Episode 1

  Who’s That Girl?

  The gymnasium was electric. The hardwood floor trembled beneath the weight of pounding feet, the squeak of sneakers slicing through the chaos like battle cries. The championship game had become a war, and in the center of it all stood Riku Takahashi—unstoppable, relentless, a storm in human form.

  "Takahashi for three—"

  The buzzer rang as the net snapped perfectly into place. The scoreboard flickered: Seirin High – 78 | Kaisei Academy – 75.

  "HE’S ON FIRE!" Daiki Nakamura roared from the bench, nearly knocking over Haruto Ishikawa as they both jumped in excitement.

  “Oi, Riku! You trying to make us look bad?!” Daiki shouted with a wide grin.

  Riku barely acknowledged the praise, sweat dripping from his brow as he turned back on defense. His breathing was steady, but his eyes burned with determination. He had waited years for this moment. The championship. His dream—the one he’d worked his entire life for—was right here in his grasp.

  Two minutes left.

  Seirin had the lead, but Kaisei was ruthless. Their players were taller, stronger, and brutal on defense. Every pass had to be precise. Every step calculated.

  A turnover.

  "Shit!" Haruto hissed as Kaisei rushed down the court.

  Their captain, Renji Sakamoto, a towering forward with a cruel smirk, drove into the paint, shoving past defenders like a battering ram. He slammed the ball through the hoop with a dunk so violent it rattled the rim.

  The crowd erupted.

  78 – 77.

  One-point game. One minute, thirty seconds left. Riku wiped the sweat from his brow. His heart thundered in his chest. This was it. If they scored now, they could seal the game. He clenched his fists. "Give me the ball."

  The inbound pass came.

  Riku took off.

  His feet barely touched the ground as he bolted down the court, the ball glued to his fingertips. He weaved through defenders, crossing over one, spinning past another. The crowd roared, a blurred mass of voices lost in the sheer adrenaline of the moment.

  Then— an opening.

  A fast break.

  Haruto saw it too. "Riku, take it!" It was now or never.

  Riku exploded forward, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring. The basket was wide open. The defenders were too slow. "This is it!"

  His foot hit the paint. He leaped—

  —then came the hit.

  A sharp yank at his jersey.

  An arm, hooking around his waist.

  An illegal shove, mid-air.

  The world tilted.

  Riku’s breath caught in his throat. His body flipped unnaturally, weightless for a moment—before gravity yanked him down.

  SLAAM!

  His back met the court with an earth-shattering crack.

  His knee—

  The pain was instant. A white-hot explosion shot up his leg, igniting every nerve in his body. A deafening snap.

  Riku's vision blurred. His body twisted, hands gripping his knee, agony tearing through him like fire. The sound of the crowd vanished, replaced by the pulsing throb in his skull.

  He couldn’t move.

  Everything stopped.

  "Riku!"

  Footsteps.

  Daiki. Haruto. The coach. The referees.

  Gasps. Whispers. Screams. The gym was no longer a battleground—it was a nightmare.

  Riku clenched his teeth, trying to sit up, but—

  The pain. He couldn't even feel his leg. This isn’t happening.

  The Kaisei defender who’d fouled him—Shiro Tanaka—stepped back, hands up, feigning innocence. "It was an accident," he muttered, but Riku saw the smirk. He knew the truth.

  Daiki shoved forward, fury in his eyes. "YOU PIECE OF SHIT—"

  "Back up!" The referee’s whistle shrieked, and players scrambled.

  The gym spun around Riku.

  His chest heaved.

  His dream.

  His future.

  It was all slipping through his fingers.

  The last thing he saw before the world faded into darkness was the scoreboard:

  78 – 77.

  They were still winning, but for Riku Takahashi—basketball was over.

  ***

  The world was quiet. A stark contrast to the roaring gym, to the cheers and flashing lights of victory.

  Now, there was only silence—the soft beeping of machines, the distant murmur of voices, and the dull, sterile scent of antiseptic in the air.

