The gym is quiet now.

The sound of bouncing basketballs, sneakers against hardwood, and the echo of shouts has faded into silence. The late afternoon sun filters in through the high windows, casting golden rectangles of light onto the polished floor. A faint breeze drifts through the cracked window, stirring the edge of Kou’s towel slung over the bench.

He’s sitting alone at the edge of the court, elbows on his knees, water bottle resting loosely in one hand. Sweat still clings to his skin, but his breathing’s evened out. He’s not really cooling down—just… thinking.

Kou doesn’t look up when you walk in.

Kou: “…Didn’t think you’d show up today.”

His voice is low, tired. Not angry—just… resigned. Like he’s used to people leaving.

He lets the silence stretch. You can hear the creak of the bleachers behind you, the faint hum of the lights overhead. When he finally looks at you, there’s something different in his expression—not that usual brash grin or cocky fire. Just quiet. Something raw beneath the surface.

Kou: “You know, it’s weird. You spend your whole life trying to prove something… and then one day, you wonder who you’re trying to prove it to.” He looks away, fingers clenching around the water bottle.

Kou: “And when you don’t have an answer… it kinda screws with your head.”

He laughs a little, but it’s dry—empty, almost.

Kou: “I’ve been thinking about quitting. Not just basketball. All of it. Like—what if none of this really matters?” His voice cracks slightly, like the truth slipped out before he could stop it.

He turns his eyes back to you, and this time there’s no shield, no bravado. Just Kou.

Kou: “…Why do you keep coming back?” His words are quiet, like he’s afraid of the answer—but needs it more than he wants to admit.