing me around, revelling at my white hair and angelic look— also like my mom. She'd nuzzle her nose into mine and accidentally kiss me multiple times— not like my mom.

Miss Garcia asked, "Do you want me to teach you something too?"

It wasn't how to play. I was passionate, but physically unable to ever be at the level Himuro and Kagami played at. It was more like, I guess, she taught me how my strengths and passions could meet.

And from there, I grew too, to the point where I could correctly bet who would win at every one-on-one game.

Miss Garcia taught me something extremely important through that. It was something I felt deep down but couldn't describe, just like how she couldn't describe why she saw Kagami and I similarly.

It was something that unfolded before me much, much later.


One year after we met, Tatsuya and Taiga got me a chain necklace with a ring slung on it. Do I need to spell out what that meant to me?

Even if I did, I don't have the words.

At that point, even in Japanese, I called them by their first names. It's probably a stupid thing to mention, but... that was big for me.


Tatsuya moved a little farther away and had to go to middle school. Life just took a turn, and it quickly soured to the worst point.

All those fun times— the jumprope competitions, the Burger King runs, the loud evenings doing homework, the quiet mornings walking to school, the after-school training with Miss Garcia, and even that one Christmas where all three of our families celebrated together and the white elephant game was awful— abruptly stuttered. I saw Tatsuya maybe once a month, and talked to him on the phone about once a week.

Meanwhile, my parents told me some breaking news: I was going back to Japan starting seventh grade.


Geez, I don't even want to talk about this part.

I couldn't bring myself to tell Taiga at first. I thought I'd feel too bad to know what I should've done with my life afterwards, as I knew he was tough at heart, but not that tough.

It was a gut feeling, a belief born out of catching glimpses of a downcasted sigh and the occasional out-of-the-blue miff, but I slowly came to realize that Taiga was hurting more than me with Tatsuya becoming more distant, and me becoming less happy as well from it. Maybe he thought things were less satisfying with just me around. After all, he knew Tatsuya for longer, and Tatsuya could play basketball infinitely better than I ever could.

I was only twelve, but the feelings weren't any less real or upsetting. I remember thinking way too much about how to tell Taiga to the point where I didn't eat or sleep much, knees bent up to my chest in a fetus position as the days passed by. Telling Tatsuya was easier, since our relationship was less... explosive. But Taiga? I didn't want to tell him at all.

Three years of astonishing, unexpected, and genuine friendships with them— all about to disappear. That's how I felt. Japan was far. Mom woefully informed me that calling would be difficult to do, much less maintain. I imagined them moving back with me, but even at that age, I knew it just wasn't likely to happen. It was practically impossible. But what was more impossible to imagine was finding friends like them ever again.

Every night, I would roll the ring on the necklace they gave me between my thumb and finger, praying for God-knows-what. Seriously. He knows it all.

God, I prayed, I hope we reunite again. All three of us. Please.


As I waited for my flight, my mother handed me her phone, saying that it was oh God—

"Why didn't you tell me? Tatsuya had to! You told him, but why didn't you tell me?" Taiga was lighting his own fuse. I felt his emotions laid out very clearly. "Is that why you got homeschooled in the middle of sixth grade? Huh? You're just going to leave me? Tsu," his voice cracked, "why didn't you at least say goodbye?"

My throat felt constricted. I couldn't breathe. Gosh, why didn't I tell him? "I-I-I didn't know how—"

"Hell do you mean?" he demanded.

"I— Tai-kun, I'm so sorry, but I have to—"

"You can't just leave this conversation Tsu. You can't just leave us, you— you can't just leave me! Like this? Are you kidding me?"

"I-I'm sorry."

"Yeah. I'm sure you are." I could hear him pacing about, grunting and trying to contain his anger, which I couldn't say he was doing a good job at, because he started fuming again, "What about your English studies? Our hangouts with Alex? Ice cream? Tatsuya? Basketball?"

"Tai-ku—"

"I hate you."

He kept repeating that he hated me. Again and again. At some point, I was confusing his voice for my own thoughts. I could hear my mom asking if I was okay, but I couldn't process a response. I remember thinking, This is the worst day of my life, as tears finally stung my eyes. I thought they'd come sooner.

Then, I felt a strange wave inside me— it drowned out my surroundings, plunging me into this prickling numbness. There was only me and the cell phone in my hand, standing on vague ground, the air around me dimming. I had a moment to myself, a moment to think, and only a moment before my papa would ask me to hang up.

I opened my mouth, hesitating for a second.

"Tsu, I swear, if you're ignoring me or crying like a loser again, I'm gonna—"

"Tai-kun."

I made a promise to him, voice crumbling, and hung up.


Ver. 2022.10.13.