  Riku Takahashi lay in the hospital bed, his body numb, his mind adrift as he stared at his reflection. His dark, ruffled hair fell into his eyes.

  White ceiling. White walls. A tube in his arm. His breath was slow, rhythmic, but heavy.

  And then—

  Pain.

  A deep, pulsing ache in his leg, a cruel reminder of what had happened.

  His knee.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. No. He didn’t want to remember. But the moment replayed in his head, again and again, like a broken highlight reel.

  The fast break.

  The shove.

  The snap.

  His hand instinctively reached for his leg, and the second he moved— agony.

  "Shit—!"

  His sudden groan stirred the figure sitting by his bed.

  "Riku?!"

  Daiki Nakamura’s voice rang through the room. He was hunched over in the chair beside him, eyes bloodshot, like he hadn’t slept in hours.

  Haruto Ishikawa was there too, leaning against the window with crossed arms. His face unreadable.

  Both of them were still in their school uniforms.

  Riku’s mouth felt dry. “W…Where…?”

  Daiki sat up. "The hospital, dumbass. You’ve been out for a day."

  A day.

  Riku blinked slowly. His fingers dug into the sheets. He turned his head slightly, staring at his leg—wrapped in thick bandages and a brace that stretched from his thigh to his ankle.

  His gut twisted.

  Noticing his stare, Haruto exhaled. "They, uh… said you’re lucky."

  "Lucky?"

  Riku’s hands clenched.

  Daiki hesitated. "You tore your ACL and MCL. Your knee’s completely screwed up, man…"

  The words landed like a punch to his gut.

  Riku’s throat tightened. "How bad…?"

  The room went silent.

  Haruto looked away.

  Daiki finally said it. "You won’t be able to play again."

  The words hung in the air, suffocating.

  Riku’s fingers curled into his sheets, his body trembling with rage—with denial.

  "No."

  No, that wasn’t possible.

  Basketball was his life. The thing he breathed, lived, bled for. He had trained harder than anyone. He had sacrificed everything.

  And now they were telling him it was gone?

  Forever?

  He shook his head, trying to sit up, but a sharp stab of pain shot through his leg.

  "Ahh—dammit!" He gritted his teeth, breathing heavy.

  Daiki and Haruto immediately rushed to stop him.

  "Riku, stop!"

  "You’re not supposed to move yet, dumbass!"

  Riku’s chest heaved. His fingers trembled. He wanted to scream. To hit something. To prove them wrong.

  But the pain—

  The weakness—

  He couldn’t even move.

  Haruto placed a hand on his shoulder, voice low. “The doctor said you’ll have to do physical therapy. Relearn how to walk properly. It’s gonna take… months.”

  Riku’s heart sank. Relearn. He had gone from being the MVP of the championship game to someone who had to learn to walk again.

  Daiki’s hands curled into fists. “This is all because of that bastard, Tanaka." His teeth clenched. "That was a dirty play and he knew it—”

  Riku cut him off. His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

  “Did we… win?”

  His friends blinked.

  Haruto let out a hollow chuckle. “Yeah. Barely.”

  “The buzzer went off right before the ref could call the foul. We won by one point,” Daiki muttered.

  Riku let out a slow breath.

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

  They won.

  But at what cost?

  He turned his head away, staring at the blank hospital ceiling.

  For years, he had chased a dream—fought for it, bled for it. And now, just like that—it was gone.

  Riku Takahashi’s basketball career was over.

  And he didn’t know who he was without it.

  Years Later…

  The ball left his fingertips with a smooth flick of the wrist, spinning gracefully through the air.

  Swish.

  The sound echoed through the empty gym, filling the silence that had become Riku Takahashi’s world.

  He bent down, grabbed the ball, and lined up another shot.

  Swish.

  Perfect.

  Again.

  Swish.

  It was muscle memory at this point. Shooting had always been effortless for him. Even now—months after the injury, months after he had been told he’d never play professionally—his form was still flawless.

