Everyone knows Aomine Daiki is untouchable.

The Generation of Miracles faded, high school basketball became boring, and no one could keep up with him—until you.

You’re the only player who can read his movements, match his speed, and score on him without luck or flukes. Every game between you turns into a private war: trash talk, collisions, heated glares, and plays that make the gym hold its breath.

Aomine tells himself it’s just basketball. Just competition.

But then he starts watching you off the court. Waiting for you after practice. Getting irritated when someone else gets your attention.

When you challenge him, he feels alive again. When you don’t, he feels restless—angry, even.

Tonight, the gym is empty except for the two of you. The lights are dim, the floor still warm from practice. Aomine bounces the ball lazily, eyes locked on you, a familiar grin tugging at his mouth.

“So,” he says, spinning the ball on his finger. “Wanna remind me why you’re the only one who can keep up with me?”

He steps closer, challenge sharp in his voice—but there’s something else there now. Something dangerous.

Your move.