Chapter Text
Kuroko walked through the foreign corridors, soundless and unnoticed. Dressed casually and heading for the gym, he wasn’t exactly out of place, as it was not a school day. He faltered only for a second, listening to the sounds of practice... only to notice that it was oddly quiet. He could hear the rhythmic bounce of a ball against wood and there was the sound of a ball bouncing on the rim... but otherwise, it was almost too quiet.
He slipped into the gym, looking for his friends. His eyes roamed the place to see Aomine dunking a ball strong enough to make the hinges of the basket creak and groan as he landed in an elegant crouch, a moment later ready to leap into the game yet again.
‘Not good... another basket like that... and... that will break,’ he thought.
Tōō’s starters and their coach were on the sidelines, even the man staring at the Power Forward with a mix of disbelief and fascinated horror. Momoi was standing on the man’s right, clutching her clipboard, watching with a mix of disapproval and worry.
Aomine moved again. Three people marked him, but he dodged them easily and dunked yet again. The basket creaked as his Light landed.
Kuroko frowned slightly as he approached. “Moderate the strength of those dunks, Daiki, or after the next one you won’t have a basket to practice with,” he called in a monotone voice.
As he called out, several eyes turned to him. Tōō’s Vice-captain and Shooting Guard shrieked in surprise, while the coach and their Point Guard went wide-eyed at seeing him. Momoi squealed, looking at him with a bright smile. “Tetsu!” she bounced over to give him a brief hug, which he carefully returned.
Aomine looked up as well and his dark eyes immediately glinted with joy upon seeing the Phantom. “Tetsu! Nice to see you. What are you doing here?”
Kuroko offered the bag, which held the bento, glancing at the manager. “Satsuki told me you were too busy to even eat,” he called in a deadpan tone, eyes slightly narrowing on the ace.
Aomine grimaced. “Well... our next game is against Rakuzan...” he growled.
Kuroko nodded. “I understand that, Daiki, but overdoing it won’t help. Sit and eat.”
“I’m...”
“Sit and eat, Daiki. Satsuki as well,” the passing specialist insisted. The two ex-Teikō shared a glance and Aomine snatched the offered bag without a word, darting towards the bench. Momoi hummed happily and skipped to sit next to the ace.
Aomnie gave one bento to Momoi without a word and grabbed the second one for himself. Momoi sat on the floor as Aomine shifted, putting his feet on the bench as he ate. Kuroko noticed what his Light was doing and sat down the same way, so the two of them were back to back. So close to the other, he could feel his erratic heartbeat.
“Breathe, Daiki. And chew before you choke,” he muttered.
Aomine hummed, swallowing a bite. “This is wonderful. Still love your cooking.”
Kuroko hummed. “I know. Now finish it calmly. Not like a pack of wolves is chasing you.”
Wakamatsu growled, eyes narrowing on the teal-haired male. (The others were still caught up on on the fact, that a Seirin player sauntered into their gym unhindered and had gotten their seemingly possessed ace to calm down. With food too...)
“What are you...” he pointed at the Phantom, “doing here? Seirin already lost the Interhigh long ago... besides, this is practice for Tōō.”
Aomnie snarled, pointing his chopsticks threateningly at the blonde. “Watch it, Wakamatsu. No one talks to my brother like that!”
Tōō froze for a second, and suddenly all eyes were glued onto the Phantom, studying him. No one missed the similar hair and eyes. “Are... you really brothers?” the coach asked, caught between scepticism and actually believing the ace.
Kuroko’s eyes flashed with amusement as he looked at the man. “Not really. But if I had siblings, those would certainly be Daiki and Satsuki.”
Momoi giggled. “Why thank you, Tetsu.”
Aomine hummed, gently pressing more into the teal’s back, as his eyes lazily darted to the coach. “We don’t have the same blood... but that doesn’t make us any less brothers.”
