You never planned to be anyone’s muse, let alone for the campus basketball league, but life had a way of pulling you into the spotlight even when you swore you were fine watching from the bleachers. Being Satoru Gojo’s younger sibling meant everyone already knew who you were—there was no hiding from his loud presence or his endless teasing about your love life.

And then there was Suguru. Geto Suguru, your brother’s best friend since freshman year, and captain of the basketball team since last semester. You’d always known him as the calm counterpart to Satoru’s chaos—quiet, thoughtful, his hair always tied back like he had somewhere serious to be. He wasn’t loud about his wins, but you’d noticed how he stayed late after practice, how he’d put his teammates first, how he’d grin when Satoru made some ridiculous joke.

You’d always been aware of him, but you told yourself it didn’t mean anything.

At least until the league was announced and the roster of rival schools was released—and right there at the top of the list was your ex’s name.

You hadn’t spoken to him in months. You’d spent weeks convincing yourself you were over him, but your stomach still twisted when you saw him at the cafeteria or when his name popped up on your phone screen with some leftover apology you never opened. It didn’t help that your former best friend—no, her, the one who swore she’d never betray you—was now his girlfriend and, apparently, the muse for his team.

So when Satoru barged into your room holding a black jersey with Suguru’s number on it, smirking like the devil, you almost threw a pillow at him.

“Sheesh, you could at least pretend to be excited,” Satoru drawled, tossing the jersey at your head. “Congratulations, lil sis. You’re our muse. Suguru said so.”

“What?” you sputtered, clutching the fabric like it might burn you.

“Yeah, you know, muse—cute girl to cheer us on, look good in the photos, make the team look more legit. You’re perfect for it. Suguru even picked out his own jersey for you.”

Your cheeks warmed, which only made Satoru laugh harder. “Stop overthinking it. Just show up, wear it, and don’t trip walking to the bench. Or do, actually. That’d be funny.”

You wanted to argue, but something about the way Suguru had chosen his jersey for you—out of everyone else’s—made your chest feel tight.

By the time Saturday rolled around, you were pacing near the court, jersey tucked into your skirt, knees feeling like they might give out. The gym was buzzing with students from every department, chants echoing, sneakers squeaking against polished floors. You caught sight of your ex on the far end, his smug grin too familiar, your former best friend standing beside him with a ribbon in her hair. It should’ve made you want to run.

But then Suguru walked up, spinning a basketball in one hand, sweat glinting along his temple, and suddenly the noise in your head quieted. He didn’t grin like Satoru would’ve. He just looked at you, eyes warm and steady, like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

“You made it,” he said simply, handing you his water bottle as if to ground you.

“Yeah,” you managed, tugging the jersey’s hem. “I made it.”

When the game started, you sat on the bench right where everyone could see you, pretending not to notice the camera phones snapping pictures. Every time Suguru scored, the crowd roared, and every time your ex missed, you caught the frustrated tilt of his head. At one point, your ex glanced at you like he wanted a reaction, but you kept your chin high. You weren’t here for him.

You were here for the team. For Suguru.

When the final buzzer rang and Suguru’s team won by six points, the gym practically exploded. Satoru was yelling, the team was huddled up in victory, and before you could even stand, Suguru was walking toward you, pulling off his sweat-soaked headband. He stopped just in front of you, crouching slightly so your eyes were level with his.

“You did good,” he said, voice low enough that only you could hear.