It was Physical Education class.
Kouhei stood off to the side, clad in his standard PE uniform, the white shirt slightly wrinkled and the fabric of his jogging pants brushing against his knees as a light breeze passed through the gym. His arms were crossed loosely, and his gaze lazily followed the motion of the basketball as it bounced rapidly across the polished floor. Around him, the air buzzed with energy, sneakers squeaking sharply against the court and the low hum of voices rising from those watching.
He wasn't playing—just observing.
A large crowd had gathered, not out of boredom but out of genuine interest. Several of his classmates were well-known figures on campus. Takahashi stood at the center of attention, exuding confidence with every calculated movement. He was the type of guy who could command a room just by walking into it. On the other hand, there was Sotomura—equally popular, though for a much different reason. With a rough, borderline abrasive personality, Sotomura was far from easygoing, yet his athletic skill, especially on the court, was undeniable. And now, these two were facing off, placed on opposing teams for what should have been a casual game meant for evaluation.
But it didn't feel casual at all. The tension in the air made that clear.
Kouhei, meanwhile, remained uninvolved. He wasn't particularly talented at basketball. Sure, he understood the basic rules—how to dribble, pass, and shoot—but that was about it. Compared to the raw energy and skill the others displayed, he felt like little more than a placeholder.
His eyes idly followed the fast-paced game, but his mind drifted elsewhere—specifically, to a conversation between Kyouka and Yuuna.
Both Kyouka and Masaki had made it their goal to get closer to him, trying to create some sort of bond. And yet, even after all this time, nothing of significance had happened. There were no clear steps forward.
Masaki had made a few efforts to talk to him, but the conversations never went anywhere. She always seemed flustered, her words tripping over themselves, and the interaction would fizzle out before it truly began.
Kyouka, on the other hand, had a different approach. She was giving him orders as his teacher—but for some reason, there was an odd awkwardness between them.
"Maybe I should be the one to approach them…" Kouhei murmured to himself, his voice barely louder than a whisper, lost beneath the echoing bounce of the ball and the sharp shouts of his classmates on the court.
Just then, a loud thud rang out.
One of the players collapsed onto the court with a strained cry, gripping his ankle in pain. The game came to a screeching halt as everyone's attention snapped to the injured player. Kouhei's eyes instinctively dropped to the court, and his expression twisted as he noticed the awkward angle of the boy's leg—it was a bad injury, one that would definitely take him out of the game.
"Okumura," the PE teacher barked without hesitation, clipboard in hand. "You're in."
Kouhei blinked. "…Huh?"
And just like that, Kouhei found himself standing awkwardly in the middle of the court.
He didn't even remember walking there. His legs had moved on their own, almost as if he were being dragged by invisible strings. The gym felt different now—brighter, louder as well as suffocating. The presence of the student council only amplified the pressure. They had come in at some point, and now they sat in the bleachers, eyes fixed directly on the court... on him.
His heart thudded uncomfortably in his chest. What was supposed to be a simple substitution had now turned into a performance.
He was on Takahashi's team. Unfortunately, their team was trailing by 11 points, with Sotomura's side in a clear lead.
"If you get in my way, Otaku, you'll regret it," Takahashi said coldly, barely glancing at him as he tightened the straps on his shoes.
"I don't intend to, Takahashi-kun," Kouhei replied calmly, "but please be aware that I'm not skilled in basketball. If I perform poorly, I hope you won't hold it against me."
Takahashi let out a sharp breath, half a scoff. "The guy you replaced was worthless anyway. Even if you stand there and do nothing, it won't change a thing. You're just a decoration at this point."
Kouhei didn't flinch at the words. They were cutting, sure—but not unexpected. He accepted them with a faint nod, thinking to himself that he probably wouldn't be doing much anyway. In all honesty, that was fine.
Initially, Takahashi's team kept pace with Sotomura's. They managed to respond to a few offensive plays, even narrowing the lead slightly. But the pressure mounted quickly, and their momentum slipped. The point gap grew wider with every passing minute, and soon, Sotomura's team had fully regained control of the court.
"Haa… Haa… It's no use… Sotomura's team is just too damn strong…" one of Kouhei's teammates panted, drenched in sweat, leaning heavily on his knees.
Kouhei, in contrast, was barely sweating. He'd run up and down the court a few times, but he hadn't been passed the ball even once. Not a single opportunity. It was like he didn't exist on the court. They had completely ignored him.
It was only the third quarter.
There was still time left—still a sliver of hope for a turnaround. But with a 25-point difference, it felt nearly impossible.
Still… something stirred inside him.
