Fraternization

Reason #3 – When your friends fail you, your opponents won't.

"Oi, Mit-chan!"

A crumpled ball of paper hit and bounced off the side of his shoulder. Grinning at Hotta's approaching figure, Mitsui caught it as it rolled off and smoothened out the wrinkles in the thinning white ink-stained material. Red crosses were sprinkled liberally across lines of incorrect answers, culminating in a looming single-digit grade at the end of the test sheet.

"Four out of hundred? Yeesh, you've actually beaten Ryu's record with this one."

If Hotta cared anything about his academic failures, there wasn't a sign of it in the toothy grin he adorned for the show. Brawny, hulking Hotta, whose height had only been bested by Mitsui himself as well as Akagi in freshman year. Hotta, the tough guy who dropped the title as soon as he bawled his eyes out at Mitsui's return to the court, was little better than the hotheads on the team which was probably why he got on so well with the reformed shooting guard.

"Ah, whatever, Mit-chan. Just a stupid test. How did you do?"

"Sixty-two."

Mitsui might as well have been accepted into Todai, Japan's most prestigious university, given the heavy 'thunk!' of his friend's jaw hitting the ground. A year ago, it was considered a miracle for the former to show up for classes, much less take the required tests and actually pass them.

"Damn. You must've spent all night studying…"

"Don't remind me." The memories seeping into his mind from that particular study session still bothered him to no end. Even Ayako appeared to have forgotten about the whole incident, reverting back to the perfectly capable manageress and model student that everyone knew and lov –

Ahem. To rephrase that…

"So, Mit-chan, you goin' home now? Practice is over for the day, right?"

"Yeah." He'd completed his usual perfect three-pointers, performed his best fakes, defended his side so vehemently that Sakuragi had almost popped a vein in his perspiring forehead, and still, not a sign of acknowledgement from her. In the span of one day, he'd actually summoned enough pity for the other team manageress, Akagi's little sister. The one that bestowed sheep eyes on Rukawa much to a certain redhead's consternation. A petty issue for most, including him, but being ignored sat less well with him than it did for Haruko.

"So you wanna go out someplace? It's still early, we could score some snacks."

Mitsui wasn't hungry but he allowed himself to follow for a change, too spent from the day's activities to complain. Miyagi had talked to him about his current paltry diet earlier, hinting at the previous unreliability of his stamina. He'd nodded just to please the junior boy, all the while watching the object of Miyagi's affection laugh away at a secret joke shared with an acquaintance in the corner.

So it was over a steaming bowl of ramen that Hisashi Mitsui, has-been MVP and heartsick ex-delinquent, found himself pouring over the general unfairness of life. Hotta's appetite was both a thing to be reviled and admired, he thought as he watched his friend shovel thick strands of noodles into his mouth, the broth dripping down from the chopsticks onto his hands. His own bowl seemed to remain virtually untouched even as the minute hand on his watch hit the hour in a matter of seconds.

"You haven't touched your food, Mit-chan." Hotta stated the obvious, dabbing not too delicately at his chin with a napkin. "You'd better. Didn't you say that the game with Miuradai was on Friday?"

"I know."

It was her birthday on Friday as well. He knew because Miyagi had mentioned it. Forty-two times today, in fact.

"I know."

"You okay, Mit-chan? You seem pretty down lately. Is it the game? You nervous?"

Mitsui carefully angled his chopsticks and managed to get one slippery, sweet spicy strand down his throat. "Not quite…"

"Stress, then?"

"No… well… yeah. Kinda."

"But you've passed all your tests!"

"It's a different kind of stress."

"Your old man giving you shit again?"

"Nah." He'd never seen eye to eye with his father on most things and that had only served to widen the already lengthening gap between them both. "He wants me to start thinking about my future though. Beyond basketball."

"Like college?" Behind square wire-rimmed glasses, Hotta's myopic eyes widened when Mitsui nodded his head. "Damn. What're you thinking of doing?"

"That's the point. I haven't decided."

Another point he neglected to mention on purpose was the fact that he didn't do well with choices anyway. He'd once picked street fights and late-night acts of violence over basketball practice, and look at what that had got him. Lost time, lost chances, lost strengths and now a lost heart. With all the things he'd been losing over the past few years, he wondered how long it would be before his sanity was on the line.

"You know what you need?" Hotta spouted, his arm snaking around Mitsui's broad shoulders and ending in a hearty pat. "A game!"

"Gee, how clever, Hotta. Fight fire with fire, shall we?"

"No, no, remember that arcade we used to hang around? Shibaki street, where we met Tetsuo?"

"Oh yeah." He often wondered about the older man, whether he was still on the run or hopefully, even if the chances were exceedingly slim, if he had managed to carve out a decent life for himself away from the maze of gang-bangers and low-lives that were integrated into the murky backstreets of Kanagawa. Ever since the night they'd met outside the hospital, Mitsui hadn't heard from him since.

