Ace of the Bench

The past few weeks had settled into a relentless rhythm. Yuuto woke before dawn, the cold bite of morning air on his skin as he ran laps around the quiet streets. Push-ups, sit-ups, leg stretches, jumping jacks every movement forged the foundation his body had lacked. By the time the sun crested the horizon, he was ready for school, backpack slung over one shoulder, knees sore but steady.

Classes blurred past in a hum of chatter and footsteps. Marcus kept him laughing through lunch. Ayaka offered small, quiet smiles from across the room. Kana's occasional teasing kept him tethered to normalcy. Yet no matter where he went, the court called to him.

Every night, Yuuto stayed back at the gym to shoot three-pointers. The three-point line had become both sanctuary and crucible. Ball after ball left his hands each swish a small victory, each miss a lesson.

And Ayaka waited for him. Sitting on the bleachers, notebook in hand, sometimes reading, sometimes just watching. Her presence wasn't distracting; it was steadying, making the gym feel alive even when he was alone with his thoughts and the echoing bounce of leather on wood.

The gym smelled faintly of sweat and polish, with a lingering tang of disinfectant in the corners near the locker rooms. Light from the late afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows, cutting across the hardwood in broad golden strips. The bouncing echoes of a stray basketball somewhere in the far corner added a rhythmic pulse to the quiet.

Yuuto sat on the edge of the bleachers, bag resting at his feet, hands folded over the straps. He watched Marcus and the starting lineup organize themselves on the court. His routine had been relentless: morning training before school, classes, afternoon drills, evening shooting marathons. And Ayaka, as steadfast as ever, had waited for him after every session, quietly cheering him on. Tonight, she wasn't there, but her presence lingered in memory a soft anchor for the nervous energy twisting in his chest.

Coach Takeda's footsteps clanged against the floor, sharp against the ambient hum of the gym. "Everyone, gather around!" His voice carried authority without overbearing weight. Teammates shuffled toward him, forming a loose semicircle, whispers trailing like smoke.

Yuuto stayed seated, eyes locked on Coach Takeda. He didn't need a pep talk; he had been ready for weeks. But something in the coach's tone made him sit straighter, alert.

Coach Takeda leaned on a nearby bench, arms crossed. "About tomorrow's scrimmage we'll face Shikoku High."

A ripple of murmurs swept through the team. Yuuto's stomach tightened. Shikoku High wasn't just any school they were consistently ranked among the top five in the region, their basketball program rigorous, disciplined, and nearly flawless.

"And," Coach Takeda continued, lowering his voice so every player caught the weight of his words, "they have one of the 'Five Kings' on their roster."

The room fell silent. Even the faint squeak of sneakers on the polished floor seemed to pause. Yuuto's eyes narrowed. The Five Kings. Rumors of their near-mythical skill had floated through the basketball world for years talent that could rival professional players. Each King dominated their position with a skill set that felt almost superhuman.

One of them would be on the court tomorrow. Yuuto swallowed, the weight of the challenge pressing against his chest. He wasn't in the starting lineup yet. For now, he would watch.

Teammates muttered anxiously to one another.

"Can we really compete with that?" one asked, frowning at the floor.

"I heard last year they crushed a regional favorite by twenty points," another said, disbelief in their voice.

Yuuto kept his gaze forward, letting the words wash over him. This wasn't fear it was preparation. Every second of the past month had been a step toward proving he wasn't done, that he hadn't lost his place.

Coach Takeda's voice cut through the tension. "Marcus, you'll be leading as captain and point guard. Your first time in that position since the previous captain graduated. Remember: orchestrate the team, read the court, maximize everyone's technique. Watch your opponents. Adjust on the fly."

Marcus squared his shoulders and nodded. "Understood, Coach Takeda."

The coach's gaze flicked to Yuuto, lingering for a brief moment. "Yuuto. When your moment comes, I'll put you on the court. But not yet. Watch. Learn. Be ready."

Yuuto pressed his lips into a thin line. He nodded, a fire flaring brighter than ever inside. He belonged. He had put in the hours, endured the pain, the sweat. He wouldn't let this slip.

Coach Takeda paced slowly, hands gesturing as he spoke. "Techniques are extensions of your body. Marcus, I'll be watching how you use yours as captain. Every pass, dribble, feint it all counts. Yuuto, observe. Analyze. And when the time comes… show me you're ready."

Yuuto's mind raced. Techniques. Every three-pointer drilled, every solo session, every grind of layups and dribbles it had all been preparation. His fingers itched to grip a basketball, to feel the leather, to command the court.

Marcus clapped his hands, breaking the tension. "Alright, team. Let's run through some plays. Yuuto, watch closely. I've got your back when you get in."

Yuuto shifted on the bleachers, adjusting the strap of his bag. Even sitting, the electric anticipation coiled in his chest. Every trained muscle hummed with readiness.

A few teammates wandered over, making small talk to ease the tension.

"Think we stand a chance?" one asked quietly.

Yuuto didn't answer, but in his mind the words were clear: I will stand. I will play. I will prove it.

Coach Takeda nodded to Marcus. "I want clean execution. See an opening exploit it. Don't force plays, but don't hesitate. And remember: techniques aren't tricks they're extensions of your effort, your body, your mind."

Marcus's eyes flicked to Yuuto, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "You ready for this?" he asked quietly.

Yuuto gave a slow nod. "I'll be ready when you need me."

The team broke into drills: pick-and-rolls, fast breaks, defensive rotations. Yuuto watched Marcus direct the plays with precision, threading passes through gaps Yuuto had spent countless nights visualizing.

The gym seemed to shrink and expand at once the squeak of sneakers, the echo of basketballs hitting hardwood, and the rhythm of Yuuto's heartbeat forming a symphony of tension and anticipation.

Coach Takeda clapped. "Five-minute break, then we'll simulate scrimmage scenarios. Marcus, you set the pace."

Yuuto stretched, feeling the residual tightness from morning routines and nightly three-pointers. The system notification flickered in the corner of his vision: Path of the Comeback – 50%. Steady, persistent a reminder that every rep, every minute, every heartbeat counted.

He glanced at Ayaka in the stands, leaning against the railing, arms crossed. A small, encouraging smile from her tightened his chest. She had always been a quiet motivation.

The team regrouped for scrimmage scenarios. Marcus called plays, Yuuto scanning the court, analyzing movements, predicting options. Not on the court yet, but every play was a rehearsal for the moment he would step onto the hardwood.

Coach Takeda's voice rose above the clatter. "A good player sees beyond what's happening. Predict, react, exploit openings. And techniques they're extensions of you, not gimmicks. Yuuto, take note. When your time comes, I want you ready."

Hours of training, sweat, focus, and relentless repetition had led to this. Yuuto didn't just feel prepared he felt alive, ready to prove that his absence hadn't diminished his presence.

As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the court, Yuuto allowed himself a small, quiet smile. Tomorrow, the friendly match would begin. And he would be ready.