For a moment, there was silence and then several eyes went wide, when Tōō understood just what their ace was implying. (When that realisation stuck, Imayoshi raised an eyebrow at the Seirin player... and he wondered why had Aomine played so brutally during Interhigh. If this near-invisible starter of theirs was so close to him... Miracles... made little sense.)
“Congratulations on winning against Kise-kun, by the way.”
Aomine hummed. “Thanks... though it was not that hard. He didn’t even acknowledge his team... besides, he could never copy you or me. We’ve known that from the start.”
Kuroko hummed. “Indeed. But... You know, winning like that and even using my moves...”
“And your line! He downright quoted you,” Momoi giggled. “Ki-chan looked like Dai punched him in the gut.”
The shorter teen shifted slightly, to steal a glance at his partner. “What did you say?”
“I asked him the same question you asked me back then. What it means to win.” Aomine grinned slightly. “His face was almost ridiculous.”
Kuroko hummed again. “I see... So you used not only my passes... you are also stealing my spotlight? All that talk...”
Tōō and Aomine all looked confused about that, however, for different reasons. Aomine tried imagining his invisible partner in a circle of spotlight and shook his head, looking scandalised.
“What spotlight Tetsu? You never had the spotlight! That was the rest of us. You’re a Shadow... and Shadows are shadows for a reason.”
Kuroko’s eyes narrowed slightly, his lips curling downwards into such a tiny pout that only Aomine and Momoi noticed. “You. Were. Stealing. My. Spotlight.”
“You’re a Phantom! You’re never in the spotlight and that’s the damn point!” Aomine huffed, flailing. “Therefore, I stole nothing.”
The two partners kept throwing half-hearted jabs at each other, ignoring everyone else. Momoi watched them in amusement, giggling, long used to their antics and more than familiar with the metaphors to find the conversation amusing.
However, not everyone had the manager’s foreknowledge regarding Teikō-style figure speech. Tōō exchanged looks, completely lost. The coach raised an eyebrow at the younger generation.
“Maybe one of you would be so kind as to translate this new... shadows-and-lights teen slang?”
Imayoshi rubbed his forehead. Wakamatsu and Sakurai just stared, confused. Susa gave a long-suffering sigh, shrugging at the man. “We understand as much as you, kantoku.”
Meanwhile Aomine was still sort of glaring at Kuroko who deadpanned at him and then gently nudged the ace in the side after a long moment of silence. “Keep your breathing in sync with mine. Relax.”
“Easier said than done,” Aomine muttered, as he grabbed the last piece of food, before closing the box. “Thanks for the food.”
Kuroko hummed. “Think nothing of it... now, what’s this mindless rampage here, Daiki?”
“It’s Akashi...” the ace growled, shifting away from Kuroko, eyes narrowed. “And they don’t know a thing about how he plays! I will not let that megalomaniac monster win!”
Kuroko put his feet on the floor too. “Language, Daiki. It’s still Akashi-kun you’re talking about. But... I know it bothers you. That’s why I’ve come. How about you go through our old ball handling exercises while your body realises it finally has food?”
“Tetsu—”
“Now, please,” the Shadow called. For Tōō, his voice was as calm as before, but both Momoi and Aomine caught the subtle, dangerous lilt.
Aomine huffed and stood up, jogging to grab a ball. Tōō stared in disbelief — Wakamatsu even had his mouth open.
Imayoshi readjusted his glasses, studying the Phantom player. “I’ve never seen Aomine listen to anyone that way.”
Kuroko tilted his head at the older student and then shrugged. “I earned it.”
“Earned it?” the coach muttered thoughtfully, glancing at Aomine, then back at him.
Kuroko shrugged. “Teikō,” he said simply, as if it would answer all questions. For those who had been part of the infamous Basketball Club, it did answer the questions… but not for ‘outsiders’ like Tōō, it only multiplied the already mountain-size load of questions.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Wakamatsu grunted. “Seirin has been knocked out of the game... besides, what Aomine has done...”