"Let's go play some games!"

And once more, he found himself at the tail-end of someone else's whim. It wouldn't have been what he'd chosen for himself but no doubt better than what could have been if he had.

On second thought, maybe he should've gone home.

"Wha - ?!" Hotta gaped, staring at the scene. "You won again?"

"Just because your character has a jaguar mask for a head doesn't make him the best."

While Hotta ranted on about cheap moves and unfair defense, Mitsui yawned and rubbed the stray secondhand cigarette smoke from his bleary eyes. Five wins in a row for him and his friend wasn't taking it as well as he thought he would. Hotta's knuckles shone white from the bone through the skin, pressing hard against the fiberglass board of the game machine. The guy just couldn't get it. The basic rule of all games, physical, virtual and make-believe, was to save your energy for the best moves and sweep in when the time was right.

"Rematch!"

"You're out of change." He noted just as Hotta dug into his wallet. Sure enough, his hand came out empty.

"Damn it! And I was this close to beating you as well…"

"Keep dreaming, man. I'm going home. See ya."

So much for releasing pent-in stress. In two days' time, he'd be facing Miuradai, a first for him… and Ayako's birthday.

As far as playing the waiting game, they both were doing fine without knowing who held the highest score. He was beginning to wonder if she'd been burned by an old flame in the past, or whether she had any new ones at the moment. Miyagi had better watch out. Pretty butterflies were bound to be scooped up into someone's net sooner or later.

An old girlfriend had dumped him because he'd 'thought too much'. With the state his mind was in nowadays, he wasn't surprised if his brooding had kept the best fish at bay.

It was late when he reached the station. A dusty old timepiece high on the wall above the counter read fifteen minutes past nine, leaving him with an hour and forty-five minutes until his curfew. Ridiculous as the notion sounded, he wasn't surprised when his parents had enforced one as soon as he'd returned from that fateful battle in the gym a couple of months ago. If anything, he'd always been careless, especially with trust.

Grateful that he'd been too tired for politeness and thus let Hotta foot the bill at the ramen joint, Mitsui paid for his ticket and boarded the tram, his eyes itching for sleep. Home still being a good thirty minutes away, he decided to catch a few winks on the ride itself. He sunk down onto a vacant seat and thanked luck that this compartment happened to be empty.

"Hey, Mitsui-san!"

Curses. Luck was turning out to be a worse bitch than time.

Reluctantly blinking away the drowsiness, Mitsui lifted his head, determined to send off this particular fan-boy with a well-placed scowl he'd learnt from Akagi. Try as he might thought, he couldn't place spiked hair on anyone he knew from school…

"Hellooo? Am I that forgettable?" The speaker continued, a jocular tone and an ill-concealed chuckle tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Oh… Sendoh."

Ryonan High's new captain and still ace player, Akira Sendoh seemed to possess the innate talent of appearing slightly intoxicated on life's little foibles. Case in point, the large splotch of mud on his shirt, goofy smile plastered into place, and a secretive twinkle in his eye. Mitsui vehemently hoped that mind-reading didn't happen to be on that list.

"Funny running into you here, Mitsui-san." The younger player mused out loud. "You're playing Miuradai in two days as well. Practice much?"

"I should ask the same of you. Aren't you up against Ryofuku?"

In the flickering glow of the street lights they passed, Sendoh looked almost confused. His forgetfulness didn't surprise Mitsui in the least, considering the many sightings he'd heard of the ace fishing at the nearby river, bustling about town with a pretty girl on his arm, or anywhere really, as long it was a reasonable distance away from Ryonan's cavernous gym and a fuming Coach Taoka.

"You know, the new team in the division?"

"Oh yeah, with the American guy. Okita, isn't it?"

"That's the one. Wouldn't underestimate him if I were you, Sendoh."

"Hmm." Sendoh, in turn, brushed off the warning with a casual wave. "I'll see to that myself."

Cocky bastard. It took a former pro to know one. Mitsui grimaced at the vision of his former self.

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

"I won't. By the way, how's Rukawa doing? Still as one-dimensional?"

"If he were any more one-dimensional, he'd be made of cardboard instead of ice. But then again, I could be confusing him with that cut-out his fan-club smothered with kisses on Valentine's Day. It wouldn't be the first time."

This drew a full-blown laugh from Sendoh, the recipient of Mitsui's blue-blooded team-mate's one-sided rivalry. "And Sakuragi? Has he attained legendary Tensai status yet?"

"They might as well make Kainan's Kiyota the Pope."

Satisfied that he'd at least maintained some semblance of the Mitsui everyone knew in front of the enemy, the shooting guard slumped back further into his seat. Maybe Sendoh would take a hint.

