A/N: I apologize for making you wait so long. I'll have chapter 17 up in the next few day and hopefully, I'll wrap the whole thing up in chapter 18. Thanks for still reading. Let me know what you think - Kazu
Midorima POV
In some ways it is the best game I've ever played; in others, it is the worst. Against Kagami and the rest of Team Japan, I am at the height of my skills. They employ an all out zone defense, giving each member of Team USA the respect they deserve, but our team doesn't return the favor.
The Shark is living up to his name and reputation. He's so aggressive that he makes Shōgo Haizaki look like a gentleman. As I go up for a block against Murasakibara, The Shark pushes me sideways and bodyslams my friend away.
We all fall in a tangle of limbs as the referee's whistle blares. "Offensive pushing on USA, number three." As he stands, The Shark barely misses stepping on my left hand. His disregard for his teammates is shocking. Murasakibara helps me to my feet. I thank him and head back to the center of the floor to regroup.
"Midorima had that block, Montgomery," Akashi tells The Shark, refusing to call any of them by their nicknames.
"It didn't look like it to me, I swear you guys are holding back against your friends."
"Holding back?" I ask, sure I've heard him wrong.
"Yes, you're holding back against your boyfriends,"Pretty Boy shouts right in my face. I feel Akashi standing right behind me so I don't step back, as I would normally.
"If you didn't hog the ball so much, he'd have outscored you by now," Akashi challenges.
"And you, short stuff, you're moving like an old man today. You're lucky I don't have you benched for all the worthless —" The Shark sneers.
"A Point Guard's job is to move the ball and make opportunities for you to score. I've done that, but your shooting percentage is two-tenths below your Olympic average, and an entire point below your season average," Akashi answers. "What's holding you back?"
The whistle blows again as Murasakibara takes the free throw line. The Shark pushes past me, knocking his shoulder hard against mine on the way to the paint.
"That was a lot of loud voices and hostility," Kagami says to me in Japanese as we push against each other, anticipating a possible rebound.
"My teammates are worse than Hanamiya, watch yourself," is all I can say as the ball misses the hoop and we fly at it. He jumps even higher than he did as a teenager, but I've not neglected a single moment of my training against men thirty centimeters taller than him. Somehow Akashi is in the middle and tips the ball toward me as he springs it loose from the confusion. I grab the ball and pass to Pretty Boy and he charges down the court, Imayoshi and Kagami on his heels. But they can't catch up and Pretty Boy slams it home and in the chaos surrounding the points, I realize I haven't seen Akashi in the last few moments. I turn and he's crouched on one knee, holding his right ankle, his eyes closed.
"Are you alright, Sei-chan?" Mibuchi asks, kneeling beside his former captain.
The referee calls for another timeout and the entire Japanese team comes to give help and comfort to Akashi as our trainer sprints out to us.
"How bad is it?" he asks.
"It's a twinge, nothing more. I'll be fine, just get me to my feet and I'll be fine," Akashi insists. "I just had the wind knocked out of me."
It's a bald-faced lie, and everyone around me knows it.
"What a sissy!" The Sausage proclaims for everyone to hear. "What's the word for 'sissy' in Japanese?" he sneers down at me.
I push my glasses up my nose as Mibuchi and Kagami lift Akashi to his feet. He stands and gives his thanks to everyone around him, brushing off the offer from our trainer to take a rest. "This game is just getting good," he says. "I can't leave now."
POV Akashi
During the final timeout, Akashi sat stiffly on the far end of the bench. In his head, he ran scenarios for the rest of the game, and each time came up with less and less positive things. He shook his head slowly as if knocking the bad images out of his ear. He sighed and started again, anticipating his former teammates and life-long friends.
"What are you thinking?" Midorima asked in Japanese, sitting beside him. The taller man wiped the sweat from his face with a bright yellow towel. It had been hard, unbelievably hard, to resist listening to Oha-Asa for the lucky item of the day, and he'd failed, breaking his word to himself. Luckily, the object in question hadn't been hard to procure and Kazu, thankfully, hadn't said a word about it.
"I find no course where we win," he acknowledged in the same language. "Even if you continue to hit every three-pointer in the rest of the game and I consistently direct the flow of the ball without blowback from the others… but that's the true fault of this team: they refuse to be led."
"A team full of 'Aces' is a catastrophe," the Shooting Guard said as he examined the fingernails of his left hand.
"The egos… they are intolerable."
"It reminds me of the game we played against Jabberwocky. Do you have a plan?" Midorima asked as he pushed his glasses up his nose.
"Forget Jabberwocky, they are us our first year of high school. I think we should be prepared to lose –"
"What are you two queers going on about?" The Shark asked, from where he sat chugging Gatorade from a water bottle. "Speak American, dammit."
"My apologies," Akashi said calmly, ignoring the taunt. "Shintarō and I slide back into our first language without even considering how rude it is to the people around us."
Midorima nodded, never looking away from his fingernails.
"What should our game plan be in these last five minutes?" the coach asked. Every eye turned toward him. "Shintarō, Seijūrō, what are your insights? You've played with or against everyone we're fighting today."
"That's half the problem," Floyd accused, pointing at them. "They aren't playing half as hard –"
"Say that again," Akashi stood, golden eye flashing. Midorima put his hand on his shoulder, but with a shrug, Akashi rejected the warning.
"Everyone calm down," the coach said, raising his voice above the din of sudden conversation. "Shintaro hasn't missed a single three-pointer all game. He's already scored twenty-one points in the second half – on par with his season average – and Seijūrō has had his hand on ninety percent of every shot you all have taken today, as well as twelve points of his own. There's no need for finger pointing, but not everyone has contributed in a big way today."
The angry murmurs grew louder among the team of aces as they eyed each other sidelong. Everything got quiet for a beat and then Montgomery flew off the bench, fists flying as he crashed into Bianchi. The others cleared a path for the furious coach, but Montgomery came away with a bloodied lip before he could get between them.
"Get your shit together, you're not here to fight each other, but those damn… players," the coach said and no one doubted that whatever he was originally going to say would have insulted Akashi and Midorima.
"I propose you take Shintaro and me out for the next three minutes and see if the others perform better without us holding them back," Akashi offered. "That way you'll know if we are truly at fault."
"Seijūrō…" Midorima stuttered over the name, pushed his glasses up, and swallowed loudly. "If that's what you think, but I'll defer to the coach."
"We'll try it your way, Seijūrō, we'll start off the next play without you, but I'm not sure we'll want to keep you out for the entire three minutes. You'll keep warm and be ready to go if I want you in."
"Of course," he agreed, pulling his team USA warm-up suit on over his uniform.
"Are you sure about this?" Midorima asked in Japanese. "We're already behind and things will just get worse without us there to fight against them?"
"Fuck, they're at it again," Montgomery complained through his bloody lips. "It's like they're conspiring against us. You can't trust 'um."
"Come over here and say that again," Akashi goaded. He moved forward as the enraged man charged him. Akashi, anticipating the movement, stepped inside his trajectory. Montgomery went down hard, falling to Akashi's famous ankle break as countless foes before him. Standing above him, Akashi gazed down with a hint of a smile playing on his lips, his eyes wide and gloating. "Don't you dare look down on me again. Once you've played Japan on your own, you'll come back and grovel for our help."
Akashi turned his back on the fallen teammate, zipped up his jacket, and looked back over his shoulder. "Shintarō, let us take our place on the bench."