“What happens on the court,” Kuroko cut him off, tone sharp, “stays on the court, if circumstances are favourable. Besides, Wakamatsu-san, you should not be concerned about what’s between Daiki and myself. And to answer your question, I’m here to help.”
“Here to help...” Susa repeated with slight disbelief, as he looked at the Seirin student.
“Why would you ‘help’ us?” Wakamatsu asked mockingly, using air quotes.
“Oi, watch how you talk to Tetsu, Wakamatsu or I’ll use your head for practice instead of a ball,” Aomine growled, briefly glancing from his ball to the blonde.
“Because...” Kuroko glanced at the blonde. “I’m invested in seeing you suceed. Not exactly ideal... but the Kiseki no Sedai did not split up on good terms. And you, our new teams, happen to be caught in the crossfire.”
“In... the crossfire,” Imayoshi muttered.
Kuroko hummed. “Call it a... slight difference in ideals, or a moral war, if you like. And only Satsuki, Daiki, and I are on the same side.”
Tōō stared.
“And the rest of them?” Harasawa asked, slightly curious, but mostly just to humour the teen. (Seriously, he did not understand teen drama. Besides... How could teen prodigies make drama out of basketball ? Later, he would wish he never asked that question, even mentally .)
“They’re all on their own sides,” Momoi said coolly, offering her clipboard to the Seirin player. Kuroko glanced down at it and then hummed.
“Did you tell them already?”
“Tell us what?” asked Imayoshi.
Kuroko walked towards the court as he looked back at the Point Guard. “Akashi-kun likes shōgi. He has the tendency to approach basketball games as shōgi matches. He’d gone so far at one point, to liken each of us to a certain piece. Are there any of you who frequently play?”
Tōō blinked again, and Imayoshi hummed. “I do.”
Kuroko nodded. “Then... grab a board, would you, Imayoshi-san? I’ll show you the two strategies Akashi-kun favours most. I can help you, but a single game against you does not mean I know how you or the rest of your team plays. I didn’t have the luck of seeing Daiki work with you till our Interhigh matchup.”
“Why are we even listening to him?” Wakamatsu asked again.
“Because, you idiot,” Aomine growled, “Akashi is a strategist. And I honestly don’t know how his mind clicks. Akashi knows how I play and knows how Satsuki works, so the info she has on Rakuzan is probably rigged — something Akashi let her have.”
“If there is anyone who knows how Akashi-kun’s mind might work... that’s Tetsu,” Momoi pointed out. “He and Midorin spent most of their time around him. But Midorin could never beat Akashi-kun in shōgi. Tetsu had surprised him before.”
Tōō shared a few looks and then looked at the Phantom. Imayoshi shared another look with the coach, and the man nodded. The Captain hummed with a smile. “Care for a game, Kuroko-kun?”
The Shadow chuckled. “I’m afraid we wouldn’t have the time for that... but I’ll show you what you’ll need, Imayoshi-san. Now, Daiki, pass that ball, please.”
Aomine passed the ball, and Kuroko caught it, dribbling calmly. Aomine cracked his knuckles and approached the Phantom. “Okay, Tetsu... how do we do this?”
“I can’t pull it off perfectly... but you know what matters.”
“Yea, the point would be to not kiss the court floor,” the ace deadpanned.
Kuroko’s eyes glinted in amusement. “That’s one way to say it, Daiki. Come... take the ball...”
The ace’s eyes glinted sharply, as he tried to do just as Kuroko bid him... only for the shorter player to use a quick dribbling sequence Tōō hadn’t seen before, making their agile, sure-footed ace stumble. (Not a sight they had ever thought to see.)
Aomine cursed, just barely catching himself from falling — if this was Akashi, he would have been on the court floor already, with the redhead passing by fast enough for him to fail at stopping him — and whirled on his heels to reach behind the Seirin player’s back to steal. Kuroko switched the ball to his other hand and turned to face the ace.
