Ace of the Bench

A week later, Yuuto found himself back at the hospital.

The summer sun was merciless that day, glaring off the polished glass doors and reflecting into his eyes. The heat pressed down on him like a physical weight, suffocating in its intensity. His father wheeled him inside, the wheels squeaking faintly against the smooth floor, and the sudden blast of air-conditioning was a relief so sharp it almost made him gasp. The cold, clean air was nothing like the suffocating heat outside, yet it did little to ease the knot of anxiety twisting in his stomach. Every inch of the corridor he rolled down felt longer than it should have, each step bringing him closer to the unknown verdict about his knee.

Dr. Watanabe was already waiting in Exam Room 3, standing by a table, clipboard in hand. He flipped through Yuuto's latest scan results with a calm, almost detached precision, the crisp rustle of paper echoing in the otherwise silent corridor. His glasses caught the fluorescent lights above, reflecting them like tiny, stern prisms. When he finally looked up, his expression was neutral, professional, and unreadable.

"Alright, Yuuto. Let's see how that knee is doing," he said, gesturing for him to sit on the padded examination table.

Yuuto swallowed hard and swung his legs over the side. His sneakers barely brushed the floor, his legs trembling slightly not from weakness, but from nerves. The last time he had been in this room, every movement had sent sharp, stabbing pain racing up his leg, threatening to knock him off the table entirely. Today felt different, yet the memory of that agony still lingered like a shadow.

Dr. Watanabe's hands were gentle but deliberate as he began his examination, pressing, bending, rotating, testing angles Yuuto hadn't dared to try since the surgery. He expected the same dull ache he had been feeling since the operation, that constant reminder that his body had betrayed him. But as the doctor's fingers worked, the pain was muted. Manageable. Almost… promising.

The doctor raised an eyebrow, tilting his head as he studied the joint. "Hmm… well, this is… unexpected."

Yuuto's stomach knotted tighter. "What is?" His voice came out higher than intended, betraying the swirl of hope and fear in his chest.

"You're healing faster than I thought," Dr. Watanabe said, tapping the notes on his clipboard. "For someone with your injury, I expected more stiffness, more swelling. But your range of motion is already improving. Must be your age you're young, healthy, and your body is bouncing back."

Yuuto blinked, a flicker of disbelief passing over his features. "So… what does that mean?"

The doctor allowed a small, reassuring smile. "It means you can get out of that wheelchair. Today, we're moving you to crutches. You'll begin light rehab exercises immediately. Nothing extreme yet, but it's a major step forward."

For the first time in weeks, Yuuto felt a genuine flicker of hope a tiny spark that cut through the fog of anxiety. His chest rose and fell a little faster as he whispered, almost to himself, "So I can… I can play again?"

Dr. Watanabe's smile widened just slightly. "Yes."

Yuuto leaned forward, eyes wide, voice trembling with excitement. "Really? Right now?"

"Yes," the doctor repeated, calm and certain. "But you need to understand you won't be exactly the same as before. Your knee is stable, yes, but those explosive cuts, sudden pivots, and high-impact maneuvers you relied on… they may never feel as fast or natural again."

Yuuto's throat tightened. He swallowed hard. "…So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying you'll have to adapt," the doctor explained plainly. "You might need to change your style of play, adjust your position to reduce extreme lateral stress, or though I hope it doesn't come to this consider a different sport entirely."

Yuuto's gaze dropped to the floor. The thought of changing positions felt like surrendering a part of himself he wasn't ready to give up. Switching sports? That felt like erasing years of effort, passion, and identity. He could feel the weight of it pressing on his chest, suffocating him in a way the pain never had.

His father, standing silently behind him, placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Yuuto… whatever happens, we'll get through it. One step at a time. That's all anyone can do."

Yuuto's mother stood on the other side, her hand brushing over his back in small, steadying motions. "You've fought so hard already, sweetheart. You're stronger than you think."

He looked up at them, the knot in his stomach tightening further, a mixture of fear, determination, and disbelief churning together. "I'll make it work. However I have to." His voice was steady, though underneath, it trembled with emotion.

The doctor gave a small nod, a flicker of approval crossing his features. "That's the right attitude. Now, let's get you on those crutches and introduce your rehab schedule. Remember, the work from here is slow, steady, and deliberate. Push too fast, and you risk everything you've already regained."

Yuuto swung his legs over the side of the table and gripped the crutches. They felt awkward and cumbersome in his hands, foreign extensions of his body that required constant attention. Every movement demanded focus, balance, and coordination. But with each tentative step, a strange mix of fear and exhilaration ran through him. The world tilted and shifted in unfamiliar ways, but he was moving. He was standing.

He navigated the hallway slowly, careful not to overexert, each step measured. The tiles were slick under the hospital lights, the sound of his crutches clicking off the floor like a metronome marking the passage of time. Staff and patients passed him, some offering polite smiles, others barely glancing. Yuuto barely noticed them; his mind was focused entirely on his body, on the strange, electric awareness of movement he hadn't felt in months.

At the gym-like rehab room, Ms. Sakamoto waited, clipboard ready, eyes sharp as ever. She didn't speak at first, just observed as he carefully lowered himself to stand on the platform for his first exercises. His leg wobbled slightly as he shifted weight, muscles protesting the unfamiliar strain.

"Good," she said finally, her tone clipped but approving. "Slow and steady. We'll start with basic balance and extension exercises. Nothing explosive yet."

Yuuto nodded, adjusting the crutches under his arms. His heart was pounding not just from effort, but from the raw, overwhelming sensation of being back on his own legs. Every movement reminded him of what he had lost, but also of what he could regain.

Minutes stretched into hours as he moved through the rehab exercises. The sweat burned his eyes, the muscles in his leg ached, but with each repetition, there was a quiet triumph. He pushed through the small discomforts, learning once more the subtle dance of balance, strength, and controlled motion.

During a brief rest, he leaned against the wall, crutches in hand, watching others go about their routines. A boy a few years older jogged past, clearly recovered from his own injuries, and Yuuto felt a pang of jealousy and longing. Yet beneath that, a spark of determination glimmered. He wasn't there yet but he would be.

Later, as he sat back on the padded table, exhausted but alive with a strange mixture of relief and anticipation, his mother reached over and brushed his damp hair from his forehead. "You're doing so well, Yuuto," she said softly, voice thick with emotion. "I know it's hard, but look at you. Look how far you've come."

His father nodded from the doorway, a small proud smile on his lips. "One step at a time, son. That's all anyone asks. You've got the rest of your life to rebuild, and I have no doubt you'll get there."

Yuuto closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. The road ahead was long, uncertain, and full of challenges. There would be pain, doubt, and moments when he would question whether the struggle was worth it. But as he opened his eyes, looking at the faces of the people who believed in him, he felt the first flicker of true hope in weeks.

"I will make it work," he whispered to himself again. "No matter what."