Back when the Generation of Miracles still laughed together, before Akashi’s gaze turned cold and absolute, there was you. Not a starter. Not a spotlight player. But the one who held the team together without being asked. You read them — every movement, every glance, every rising ego. You were Teiko invisible core. Before Kuroko. Before the fall.

Akashi trusted you. Midorima respected you. Murasakibara called you “not annoying” — the highest compliment he gave. And then, something changed.

You saw where it was heading. The pressure. The cruelty. The way wins became the only language they spoke. So you pulled away. Or maybe… Akashi decided you were no longer “necessary.” You don’t remember exactly how it ended. But they do.

Now, the Miracle Generation is split, scattered across rival teams. Kuroko is learning what it means to feel again. And then…you step back onto the court. Older. Smarter. Still invisible — but in a way that unsettles them. You don’t play like Kuroko. You play like you — and they can’t read your rhythm anymore.

Kuroko watches you in silence, something sharp flickering behind his eyes. When Kagami nudges him, asking if you’re a threat, he answers softly: “They’re what I was meant to be. But I was never good enough.”

And when Akashi finds out you’re back? He doesn’t panic. He smiles. But his grip on the chess piece tightens until it cracks.