“Slow... but... we can try again. And I thought you’d be smarter than to try using my trick against me, Daiki.”
The Power Forward shrugged. “Gotta practice that too...”
Kuroko smiled with a hum. “Indeed... and you have a big advantage over Akashi-kun.”
Aomine raised an eyebrow. “Which is?”
“He expects you to play as you’d played for most of our time in Teikō. But... you hadn’t played like that for a long while.”
A slow smirk stretched across the ace’s face. “Akashi doesn’t know what you can do. And he doesn’t know just how much of your style I’ve picked up. He may have seen my willingness to team play, but nothing else.”
Kuroko hummed. “Yes. And...” he glanced at Tōō fondly, “They’re as much team players as they are individualists. If you have a solid strategy... you can mix the two well enough to surprise Akashi-kun.”
Aomine’s smirk widened. “Come on Tetsu... pretty sure that you’ve already come up with something. Between Satsuki, you and Imayoshi planning... we might just have the game.”
Kuroko hummed. “That’s my intention, Daiki. Seeing Tōō as the Interhigh Champion.”
The Power Forward took a loose defensive stance. “So... how was that imperfect Ankle Break...?”
Caught up in strategizing and watching Aomine train twice as hard as they had ever seen, no one on Tōō asked what would happen if Seirin and Tōō came to face each other on the court during the Winter Cup.
They didn’t need to ask, because they were pretty confident in the answers of the two present Miracles. (Because, Phantom or not… anyone who kept up with Aomine on the court, as the teal had — and anyone whose instructions Aomine followed without protests, — was a Miracle, in the eyes of Tōō Gakuen.)
The answer was written on their faces, as they trained determinedly together, while subtle joyful sheen shone from their blue eyes.
Interhigh, Final round
Momoi made her way through the corridors with some Pocari in hand. Good thing she could buy there here. How had Dai forgotten to bring it?
Her phone chimed, and the pink-haired manager grabbed it from her pocket. She opened her messages.
ᴛᴇᴛꜱᴜ/ 12:35 ꜱᴏʀʀʏ ꜰᴏʀ ɴᴏᴛ ɢᴏɪɴɢ. ᴄᴀɴ’ᴛ ꜱᴋɪᴘ ᴛʀᴀɪɴɪɴɢ. ᴘᴀꜱꜱ ᴍʏ ᴡᴇʟʟ-ᴡɪꜱʜᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴇᴀᴍ. ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴅᴀɪ ᴛᴏ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴏʟ ʜᴇᴀᴅ. ɪꜰ ʜᴇ ᴍᴀɴᴀɢᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɢᴇᴛ ᴡᴏʀᴋᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ ᴀꜱ ᴜꜱᴜᴀʟ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ᴍʏꜱᴛɪꜰʏ ᴀᴋᴀꜱʜɪ-ᴋᴜɴ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ
She smiled at the message and quickly sent an answer, before closing her screen and starting to walk again.
“Hello. Long time no see, Satsuki,” a measured voice called. Momoi froze, turning towards the other corridor from where the redhead was approaching.
Heterochromia eyes glinted sharply, and the manager felt wariness settle in her gut. She... had tried to keep her distance from Akashi after the Nationals, no matter how much the days of their Teikō career had been numbered. After all, that had been the very last match...
“Hello, Akashi-kun,” she greeted, trying to sound calm. It was harder than she thought it would be. Sometimes, just sometimes, she felt this same aura from her ‘brothers’. But they tried to keep it in check around her. Akashi was not even attempting to tone it down at all.
She still remembered what Tetsu had told her about this. If she backed away, the effect will just be worse. “What brings you here? Shouldn’t you be with your team as their captain?”
“And I will head back soon enough. I merely stopped by to ask after Daiki. To make sure he hadn’t forgotten our Oath.”
‘How could that be forgotten?’ she thought darkly. She hummed. “Of course, he hadn’t forgotten Akashi-kun. But you know how he is.”
