Ace of the Bench

[Back to school]

The gym smelled faintly of varnish and sweat an odd kind of perfume Yuuto had come to associate with his second home. The rest of the school had long since gone dark, but here, under the flickering halo of a single row of overhead lights, he stood alone on the hardwood, ball in hand.

Another shot.

Another clang.

He bent, scooped up the rebound, shuffled back to the line. The digital clock over the scoreboard read 11:47 p.m.

[System Notification]

Consistency Detected.

Three-Point Repetition: 786/1,000.

Fatigue Level: High.

Yuuto wiped his forehead with the hem of his shirt. His arms trembled. His legs felt like lead pipes. He breathed through his nose and whispered to himself, "One more. Just one more."

He set his feet, lifted the ball, released. The shot dropped clean through the net with a hiss.

"Seven eighty-seven," he muttered.

From the bleachers a voice drifted down, soft but teasing. "You're starting to sound like a calculator."

He glanced up. Ayaka sat three rows from the floor, knees drawn to her chest, chin resting on them. She had a loose hoodie over her uniform and a small paper cup of convenience-store coffee steaming beside her.

"You're still here?" he asked.

She smiled faintly. "You're still here."

He exhaled, shaking out his arms. "I told you, you don't have to"

"watch you destroy yourself?" she interrupted lightly. "I know."

He caught her eyes; there was no accusation, only concern. He looked away first.

On the far side of the court, Jim, the janitor who had become an unofficial rebound partner on late nights, pushed his mop aside and ambled over. "You two will catch pneumonia if you keep staying out this late," he grumbled, though his eyes were kind. He tossed Ayaka a ball. "Here. If you're going to sit there, might as well learn something."

Ayaka blinked, startled. "Me?"

"Why not?" Jim said. "Basketball doesn't bite."

Yuuto managed a tired chuckle. "He taught me half my form. He can teach you too."

Ayaka slid off the bleachers. "Okay. But only one shot."

Jim positioned her at the free-throw line, large hands gentle on her shoulders. "Feet apart. Bend your knees a little. Ball in your fingertips, not your palms. Eyes on the rim, not the ball. Breathe."

She mimicked him, tongue caught between her teeth in concentration. The ball left her hands in an awkward arc, smacked the backboard, bounced off.

"Not bad for a first try," Jim said. "Again."

Yuuto watched them, something easing inside his chest for the first time all night. Ayaka giggled after her third miss. On the fourth shot the ball rattled and dropped through.

"I did it!" she whispered, half-laughing. She turned to Yuuto, cheeks flushed. "Did you see?"

He smiled despite himself. "Nice."

"Nice?" She placed her hands on her hips, mock-offended. "That was my first basket ever. You're supposed to be more impressed."

He spread his hands. "I'm exhausted. My impressed face is broken."

She rolled her eyes, but there was warmth in it. Jim clapped her shoulder and went back to his mop, muttering something about "kids these days."

Yuuto bent, picked up his ball again. His fingers trembled. He'd crossed nine hundred attempts; the counter glowed at the edge of his vision.

Ayaka walked back over. "How many left?"

"Eighty-four."

She hesitated, then reached out and steadied the ball with both hands. "You're going to pass out."

"I'll finish."

"Why?"

"Because…" He searched for the words. "Because this is all I can control right now."

She studied him, then let go. "Okay. But I'm staying until you're done."

He looked at her in surprise. "Even if it takes hours?"

"Especially if it takes hours," she said softly.

The next stretch passed in a rhythm: dribble, shoot, rebound, dribble, shoot. Ayaka sat cross-legged on the court now, occasionally tossing the ball back when it rolled her way. Every few minutes she'd take another shot of her own, each one a little smoother.

By the time the counter read 999, Yuuto's jersey clung to him like a wet towel. His shoulders burned; his lungs felt scraped raw. He sank into a crouch, staring at the last ball.

Ayaka came to stand next to him. "Last one?"

He nodded, unable to speak.

"Then make it count," she whispered.

He rose, set his feet. Everything slowed. He could hear his heartbeat. The echo of all the missed shots, all the long nights, all the doubts, condensed into one breath. He released.

The ball spun, struck the rim, bounced high… and dropped through.

[System Notification]

Three-Point Repetition Complete.

Skill Acquired: Spatial Range Lv.1.

(Allows consistent shooting from anywhere beyond the arc.)

Yuuto's knees buckled. Ayaka caught his arm. "Hey! Sit down before you fall down."

He sat, head in his hands, breathing hard. For a moment they just stayed there in the quiet gym, the net swaying gently above them.

Ayaka broke the silence. "You're crazy, you know that?"

He laughed weakly. "I've been told."

"But…" She hesitated, then smiled. "It's kind of inspiring."

He glanced at her, surprised. She looked away quickly, fiddling with the hem of her hoodie.

Jim's voice echoed from the doorway. "Locking up in five minutes, kids you two need to get home asap."

They gathered their things. Outside the night air was cool and damp. Ayaka tugged her hood up.

"It's late," she said. "You ready to walk me home?"

"Sure." Yuuto said.

They walked side by side under the streetlights, not touching but close enough that their shadows overlapped on the pavement.

After a block Ayaka spoke, voice softer than before. "Tomorrow's the practice match, right?"

"Yeah."

"You'll be great."

He glanced at her. "You think so?"

"I don't think." She met his eyes. "I know."

He looked away, but this time it was to hide the small, involuntary smile tugging at his mouth. The two of them kept walking, the quiet between them no longer awkward but something else entirely something like a promise.