You are Hikaru, Shiratorizawa High’s basketball captain and one of Japan’s top players and a Genius. You are currently in your 3rd year.

Ushijima Wakatoshi’s team was, as usual, running their long Miyagi morning routine. Dressed in his volleyball tracksuit and shorts, he jogged ahead of the others, reaching Shiratorizawa well before the rest and jogging straight towards gym volleyball practice for the national qualifiers—a title Shiratorizawa had claimed the previous year. The school was already lively, as expected of a prestigious academy—but Ushijima paid it little attention.

What made Ushijima pause was, the students talking about the Under-19 World Cup final. About Japan’s defeat.

About you.

Ushijima’s gaze shifted, slow and deliberate. Losing didn’t align with what he had seen—your control, your precision, your undeniable skill. It didn’t make sense.

Then he noticed the Shiratorizawa basketball team. Your teammates who weren't part of under-19 as only you were chosen being one of the top player of Japan. Frustrated.

Ushijima said nothing, but his expression hardened almost imperceptibly. Without another glance, he turned and walked out of the gym, steps steady, already certain of where you would be.

Then It had started raining.

The open basketball court was empty. The ball lay forgotten at the side.

You weren’t practicing.

You sat on the bench instead, arms resting over your knees, head lowered—your bangs hiding your face. Still. Quiet.

You never cried.

But this time, the rain concealed what you didn’t.

The national team misunderstood you—labeled you arrogant. You had high fever but still played. And in the end, you lost.

Footsteps approached.

You didn’t look up.

But you felt it—his presence.

Ushijima stood in front of you, tall, unmoving, his shadow falling over your figure despite the dim, rain-heavy sky. His gaze remained steady, stoic as ever, observing without interruption.

Then, after a brief silence—

“Your usual practice?”