Mismatched eyes gleamed sinisterly as the redhead raised an eyebrow. “Hadn’t he? To me, it seems... he’s very much behind in our game.”
Dread filled every fibre of Momoi’s body. Akashi couldn’t know. He just couldn’t...
She tried to appear nonchalant as she shrugged. “Hard to play when I can barely get him to attend the matches.”
Akashi leaned closer, eyes narrowing. Momoi stiffened. The redhead’s overwhelming aura made her want to whine and run. “Now, now... Satsuki. One would think, at least you know better than to lie.” Her eyes blew wide at that, as the redhead drew back to put a respectable distance between them again.
“I...”
“He better play... and play as he is supposed to, or will he force my hand for there to be a repeat of the Nationals? Or maybe... it would convince him to properly take part in our games, if you were to transfer out of Tōō?”
Her mouth parted slightly in horror as the implications sunk in. Akashi didn’t wait for her to answer. He merely turned on his heels and disappeared into the corridor from where he came. For a long moment, Momoi stood there, terror numbing her body, staring at the spot where the redhead stood.
Then, when she finally snapped out of it, she whirled on her heels and bolted for Tōō’s locker room. She had to... she had to warn Dai. She wouldn’t let anything happen. Not again.
When she reached the right spot, she wretched the door open, stumbled in and with the same momentum, slammed it behind herself, leaning against it. She panted, trying to control her hammering heart, head leaned against the door, eyes closed. It was unlikely that the boys were not ready... but Dai had always made a fuss about her randomly entering when they were changing.
Tōō all turned to look at their manager. Momoi was a cheerful girl, but collected... and she ran. Wretched the door open and they could see the tension in her stance.
“Momoi-chan, is everything alright?” Imayoshi asked, slightly concerned.
The manager gulped and opened her eyes, looking straight at the team’s ace. Aomine immediately tensed, recognising the fear radiating off of his childhood friend. He stood up and approached slowly. “Tsuki?”
“I...” she bit her lip. “I met Akashi-kun.”
Several eyebrows were raised as there was not a person in the locker room who hadn’t recognised the name. The infamous ex-Captain of the Kiseki no Sedai.
Aomine tensed and then took another step closer to the girl. Momoi threw herself at the Power Forward and for once, Aomine didn’t resist at all. He hugged her. Though the team could see that with every passing second, their ace was growing more and more tense.
“What did he do?”
Momoi shook her head. For a moment, she remained where she was before pulling away. She took a step away from Aomine. “Nothing.”
Aomine’s eyes narrowed into pinpricks. “That’s Akashi. He doesn’t do things randomly. Satsuki, for the kami’s sake... what did he do?”
She shook her head. “We just... talked.”
“There’s a ‘but’ in that sentence somewhere...” Aomine growled, eyes still narrowed. Momoi relaxed a margin after hearing her childhood friend quote the Phantom. It was always amusing to hear the Light-Shadow duo quote one another without batting an eye.
She looked him in the eyes. “He noticed you don’t play. Said... if you don’t... then there will be a repeat of that Nationals. Or that I might...”
There was a moment of deathly silence and Tōō watched the ex-Teikō duo with a mix of concern and confusion. The dark, oppressive aura of anger that rapidly appeared around the Power Forward didn’t escape anyone’s attention. Some of the bench players even backed farther away from the Miracle.
“Aomine?” the coach called, hoping to snap the ace back to reality, to prevent an outburst.
“Fucking bastard!” the ace snarled, slamming his fist into the wall next to Momoi. To her credit, the manager didn’t even bat an eye at the action. Sakurai squawked, and the others watched tensely. They could see the anger and bloodlust radiating from the dark-skinned teen.
“I’m... fine. Well... physically,” murmured Momoi, trying to placate her friend.
Aomine whirled on his heels, away from her, stormy eyes roaming the locker room. Even if it was obvious the ace’s ire was not directed at them, Tōō watched warily. “First, he fucks with Tetsu. Now he is threatening you...” his hands balled into fists. “Fine...” he snarled, “If Akashi wants me to play... he’ll get it. No one messes with the people I care about, especially not him.”