  But it didn’t matter.

  Nothing did.

  Riku stood alone in the dimly lit high school gym, the same place where his team used to battle, sweat, and dream. The same place where they had trained every morning before the sun rose, where they had chased something greater.

  Now, it was just him.

  He sighed, wiping sweat off his forehead. His knee ached slightly—a dull reminder that he wasn’t the same as before.

  The scar from his surgery was still there, a thin line that ran across his knee like a cruel signature of fate.

  He lifted his sweatpants slightly, staring at it.

  His punishment for believing too much in a dream.

  He pulled his pant leg back down and grabbed the ball.

  One more shot.

  He lined up, exhaled, and—

  Swish.

  The net barely moved.

  A small, bitter smirk pulled at his lips.

  "I’ve still got it."

  Not that it mattered.

  He wasn't playing professionally. He had made that decision a long time ago.

  After months of painful rehab, physical therapy, and relearning how to walk, he had been offered opportunities—coaches telling him he could still train, still push, still find a way back.

  But Riku refused.

  No more teams. No more tournaments. No more dreams.

  The injury had taken something from him—something more than just his knee.

  It had stolen his belief.

  He spun the ball in his hands, staring at it for a long moment.

  He still loved basketball.

  But he couldn’t let himself hope again.

  Hope was what got him into this mess in the first place.

  A loud buzz from his phone snapped him out of his thoughts.

  He sighed and picked it up, glancing at the screen.

  Daiki: Dude, where are you? We’re meeting at the arcade in 10. Get your ass over here.

  Riku exhaled, tossing the ball one last time.

  Swish.

  Then he grabbed his bag and walked toward the exit.

  His life wasn’t bad.

  It was just… ordinary.

  Go to school. Hang out with friends. Go home. Repeat.

  It wasn’t the life he had wanted.

  But it was the life he had now.

  And he had convinced himself it was enough.

  Riku stepped out of the gym, the crisp evening air cooling the sweat on his skin. The faint hum of streetlights buzzed overhead, casting long shadows on the pavement as he made his way toward the train station.

  His phone vibrated again.

  Daiki: "Bro, if you’re late, I’m eating all the takoyaki myself."

  Riku scoffed, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

  Same routine.

  Arcade with Daiki and Haruto. Trash talk, mindless games, watching Daiki get way too competitive over claw machines. Maybe they’d grab food after. Then he’d go home, sleep, and do it all again tomorrow.

  That was his life now.

  A normal life.

  But normal felt like a prison.

  He adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder, his pace slowing as he passed by the school’s outdoor basketball court.

  A game was going on.

  A few younger students were playing a half-court match under the dim glow of the streetlights, their voices full of energy, passion.

  The sound of sneakers squeaking, the ball bouncing, the net swishing.

  It was like hearing a song he used to love but couldn’t listen to anymore.

  Riku stopped, gripping the chain-link fence as he watched.

  One of the kids—a first-year, maybe?—drove toward the hoop, going for a fast break layup. But his footwork was sloppy, his balance off.

  "Too much forward momentum."

  Riku didn’t even realize he was analyzing it. His eyes followed the movement instinctively. The ball clanked off the rim. The kid groaned, shaking his head.

  His teammate passed the ball back to him. “One more time.” He tried again.

  Missed.

  Again.

  Missed.

  Riku’s fingers twitched.

  He could see exactly what was wrong. Could see exactly how to fix it.

  "If he just adjusted his angle… if he timed his jump better…"

  He exhaled sharply, turning away.

  "Not my problem."

  He had promised himself he wouldn’t get involved. Basketball wasn’t his world anymore. Even if, deep down, he knew it was the only place he had ever truly belonged.

  By the time Riku reached the arcade, Daiki was already causing a scene. “Come on, you dumb piece of crap machine! I was right there—right there!!”

  Haruto sighed, rubbing his temples. “You’ve spent more money on that claw game than the prize is actually worth.”