He wasn't aiming for glory. He didn't expect to win. But just once… just this once, he wanted to feel like he mattered—like he could contribute something.
"Takahashi-kun," he called out as he jogged over, "please pass me the ball next time."
"What?" Takahashi turned, glaring at him. His voice rose, incredulous and sharp. "Why the hell would I do that?"
Kouhei met his eyes. Normally, he would've flinched at someone raising their voice at him—but this time, he didn't.
"Sotomura-kun's team is playing with everything they've got," he said evenly. "Meanwhile, we've only got four players truly participating. I've been left out the entire game, and they've noticed that. That's why they're not bothering to guard me anymore."
"Ha. So, what you're saying is… I should pass you the ball, just to give you a chance to shoot?" Takahashi scoffed, narrowing his eyes as he looked Kouhei up and down, clearly unimpressed.
Kouhei met his gaze and gave a silent nod.
"And you genuinely believe that you'll be able to land a shot?" Takahashi's tone was laced with disbelief, as if the very idea amused him.
"We won't know the outcome… unless we give it a try," Kouhei replied, his voice firm yet calm, not sounding the least bit shaken.
And he was right. So far, Kouhei hadn't been given the opportunity to prove himself on the court—not even once. No passes and plays. Nothing. So naturally, he had no way of knowing whether he could score or not. But if he never took a chance, then that answer would forever remain unknown.
"Tsk." Takahashi clicked his tongue sharply, his brows furrowing as if weighing the absurdity of the idea in his mind. He didn't respond—just silently mulled it over.
The game resumed with a shrill whistle, cutting through the gym's thick, tense air like a blade.
And then it happened again.
Their team—Takahashi's team—was getting completely overwhelmed, their defense shattered and scattered by the unrelenting offense of Sotomura's side. One shot after another found its way into the basket. The points piled on mercilessly. With every passing second, the gap widened like a chasm impossible to cross.
The scoreboard flashed mockingly. 26–56.
A 30-point difference.
It was nothing short of humiliation.
Sure, it was easy to argue that Sotomura, being a basketball ace, naturally had the upper hand. And that Takahashi's strengths lay on the soccer field, not here. But none of that changed the fact that this was disgraceful. Embarrassing. Soul-crushing.
"What's wrong? Starting to see the gap between us?" Sotomura taunted, his sharp gaze locking onto Takahashi's. There was no hiding the smugness in his voice as he challenged him openly.
Takahashi remained silent.
He tried to break away, hoping to get past Sotomura with a sidestep. A feint. A quick dash.
But Sotomura was ready.
Like a predator reading its prey, he intercepted with precision, snatching the ball in one smooth motion. He didn't hesitate. With speed and grace, he tore down the court, leaving everyone in the dust—and landed the shot effortlessly.
Takahashi didn't chase. He didn't even move. He just stood there, breathing hard, staring at the scoreboard as if each glowing digit was mocking him.
The gap only widened. The humiliation deepened.
"This match-up just isn't in your favor, Takahashi," Sotomura called back casually, as if stating a simple fact.
Time ticked away mercilessly. Only 29 seconds remained in the quarter.
Takahashi now held the ball once more.
He lunged forward the moment the whistle blew—but yet again, Sotomura blocked him like an immovable wall, cutting off any route forward. Takahashi's eyes flicked from one side to the other, desperately searching for an opening, a teammate in the clear—someone, anyone.
But every single one of them was tightly guarded.
Every option… except one.
His eyes settled on Kouhei.
He was free. Completely unmarked.
Takahashi hesitated for a moment. He didn't trust him. He didn't believe Kouhei could make anything happen.
But maybe—just maybe—it was worth a shot.
With a sharp exhale, Takahashi launched the ball toward him.
"Huh…!?" Sotomura's voice cut through the court in pure disbelief as his eyes widened. He hadn't expected that. Not in the slightest.
Kouhei caught the ball smoothly, his hands steady, the leather sphere hitting his palms with a solid thump. Time was slipping fast. The shot clock was ticking down, its red numbers flashing urgently in the corner of his vision.
But Kouhei didn't panic.
He stepped into position with quiet precision. He took a stance, raised the ball, his eyes locked onto the hoop. He could feel the weight of every gaze in the gym burning into him—expecting him to fail, doubting him, ready to laugh.
And then, with one fluid motion, he jumped and released the ball from behind the three-point line.
The ball arced gracefully through the air, spinning softly, slicing through the thick gym atmosphere as all eyes followed its path.
Without even grazing the rim, the ball dropped cleanly through the hoop, hitting nothing but net.