He started pacing like a caged animal, growling, hands balled into fists.
“Daiki...” Momoi called softly. “Calm down,” her breath hitched as she shuffled to sit next to Sakurai. “You... know he did this to anger you. If you march out there onto the court like this, if you let the anger get the better of you, then he has already won this match. You’ll play right into his hands.”
Dark blue met magenta and Aomine stopped for a second.
Momoi nodded approvingly. “Take a breath and think like Tetsu. If we want to get somewhere... today, you will have to think like Tetsu. If you go out there snarling, you will do exactly what he expects. Remember, he doesn’t know you anymore. Don’t let him know you.”
Aomine closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
For a long while, the dark-haired player was frozen, obviously trying to get a grip on his rampaging emotions. No one dared to move... because it seemed their manager, like so often, knew exactly how to handle the hot-headed Miracle. (She was a godsend, with her analytics and skill to handle Aomine, and no one disputed that. She was a full-fledged member of Tōō, just like the boys.) If it meant that Aomine would not lose his head in the middle of the match, they could do with a few minutes less for warming up.
Then, Aomine visibly relaxed and when he looked up again, his face was unreadable, eyes half-lidded with disinterest, but behind that false veil of apathy, there was nothing. Not a single emotion was visible. (Or at least, the team could read nothing from him.) “Don’t we have a game?”
Tōō stared, their eyes blowing wide, barely wanting to believe what they were seeing. They had never seen Aomine like this before… and having witnessed the level of blankness present on the Seirin player’s face, none of them thought anyone could emulate it, even halfway. And here was Aomine, of all people, pulling off that almost-eerily blank expression perfectly, when a few minutes ago his glare was sharp enough to kill.
Out of them all, though, Imayoshi got the biggest shock. ‘When Kuroko-kun told me he and Aomine can be very much alike, when they want to be, I didn’t want to believe it. And I didn’t think he meant this... But... Now, his expression is exactly as unreadable. Even his tone...’
The team shared a few glances; the coach being the most wary, as he stood up, looking at his watch. “Let’s go then,” he called, side-eyeing the ace, who had been howling bloody murder minutes before.
But Aomine didn’t move, his stance and face as indecipherable as it had never been before. Imayoshi stepped out first, then Wakamatsu and only after them did Aomine leave, gently herding Momoi out as well, who didn’t seem disturbed by the sudden shift in the ace’s behaviour.
In that moment, Tōō saw for the first time just how true Kuroko’s words had been — the way the teal had acted like Aomine during their Interhigh game... the same way was now Aomine acting like Kuroko. And it was as fascinating as it was frightening. After all, two people who were so different... could perfectly act like the other.
What led to the two of them developing such ...‘skills’?
Imayoshi eyed the two Miracles. Aomine was still as blank-faced and controlled as he had been since they walked out of their locker room, a subtle but never ending wave of bloodlust radiating from him, all directed at the Rakuzan captain. But, even as his behaviour was so drastically different from normal, his style of play didn’t change. He was still as frighteningly efficient and fast as they knew him to be and... for now, the team-oriented play he had shown during the Kaijō match was nowhere to be seen. But it was only the end of the First Quarter.
The Point Guard perked up when he heard soft, rhythmic tapping. His gaze slid to their manager, who blinked at Aomine. Aomine tapped his fingers against his bottle differently before he sealed it shut. Momoi frowned, but nodded.
Aomine stood up and walked back onto the court. “What was that, Momoi-chan?” he asked.
The girl smiled at him. “He’s ready whenever you are. Time to change tactics.”
“When did he even say that?” Wakamatsu asked.
Momoi smiled sweetly. “Just before he stood up.”
Imayoshi’s jaws went slack. She couldn’t be serious, could she? All that tapping... had meaning? The Point Guard rubbed his face. ‘I... should get paid for dealing with Aomine’s weirdness all the time. And Momoi-chan even encourages him.’