  “It’s not about the money, it’s about honor, Haruto!” Daiki declared, jabbing his finger at the glass case, where a single takoyaki plush sat, mocking him.

  Riku snorted, sliding into the seat next to him. “You’re still losing to an inanimate object, huh?”

  Daiki turned, eyes lighting up. “Finally! The man of the hour!” He threw an arm around Riku’s shoulders dramatically. “We were about to send a search party.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Riku muttered, prying him off. “What’s the score?”

  Haruto gestured to the nearby fighting game machine, where the high score leaderboard had a new name at the top: Sana Fujimura.

  Daiki grumbled. “Some girl came in earlier and wiped the floor with me. Twice.”

  Riku raised a brow. “You lost to a girl?”

  Daiki scowled. “First of all, screw you. Second of all, she was insane. Fast reactions, perfect combos. It wasn’t even fair.”

  Haruto smirked. “You say that like you didn’t challenge her a second time.”

  “Hey, the rematch was closer!”

  Riku just shook his head, grabbing a handful of fries from Daiki’s tray.

  Just another normal night. Laughing. Joking. Acting like everything was fine. Even though, deep down, Riku knew—he was still lost.

  Daiki squinted at Riku, tapping his chin like he was studying a rare specimen.

  “So, Takahashi…” he started, leaning in with a mischievous grin. “Serious question.”

  Riku barely looked up from his drink. “No.”

  Haruto raised an eyebrow. “You don’t even know what he’s going to ask.”

  “I don’t need to.”

  Daiki scoffed. “You’re no fun, man.” He took a dramatic sip of his soda before slamming the cup down. “Anyway, as I was saying—” he turned back to Riku with dead seriousness—“who do you like?”

  Riku blinked. Then he sighed. “We’re really doing this?”

  “Yes, we’re doing this.”

  Haruto leaned back in his seat, a small smirk forming. “I have to admit, I’m curious too. You never talk about girls.”

  Riku shrugged, stabbing his straw into the ice in his cup. “Not much to talk about.”

  Daiki gasped, slamming the table. “Wait.” He turned to Haruto. “What if he’s secretly dating someone and just hasn’t told us?!”

  Haruto chuckled. “Doubt it.”

  “I mean, think about it! Riku’s all mysterious and brooding. Girls love that shit.” Daiki turned back to Riku. “Come on, be honest. You got a secret girlfriend?”

  Riku gave him the most deadpan look imaginable. “Daiki.”

  “Yes?”

  “Shut up.”

  Haruto snorted.

  Daiki groaned, throwing himself back against the seat. “Man, this is so lame! You’re in your prime, and you’re just wasting it!”

  Riku rolled his eyes. “Not everyone’s as desperate as you.”

  “This isn’t about me, Riku! This is about you being a tragic loner when you could be out there living!”

  “Let me guess,” Riku muttered. “You think I should be out ‘enjoying high school,’ ‘going on dates,’ ‘talking to girls more.’”

  “Yes, exactly!”

  “Pass.”

  Daiki groaned, running a hand down his face. “Dude, you’re hopeless.”

  Riku shrugged. “I just don’t see the point. I’ve got other things to focus on.”

  “Like what?” Haruto asked. “You quit basketball. You don’t join clubs. You just shoot around by yourself and go home. Are you secretly fighting crime at night or something?”

  Riku smirked. “If I was, you think I’d tell you?”

  Daiki snapped his fingers. “SEE?! That right there! The cool guy attitude. You could totally get a girlfriend if you tried.”

  “Again. Pass.”

  “Man…” Daiki shook his head, defeated. “I feel bad for you.”

  Riku exhaled, glancing toward the arcade entrance. His mind wandered back to the game he’d seen earlier. The younger students playing basketball, missing shots, trying again.

  They still had something to chase. He didn’t.

  Maybe Daiki was right. Maybe he was just drifting through life now, doing nothing.

  But what else was there?

