"Why are they like that to me?" Haruko muttered softly, tucking her knees to her chest as she sat on the empty bench. Her chin rested on top of them, and she hugged her legs tightly. Her mind replayed the events of the day like a cruel loop, each thought scraping at her chest with a dull ache.
"They never want to see me do what I love. They never want me happy. They don't even care about my dreams."
The faint hum of the night breeze brushed past the court, carrying the distant sound of traffic and the soft rustle of trees. The sky above was dimly lit by a few scattered streetlights, their glow reflecting off the worn concrete floor of the court.
Her thoughts drifted back.
Earlier That Day
"Haruko," Coach Maeda called out, her voice firm but not harsh.
Haruko blinked, pulling herself out of the haze of her thoughts. "Yes, Coach? What is it?"
"I'd like to have a word with you. Come with me," Coach Maeda said before turning, gesturing for Haruko to follow.
The gym smelled faintly of polished wood and sweat. The squeak of sneakers from her teammates echoed faintly behind her as they practiced. Haruko followed her coach out of the main area and into a quieter hallway where only the hum of the building's ventilation filled the silence.
When they reached a secluded spot, Coach Maeda turned to face her, arms crossed.
"Now that we're alone," she said, "I want to ask you something."
Haruko tilted her head slightly, curious. "And what might that be, Coach?"
"Do you know why I appointed you as captain of this team?"
Haruko hesitated. "I'm… not sure. Is it because I'm one of the seniors and it's my last year?" she guessed.
Coach Maeda shook her head gently. "No, that's not it at all."
Haruko blinked, unsure.
"I gave you the position because both the former captain and I saw something in you that I didn't see in anyone else on the team. You're hardworking. You don't give up—not until you achieve what you set out for."
Haruko's eyes widened slightly, her heartbeat quickening.
Coach Maeda continued, her tone softening. "Today was a great example of that. You were scoring more than anyone expected—myself included. And if I may add, you even made a three-pointer during the scrimmage."
Haruko's mouth parted in surprise. "What? Really? I… made a three-pointer?"
Coach Maeda gave a small, approving smile. "Yes. And I want you to work on that every day at practice. I have a feeling it'll be an important weapon for us. You were amazing out there today, Haruko. I was very impressed."
A rush of pride bloomed in Haruko's chest, warm and light. Her shoulders straightened slightly. "Thank you so much, Coach! I'll keep working hard!"
Later That Night, Haruko had dinner with her Family.
The clinking of utensils against porcelain filled the dining room. The faint aroma of miso soup lingered, mixed with the savory scent of grilled fish. Haruko sat at the long wooden table with her elder sister, Sachiko, and their parents.
She couldn't contain her excitement. Her heart was still beating fast from Coach Maeda's words earlier. Maybe—just maybe—they'd finally be proud of her.
"Mom, Dad," she said, unable to hide her grin, "I have some really great news!"
Her father looked up briefly from his plate, his expression neutral. "Oh? What is it, honey?"
"My coach praised me today!" Haruko said brightly. "She told me I was great, and she even said the reason she made me captain was because of my hard work! And today I was scoring so much! I even made a three-pointer, and—"
But before she could finish, her father set his chopsticks down with a soft clack.
"Listen, Haruko."
Something about the weight in his voice made her stomach drop.
"I think it's time for you to quit basketball."
The air seemed to go still. Haruko froze. The faint ticking of the dining room clock grew louder in her ears.
"…What?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. She tightened her grip on the edge of the table. "But… I showed you results! I've gotten so much better! So why—why would you even say that?"
Her mother reached out, gently brushing Haruko's arm. "Dear, lower your voice. Don't speak so loudly at the table."
Haruko swallowed hard, forcing herself back into her chair. Her hands trembled under the table.
Her father exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples before meeting her eyes with a cold stare.
"A young woman of your class—born into a wealthy family with status—should not be engaging in such a crude, physical sport."
Haruko's stomach twisted. Here we go again…
"It's disgraceful," he went on. "You keep playing, but all you're doing is embarrassing yourself. Losing in the first or second round every time? Do you enjoy humiliating yourself?"
Haruko's breath hitched. "T-That's not true! We're improving—"
"This is the last time I'll say this," he interrupted, his tone sharpening like a blade. "Quit basketball. Focus on something useful—join the student council, take up proper hobbies like cooking or art. Something respectable."