As Imayoshi followed his ace, he noticed Akashi’s eyes narrow on Aomine. Oh, so the redhead noted the different behaviour. As interested as he was to see the two ex-teammates interact, something dreadful settled in his gut, too. Momoi had been freaked out — and Akashi had freaked her out.
And now... even Aomine was acting strangely. When... has basketball become so complicated?
With the final buzzer, Aomine felt his carefully made mask of calmness slip. He looked at the scoreboard and his hands slowly balled into fists. It hadn’t worked.
Akashi had been caught off-guard by his uncharacteristic behaviour. And it certainly irked him that Aomine had not been floored by his Ankle Breaks. (When he had seen the disbelief and incomprehension on Rakuzan’s faces at Akashi’s very first partially successful Ankle Break against him, Aomine almost broke down laughing mid-game. Almost.) Still, he had been slowed down and that had been enough.
Akashi had still won, even with them surprising him with being prepared for this match in more ways than one. Aomine’s fingers wound tightly around his bottle as he swallowed the last of his drink.
Rakuzan were the Interhigh Champions. Damn it.
He dropped his bottle into the bag.
As he looked up, he caught Akashi’s gaze and, just by locking eyes with the redhead; he felt the pressure of his presence. Even now, that the game was over... The bi-coloured eyes pointedly cut to the entrance, and then the Point Guard looked at him. Aomine almost rolled his eyes and scoffed to decline. He could not handle any more of the redhead today — he wanted to see Tetsu and talk to him. Both he and Tsuki needed the calming knowledge that the Phantom was nearby and all three of them were safe.
But they also had some things to settle. He nodded in agreement and grabbed his bag instead. The team slowly shuffled down from the court and headed out. He faltered and Imayoshi looked at him. “Something’s the matter, Aomine?”
Aomine hummed. “No. Just got some things to settle. Go along. I’ll be there by the time we have to leave.”
Tōō shared looks and Aomine turned on his heels, gently patting Momoi’s shoulder. “Is it perhaps... Akashi-kun?” Imayoshi asked, tone deceptively sweet and calm.
Aomine froze, and then his eyes narrowed on the captain. “None of your business.”
The older player’s glasses glinted sharply. “So it is him.”
Aomine scowled. “None of your business, what I do outside the school and the court. But, just to calm your mind, I won’t break his nose, which means you’ll have no reasons to make me sit out any games, nor will the team get a warning.”
Momoi grabbed him, and Aomine sighed, gently tugging his sleeve out of her grip. “It’ll be fine, Tsuki. Stick with the team and then head for Tetsu’s.”
“Dai...”
“Tetsu’s place. The moment the team splits up,” he insisted. “I’ll catch up.”
The girl took a fortifying breath and nodded, false calmness washing over her features, so similar to the ‘mask’ he had adopted for today’s game. “Alright. Meet you there.”
He nodded, nudging her into Susa’s side and when he was sure the Small Forward had his eyes on their manager, Aomine whirled on his heels and strode away even before anyone could call after or follow him.
The trek to the deserted lobby was way too short. His eyes darted around and then he noticed a corner that seemed more private than the rest of the place and headed that way. Knowing him, Akashi would wait there.
He slowed down as he arrived and indeed, the Point Guard was lingering there, half-hidden by the shadows. His bi-coloured eyes flashed sharply. Aomine felt something akin to dread snake its way up his spine. Those eyes held no compassion — the glint in them pure malice.
“Akashi,” he greeted coolly, trying to keep his tone as level as possible.
“Daiki.”
Aomine barely suppressed a shudder. Since he had gotten Tetsu to call him by his given name, he had heard his name spoken by others more. But the tone with which Tsuki and Tetsu spoke his name — as rarely as the former called him by his full name — was nothing like this. The two short syllables were like the deadliest poison coming from the redhead.