  Haruto checked his phone. “We should probably head back soon. It’s getting late.”

  Riku stood up, stretching. “Yeah.”

  Daiki sighed dramatically, standing as well. “One of these days, Riku, you’re gonna fall hard for someone, and I’m gonna laugh so damn hard when it happens.”

  Riku smirked, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Not happening.”

  Little did he know—he was dead wrong.

  ***

  The last school bell rang, echoing through the hallways of Seirin High. Students poured out of classrooms, chatting about their plans, filling the corridors with the usual post-school energy. Riku Takahashi walked at his own unhurried pace, hands in his pockets, weaving through the crowd like a ghost. Another day over. Another routine walk home. Nothing new. Nothing different.

  Until—

  “Riku, my guy!”

  Before he could react, an arm slammed around his shoulders. “Did you see her?! Oh my god, did you see her?!” Riku sighed. Here we go.

  He barely turned his head as Daiki Nakamura practically vibrated with excitement beside him. “See who?”

  “The new girl! Dude.” Daiki clutched his chest like he had just witnessed heaven itself. “I think I just saw my future wife.”

  Haruto Ishikawa, walking just behind them, snorted. “You’ve said that about three different girls this semester.”

  “This time it’s different!” Daiki insisted, his grip tightening on Riku’s shoulder. “She’s got this whole mysterious aura, you know? Cool, but kind of cute? Like she could kill me but also maybe hold my hand??”

  Riku raised a brow. “You’re into that?”

  “I’m into love, Riku! Something you wouldn’t understand.”

  Riku rolled his eyes. “And you do?”

  “Of course.” Daiki puffed out his chest. “I’ve been in love plenty of times.”

  “Crushes aren’t love,” Haruto muttered, adjusting his bag strap.

  Daiki ignored him. “Anyway, enough about me. Let’s talk about you.”

  Riku frowned. “What about me?”

  Daiki grinned. “Have you ever been in love?”

  Riku paused. For a second, just a second, he actually thought about it.

  Had he? He had liked people before. He had noticed girls. But love? Nothing came to mind.

  “I don’t think so,” he admitted.

  Daiki gasped. “What?! Never?!”

  Haruto just chuckled. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

  “I just… don’t really get it,” Riku continued, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, what does it even feel like?”

  That stopped Daiki in his tracks.

  For once, he actually looked… serious.

  He let go of Riku’s shoulder and took a step back, thinking. Then—

  “You know that feeling when you hit the perfect shot?”

  Riku blinked.

  “The moment the ball leaves your hands, and you just know it’s going in,” Daiki continued. “Like, before it even touches the net, before the crowd cheers—you just feel it.”

  Riku stayed silent because he knew that feeling. It was pure. That split second where everything just made sense.

  Daiki pointed at him. “That. That’s love.”

  Riku frowned. “That’s basketball.”

  Daiki groaned. “Bro. Work with me here.”

  Haruto smirked. “Actually, that’s a decent comparison.”

  Daiki turned to him, wide-eyed. “See?! Even Haruto agrees!”

  Haruto shrugged. “Love is like knowing something is right, even before it happens. Like a certainty deep in your gut. When you’re with them, you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

  Daiki snapped his fingers. “Exactly!”

  Riku processed their words in silence. That feeling. That undeniable certainty. He had felt it before. Not for a person. But for basketball.

  He had never felt that way about someone.

  Riku sighed. “Sounds exhausting.”

  Daiki groaned so loud that students turned to stare. “Dude! You’re hopeless!”

  Haruto just smirked. “Give it time.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Riku muttered, shoving his hands back into his pockets. “Not happening.”

  Haruto glanced at Daiki. “What was it you said yesterday?”

  Daiki grinned. “Oh yeah—one day, you’re gonna fall hard, and when you do, I’m gonna laugh so damn hard.”

  Riku smirked. “Not happening.”

