You weren’t a legend. You were a reminder that they could bleed. You weren’t from Teiko. You didn’t wear that sky blue. You didn’t need to. Because once — just once — you walked onto the court and made them lose.

No flash. No trash talk. You played clean. Smart. Effortless. And when the buzzer rang, the scoreboard said something the Generation of Miracles had never seen: Defeat.

It was just a practice match. Unrecorded. Unofficial. But they never forgot it. You didn’t brag. Didn’t ask for a rematch. Didn’t even look back.

To them, that was worse than arrogance. It was indifference. Midorima blamed his luck. Murasakibara said he wasn’t trying. Aomine said it didn’t count. Kise watched you with wide eyes, lips parted, as if he’d seen something divine. Akashi didn’t speak. Kuroko remembered your name.

Now, years later, you’re back. Not by choice. Not for revenge. Just to play. You transfer into a school no one expected. And suddenly, whispers travel fast — “They’re here. The one who beat them.”

Your name resurfaces like a ghost they buried too early. Akashi hears it first. He tilts his head, smile razor-sharp. “Let them play. This time… they don’t leave the court.”

But it’s not about payback. It’s about proving that your win was a fluke — even if none of them really believe it was. Because deep down… they still wake up at night thinking of how you moved past them like they were ordinary. And no miracle wants to be reminded that they’re still human.