"Heh, I kinda know what it's like to be that way. So confident and sure of myself…"

Or not. The last thing Mitsui needed was more talk. Not to mention about qualities he was growing sorely deficient in.

"I used to be a lot like those guys when I was in junior high. Back in Tokyo, I practically breathed basketball. I knew the language better than Japanese, in fact."

Despite his drowsiness, Mitsui straightened immediately. "You're from Tokyo? As in the prefecture?"

"As in the city."

"Woah. Kanagawa must be really boring compared to that."

"Nah." Again with the thoughtless wave, Sendoh leaned back in his own seat across from Mitsui. "I actually quite like it here. Tokyo's pretty fun for the nightlife and sightseeing but Kanagawa's nice too."

The distant roar of a motorcycle did nothing to stem the carefree flow of nonchalance he wore like a cape, enveloping the spiky-haired player in an aura that Mitsui recognized with an agonized pang. Long gone were the days where he once adorned that mantle like a second skin. Maybe Sakuragi had had a point when they'd joked about his 'retirement'. Sendoh wore a white button-down shirt with jeans, stainless except for the brown splatter on the white material. Perfect poster-boy material, both he and Rukawa. A far cry from Mitsui himself, marred and scarred, a battered schooner washed up on the shore.

"What happened to your shirt, Sendoh?"

"Gee, you sound like Uozumi-sempai there."

"Late night tussle? Didn't think you were that type."

"Oh, this?" Sendoh plucked at the mark, unfazed. "I had to help my date sneak back in to her house. Slipped on some mud while giving her a leg-up to her window."

Mitsui raised an eyebrow. "Skipping practicing for girls again? Ryonan's going down for sure."

"A little fun never hurt anyone. When was the last time you went out with a girl?"

Much to his annoyance, Mitsui had trouble recalling the exact date of that particular day. Two years ago, maybe even three, since the chicks hanging around with Tetsuo, accompanying the halo of cigarette smoke encircling his head, didn't count.

Even worse, Sendoh nodded with a sage smile, his eyes closed to the fluster wrought on the other's features. "I thought so."

"So? So what? I work hard, I train hard. I don't have time."

"What's with the 'I, I, I' all of a sudden, Mitsui-san? Have you been forced to hang out with Rukawa lately?"

"No, I – "

"Are you gay?"

"NO!!" he spluttered, containing the urge to wipe that smile off of Sendoh's face with a fist. "I'm telling you, I don't have time."

"Or the girl."

Damn him. What was in those dratted lemons anyway?

Sendoh had won their pithy little battle of wits for now and the smile soon shifted to a grin. Saccharine, feline, and carefree, he cut an impressive silhouette against the evening sky encased in glass. They were passing the beach where the sand glowed like silver glitter strewn over a half-done canvas. Mitsui could almost taste the breeze, the salt in the water, the spiced meat in the okonomiyaki from the shops, the sweet sensation of the past summer on his tongue.

In the dark, lit only by effervescent synthetic light, he heard Sendoh murmur. "I like the calm here. When it's quiet and all you hear is the sound of waves. You don't get that in the city."

Speaking of waves, hadn't Ayako mentioned she liked swimming? Perhaps so, in a missing conversation he couldn't remember sharing with her. Just another part of her puzzle he'd just happened upon in the corner of his memory.

"Kanagawa isn't that bad at all, actually. There's always this charm about the things others call insignificant."

In two days, he would be facing Miuradai.

And Ayako. You couldn't hide a wish from a person on their special day.

He looked down at his hands and realized they were trembling.

Sendoh ambled along, unaware and unhinged. "I can't wait until it's winter. Inter-high playoffs and an excuse to wear my team jacket for a couple more months. I guess it's like that for everyone else on the team too. Or anyone in love with the game for that matter. What do you think, Mitsui-san?"

"'Love' is a very strong word."

"I know. Use it carefully."

Was that a wink?

He suddenly felt the mechanical whir of gears shifting beneath him as the tram fell to a halt. Sendoh stood up, yawning and stretching his arms.

"Well, here's my stop. Guess I'll see you sometime soon. Provided Shohoku still has the old magic?"

Mitsui didn't reply to the cheeky comment. The idea had just hit him. A stupid idea, a flawless idea, a desperate plea for help, a request for assistance, whatever way anyone else would have dubbed it. If he was going crazy, then he might as well go all out.

"Hey, Sendoh."

"Yeah?" The ace stopped at the exit, a mixture of expectancy and confusion on his face.

"Are you free tomorrow? After practice?"

"What for? A one-on-one?"

"… No."

He inhaled deeply before continuing.

"I need help."

Silence prevailed for a few seconds. Mitsui picked up from where he left, the heat squirming through his insides with every word.

"Shopping. For a friend. Who's a girl. Not a… would you stop laughing, Sendoh?!"