  The evening sky stretched above them, painted in soft hues of orange and purple. The city lights flickered to life one by one as the sun dipped beyond the skyline. Riku walked in silence, hands shoved into his pockets, half-listening to Daiki go on about his so-called future wife. Haruto chimed in every now and then, mostly to poke holes in Daiki’s exaggerated retelling of their brief encounter. Riku didn’t contribute much. His mind was elsewhere. The conversation faded into background noise as they passed by the outdoor basketball courts near the school.

  And that’s when he saw her. A girl.

  She stood alone at the free-throw line, dribbling the ball with focused intensity. She took a deep breath, adjusted her stance, and—

  Clank.

  The ball bounced off the rim. She sighed, jogging after it, determination burning in her stance. She set up again. Riku’s eyes narrowed. "Her wrist motion is off."

  Another shot.

  Clank.

  "She’s putting too much force on the release."

  Again.

  Clank.

  Riku exhaled through his nose. He wasn’t even trying to analyze her shot—it just… happened. His brain picked apart the mechanics, recognizing the problem before he could stop himself.

  The ball bounced off the rim one last time and rolled toward him. Riku instinctively stepped forward, stopping it with his foot.

  The girl turned, eyes widening slightly when she saw him. Up close, she looked familiar. Her black hair was tied up in a loose ponytail, a few strands sticking to her forehead from sweat. Her uniform blazer was off, leaving just a short-sleeved white shirt and her school skirt. Her brown eyes flickered between him and the ball at his feet.

  Riku bent down, grabbed the ball, and handed it back to her. "Here."

  She blinked, then took it. "Oh. Uh… thanks." Her voice was casual, light. Like she didn’t care too much.

  Riku nodded slightly and turned to leave. But he didn’t. Instead, he stopped just past the fence, arms crossed, watching her. Again, she squared up for another shot. Again, she missed.

  Riku exhaled sharply. "This is painful." He watched her go through the exact same motions, the same mistakes. Over and over. Her form was good—but not great. She had power, but she wasn’t controlling it. She was close. But she wasn’t there. And for some reason, that irritated him. Finally—

  "You’re flicking your wrist too hard."

  The girl froze. She turned, eyebrows raised. "Huh?"

  Riku took a few steps forward, pointing at her hands. "Your release. You’re snapping your wrist too much, so the ball's got too much backspin. That’s why it keeps bouncing out."

  She stared at him. For a second, he thought she was going to tell him to mind his own business. Instead—

  She spun the ball in her hands. "That so?"

  "Yeah," Riku said simply. "Here."

  He walked onto the court, standing next to her. "Hold the ball like this," he instructed, positioning his fingers lightly over the seams. "Wrist relaxed, elbow aligned with the rim. The power comes from your legs, not just your arms. Smooth motion—don’t force it."

  She followed his movements carefully.

  Riku stepped back. "Try now."

  She took a breath, adjusted her stance, and shot. The ball arced through the air—

  Swish. Nothing but net.

  The girl blinked.

  Riku just nodded. "See?"

  For the first time, she grinned. "Huh. You might actually know what you’re talking about."

  Riku smirked slightly, shoving his hands back in his pockets. "Obviously."

  She spun the ball once more.

  Then—

  "What’s your name?"

  Riku glanced at her. "Takahashi," he said. "Riku Takahashi."

  The girl held out a hand. "Sana Fujimura."

  And just like that—

  Everything changed. Sana Fujimura spun the ball in her hands, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Alright, Takahashi,” she said, tilting her head. “One-on-one.”

  Riku blinked. “What?”

  “You heard me.” She took a step back, dribbling the ball between her legs with ease. “First to five.”

  Riku exhaled sharply, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I don’t play anymore.”

  Sana raised an eyebrow. “You knew exactly what was wrong with my shot. And when you showed me how to fix it, it was like second nature.” She smirked. “You’re a player.”

  “Was.”

  Her smirk grew. “Guess we’ll see about that.”

  Riku narrowed his eyes. “Persistent, huh?”