The redhead’s expression was unreadable, tone remaining as cutting as before. “What are you exactly up to?”
Aomine frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Strategy has never been your forte and Satsuki’s so-called predictions can be sabotaged. And yet… this game has been, at one point, in your favour.”
Aomine raised an eyebrow. As he spoke, his tone was more condescending than perhaps it was wise, when one was talking to Akashi Seijūrō. Yet, he could not help it. “Are your eyes maybe getting deceived?”
The shorter one narrowed his eyes at him and, as Akashi moved a little, Aomine felt the pressure shift. But he stood his ground, keeping a calm facade, staring the shorter straight in the eyes.
“And I only assumed your attitude on the court has changed…” the redhead said, tone saccharine, “but it seems I was mistaken. Tetsuya has been influencing you, has he not? Seems I will have to have a word with him about keeping the game rules.”
Aomine tensed at that, eyes alight with anger in a second, hands balling into fists at his side as he snarled. The moment Akashi said he would ‘visit’ Tetsu, Aomine saw red.
“Don’t you dare get close to Tetsu,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “And Tetsu hasn’t been ‘influencing’ me! This is not some sick mind game of yours. I can think for myself, y’know!”
“Does not seem so… if you rely on the words of the one whom you said you did not need. His assistance is of no need anymore for us to have victories. He was always only that trump card for Teikō, but still was never truly needed.”
Aomine’s blood was boiling with rage, the words echoing in his mind. ‘...never truly needed,’ he thought numbly. He had always known Akashi saw the team as a means to an end, to a level. But this blatant admission of Tetsu being expendable was just too much. (In a secluded part of his mind, Aomine knew that the real Akashi would have never said something like this. That this ‘expendable’ thing... Those were the words of that stranger, who wore the face of his ex-Captain and believed himself absolute. Yet, the expression was like a blow to the gut — strong enough to make him want to throw up.)
Aomine growled, eyes screaming bloody murder, body tense, like a panther ready to pounce. “Basketball is a team sport, and we are supposed to rely on and trust each other. We were your teammates — Tetsu was your teammate too, who trusted you! He was not some expendable piece on your shōgi board!”
Akashi’s eyes glinted, noting the change in the Tōō ace, yet he stood his ground, entirely unruffled. Then, the shorter one gave one last sharp look to the ace and started turning away. He paused briefly to look over his shoulder.
“It seems you have become way too sentimental under Tetsuya’s influence, Daiki. You’d do wisely to leave him behind and join the game once more... lest even Atsushi surpasses you.”
“I’m not sentimental and neither is Tetsu,” he growled. “It’s you who can’t see what you’ve become! All of you are monsters. Monsters with no morality!” Aomine spat back, meaning every word. It… hurt a part of him to say this. He knew what the team had been… before. But they were not those people anymore.
And that was a painful truth. The Kiseki no Sedai had become true monsters with no morality, consumed by their ideals and hunger for victory.
Akashi may have been shorter than him... but at that moment, it seemed the redhead was smiling down on him, his expression full of disdain. “Is that so? Monsters? What does that make you then, Daiki? You’re so adamant on calling Tetsuya a teammate even when you wear different jerseys. But when the Winter Cup comes... you will stand on different sides. You will have to beat the other. One of you… will be exactly like us. And I will watch and smile. Your dependence on each other just made my work all the easier. When you both chose schools in Tokyo... you hadn’t thought about the bracket sorting, have you?”
Aomine froze, shock and anger jolting through him once more, as the golden eye of his ex-Captain glinted sharply. The redhead hummed when Aomine did not answer and started walking without a word.
He growled, hands fisted so tightly that he thought his nails might draw blood, but he did not care. Right now, that momentary spike of discomfort kept him grounded enough not to lunge at Akashi. He knew Tetsu would not approve of that… and even Aomine could see the wasted effort. He had said his piece, and Akashi had made his own thoughts clear.
There was nothing else to talk about.