Haruko's body tensed. She could feel her jaw clenching, heat rising in her chest.
"I can't just quit like that!" she burst out, voice shaking. "I love basketball! I've been playing since I was a child. I'm finally making progress! I'm finally proving myself—and I will not give it up for anything. Not even for you!"
The sound of her chair scraping against the polished floor echoed through the room.
Silence.
Her father's expression darkened, his gaze heavy. "Let me be perfectly clear." His voice was low, but every word hit like a weight. "If you don't stop playing basketball, you will lose my support. Financial, emotional—everything. I will not help you in any way for something so pointless."
Haruko's breath caught.
"It's time for you to grow up," he said coldly. "Accept reality and move on."
"Hun, that was too far," her mother interjected softly. "You shouldn't—"
But Haruko wasn't listening. She slowly turned her gaze toward Sachiko, who had been silent the entire time.
Sachiko wasn't standing up for her. She wasn't saying anything.
Her sister simply looked away, her eyes avoiding Haruko's entirely as she quietly sipped her tea.
That was the final crack.
Tears welled up, blurring Haruko's vision. She shoved her chair back, the sound loud and harsh in the tense room, and bolted. Her footsteps echoed through the hallway as she ran to her room.
She slammed the door shut and locked it. Then she collapsed onto her bed, burying her face into the pillow.
Her sobs came in waves—quiet at first, then louder, her shoulders trembling as the weight of it all pressed down on her. The muffled sound of the dining room continued faintly beyond the walls, but it felt a world away.
Half an hour passed. Her face was hot, her eyes swollen, her throat sore.
In a haze of anger and hurt, she started shoving clothes into a bag. I'll leave. I'll just leave this place. I can't stay here. But halfway through, she froze.
…Where would I even go?
Her hands loosened around the fabric. Slowly, she unpacked the clothes.
Her gaze drifted toward the basketball lying in the corner of her room.
Why don't I just go to the court? At least there… I can breathe.
And now, here she was. Sitting alone on the bench under the faint glow of the court's flickering lights.
She rubbed at her eyes, still red from crying. The smell of asphalt and faint grass lingered in the air.
She hugged her knees tighter. Why does it feel like everyone wants to take away the one thing that makes me happy?
"Haruko Takahashi," a voice called out suddenly.
She startled, looking up.
"Huh? Oh… it's you."
It was Tetsuo, walking toward her. His hands were tucked casually into his hoodie pockets.
"You actually came," she said, a trace of surprise in her voice.
"Of course," he said simply. He stopped a few steps away and studied her for a moment. "So… what's on your mind?"
Haruko hesitated, her voice quiet when she finally spoke.
"Say… have you ever loved something? Something really important to you? But no matter how much you love it, everyone around you just wants to take it away… along with all the happiness it brings?"
Tetsuo was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he shook his head slightly.
"I can't say that I have," he admitted. "But I get what you mean. When something—or someone—is precious to you, you want to protect it. You don't want anyone to take it away from you."
Haruko's expression softened. "I see… Thanks. That makes me feel… a little better."
She stood up, brushing the dust from her skirt.
"Now then," she said with a faint smile, "I'd like you to teach me how to make a layup—if you don't mind."
Tetsuo tilted his head, muttering under his breath. "For some reason, this feels like déjà vu… Did we meet before all this?"
Shaking the thought away, he nodded.
"Alright. Listen carefully. To make a proper layup, you're only allowed two steps. If you take more than that, it's traveling, and the ball goes to the opponent."
He pointed toward the backboard. "When you're close to the hoop, aim for the square. It helps your accuracy and makes scoring easier."
Haruko gripped the ball, taking a steadying breath. "Okay, focus. You got this," she whispered to herself as she began dribbling.
She drove toward the rim, took two steps, and followed Tetsuo's instructions.
The ball bounced softly off the backboard and dropped cleanly through the hoop.
"Wow, I actually made it!" she gasped, a spark of joy lighting up her face. "This is way easier than shooting from a distance!"
She turned to Tetsuo with a grateful smile. "Thank you. I really needed this. Our matches are coming up fast, and I want to be prepared."
Tetsuo smirked slightly. "Then let's keep practicing."