  Sana shrugged. “Basketball’s my life.”

  For a moment, Riku saw a glimpse of himself in her words. The way she said it. Like nothing else mattered. He sighed. "You’re not gonna let this go, are you?"

  "Nope."

  "...Fine."

  Behind him, Daiki’s jaw dropped, almost to the ground. “Oh my god.”

  Haruto chuckled. “This is happening.”

  Daiki grabbed Haruto by the collar and shook him around. “This—this right here! This is love at first sight!”

  Haruto pried him off, amused. “More like interest at first sight.”

  Daiki dramatically wiped a fake tear. “Our boy’s growing up so fast.”

  Sana tossed the ball to Riku. “Your ball first.” He caught it effortlessly. “First to five, right?” She nodded, getting into position. Riku sighed. He wasn’t going to try hard. Just get it over with.

  He took one smooth dribble, feinted left—Sana flinched—then casually drove right and laid the ball in.

  1-0.

  He did it again.

  2-0.

  He drove then stepped back and shot a fadeaway from the midrange.

  3-0.

  Sana groaned. “Are you even trying?”

  “Nope.”

  “Rude.”

  She tried to stay in front of him, but Riku wasn’t struggling. It was effortless. His footwork was clean. His movement fluid. Even after all this time, his game hadn’t disappeared.

  4-0.

  “One more,” Riku muttered.

  He dribbled, ready to end it—

  —And missed.

  The ball bounced off the rim.

  Daiki gasped, clutching his chest. “He missed on purpose. HE DID IT FOR THE GIRL! HE’S A GENIUS!”

  Haruto smirked. “Nah. He’s distracted.”

  Sana grabbed the rebound, stepped back, and—

  Her entire demeanor changed. The second she dribbled, Riku’s eyes widened. Her movements were sharp. The ball was like an extension of her hand, moving in perfect rhythm. A low, smooth crossover—her eyes locked onto his, testing him.

  Riku blinked.

  "She’s… good."

  She pushed forward—quick, controlled. He slid his feet, cutting her off, but she spun away effortlessly.

  The crowd of younger players that had gathered to watch let out a cheer.

  Sana grinned. “You’re actually playing now, huh?”

  Riku exhaled, rolling his shoulders. Fine. If she wanted to see him play—

  He’d play.

  The next possession was faster. Riku moved instinctively, cutting off her drives. She adapted quickly, her dribble tight, her footwork clean. But she wasn’t used to his speed. The second she hesitated—he blocked her shot. The ball bounced off his fingertips, rolling toward the half-court line.

  Sana stumbled back, blinking.

  Riku smirked. "Not bad."

  Sana scoffed. "Not bad? You literally—"

  Before she finished, Riku was already moving. He picked up the ball and drove forward. Sana raced back, trying to cut him off—

  He took two steps—

  Jumped—

  Pain.

  A sharp, excruciating pain shot up his leg. His knee buckled. Everything tilted. His body twisted awkwardly mid-air. He crashed onto the pavement.

  “Riku!”

  The air rushed from his lungs. His hands immediately shot to his knee as his entire body tensed. Sana crouched beside him, concern flashing in her eyes. "Hey—hey, are you okay?"

  Riku clenched his teeth. Dammit. It had been so long since he had felt that pain. He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to sit up. His leg throbbed. He tested his weight—Nope. Not happening.

  Riku sighed.

  “...You win.”

  Sana frowned. “What?”

  He leaned back on his hands, shaking his head. “I can’t keep going. So you win.”

  Sana stared at him. For the first time—he saw pity in her eyes. And he hated it. But instead of commenting, she just smiled softly.

  “I don’t want to win like this. So, I’ll let you take this win. Next time though, I promise I’ll kick your butt!”

  Riku raised an eyebrow. “Next time?”

  Sana grinned. “Yeah. Next time” She winked and giggled, giving him a thumbs-up.

  And for some reason—

  Riku didn’t hate the idea.