Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The moment Nijimura goes to greet the latest round of customers, he is greeted by Kise Ryouta’s smiling face. He almost contemplates turning them away.

He hasn’t seen Kise in 3 years, since he graduated from Teikou. He is still annoyingly happy, bubbly, and so glittery and glossy sparkles seem to emanate from him. He is surrounded by a bunch of guys, and a group of beautiful girls who are undeniably his model colleagues.

“Nijimura senpai~!” Kise exclaims delightedly. “What a coincidence, I didn’t know you were working here! We’re just in Tokyo on holiday!”

“Table for how many?” Nijimura brusquely cuts him off. It was the most effective way to deal with Kise, he had found out after numerous unintended too-long conversations about Kise’s day (he didnot need to know the half-hour long story of how Kise had almost lost his shoes in the pile of love letters in his shoe locker) back during their Teikou days.

“Table for 7 please~! It’s so good to see you! Have you—” Kise tries to continue, but one of his friends slams a hand on his head.

“Let’s just go to our table, alright? Stop bothering him,” the guy says.

“But Kasamatsu-senpai, this was my old captain back in middle school, Nijimura-senpai! You guys can bond over… hm, captainly things!” Nijimura almost slams a hand to his own face. This was Kise through and through, with his “everyone should be buddies” mentality, without a thought about whether Nijimura was currently working or not.

Another one of his friends butts in with, “Kise, stop wasting time…! Let’s just get a table— the girls are getting bored!” in an urgent whisper that was distinctly not meant to be heard by said girls, but was so desperately strangled that everyone in the vicinity heard it.

Kise just laughs. “Sure, Moriyama-senpai! Nijimura-senpai, we’re having a gokon! Would you like to join us? It’s just Kasamatsu-senpai, Moriyama-senpai here, Hayakawa-senpai and myself! Kobori-senpai couldn’t join us, unfortunately, but you can take his place!”

The guy pointed out as Hayakawa yells “Kise, this gokon is failing! Moriyama is right, the girls look bored! We need to do some serious damage control!” Nijimura personally feels they should be less nervous— the girls look less bored than like they don’t quite know how to react to the happenings around them.

Nijimura stonily leads them to a table. Kasamatsu — was that his name? — looks the most uncomfortable (he is bright red, looks terrified, and chokes whenever a girl looks at him), and Moriyama is flamboyantly pulling out the chairs for the girls saying things like, “Beautiful girls deserve to be treated like princesses”.

“Kise-kun, introduce us properly! Who is your friend here?” One of the girls asks sweetly, looking at Nijimura from under her perfectly mascaraed lashes.

“My name is Nijimura, I’ll be your server for today. Just let me know when you’ve sorted out your orders,” Nijimura tries to be professional, despite feeling the flush creeping up his neck. Girls were tough enough to deal with, but models — they were so polished and elegant they made him feel rough and uncouth by comparison.

As he leaves them with the menus, he is interested to see how they fare in the gokon despite himself. Kise is socially polished as usual, merrily laughing with the girls and trying to ease a bright red and stuttering Kasamatsu into conversation. Moriyama at first glance seemed to be faring well, but when Nijimura tunes into their conversation he cringes at some of the things he is saying (“Oh, spring is my favourite season as well, what a coincidence! Beautiful girls like yourself belong in spring like a flower in bloom”). Hayakawa’s interaction with the girls seem to be primarily him yelling out things and the girls looking confusedly at each other, trying to parse what he is saying.

Before he knows it, his boss is seating him with the group (“Kise Ryouta and a bunch of famous models? You have to get them to return — they are prime customer attracting material!”).

Kasamatsu looks relieved that someone new has joined their table, giving him an excuse not to talk to the girls. Kise is delighted. “Nijimura-senpai, so glad you could join us! It’s our second gokon — the first one didn’t turn out so well…”

Kasamatsu whacks him on the head, which Nijimura fully approves as an appropriate way to handle Kise. “Idiot, don’t announce our failed first attempt!”

After a few awkward conversations with Kasamatsu about his high school and ‘captainly things’ (which consisted of just a few lines— “So, you captained Teikou?” “Yeah.” “I captain Kaijou.” “Oh, cool— you’re nationally-ranked, right?” “Yeah.”), the conversation shifts inevitably to basketball talk.

Nijimura found basketball to be an uncomfortable topic. He hadn’t played basketball competitively since he left Teikou. Taking care of a sick father and working to support two younger brothers killed basketball practice time. With Kaijo, however, the topic comes naturally. Having spent so much time away from basketball, Nijimura has forgotten how simple basketball is to basketball idiots who use the game to make sense of their lives. Basketball idiots who think and talk about basketball even on gokons.

“What position did you play?” Nijimura asks. “Point guard,” Kasamatsu says. They both pointedly ignore Kise’s “I am still playing small forward, senpai, just like in Teikou!”

“I was power forward,” Nijimura informs him. Kise slumps at their blatant ignoring of him. Moriyama and Hayakawa drag him into their conversation with the girls when the fashion talk goes out of their depth (“What is Gucci? Is it a food, like mochi?” Hayakawa’s question evokes a painful, awkward silence.)

Eventually, the conversation evolves to a good one about NBA players and their lifestyle as compared to models, in which everyone, including the girls, partake in (even Moriyama, with his “Living like an NBA player is nothing compared to living like a beautiful model like yourself.”)

Kasamatsu is a good guy, Nijimura concludes. Even if he is totally weird among girls. And a good captain, he assesses as Kasamatsu masterfully manhandles Kise, Moriyama and Hayakawa into walking the girls home. Kaijo’s team are all good guys— even if they are all basketball idiots, he thinks.

All in all, the day ends well, with Nijimura making plans to play streetball with Kaijo’s team (“I’ll get all the rebounds, and you’ll do all the drives!” Hayakawa yells excitedly). The girls make second date plans with Moriyama and Hayakawa (Kasamatsu promptly turns red when a girl asks him when he’s free, and forgets what his number is when she asks for it).

It looks like Nijimura still has time in his life for basketball after all, even if it’s with these weirdos.

Chapter Text

“Nijimura-senpai, it’s been a while.” Nijimura jumps as he hears the voice.

“Oh, Kuroko? Didn’t see you there,” he says, out of reflex, until he backtracks and realizes who he’s talking to.

And then he realizes, it was inevitable the moment he met Kise Ryouta a few weeks ago. As it were, he decides to prepare for a visit from Aomine’s team soon — the boy never could keep anything from “Kurokochii” and “Aominechii”. It was like a damn parade of rainbow-haired basketball freaks to his restaurant.

“We’re looking for a table for 8,” a boy wearing glasses says authoritatively. Nijimura immediately sizes him up. Captain, he thinks.

Suddenly, a boy rushes past Nijimura with a departing yell of “Toilet!”

The only girl in the group sighs. “I apologize for Koganei-kun in advance. He was so into trying to win a free cap he bought 5 bottles of soda earlier in the convenience store and wanted to finish them by lunch.”

Nijimura leads them to a table, feeling slightly disoriented with the multi-coloured (literally) bits of his past popping back up in his life. Thankfully, Kuroko is a lot calmer than Kise, and does not try to disrupt his work.

He gets even more disoriented when it comes time to order.

“It’s chilly today, so I’d like some chilli, please,” one of the team members says happily. Nijimura stares. Then he says flatly, “It’s 36 degrees out, it’s summer, and we don’t serve chilli,” amidst the groans of the team. The boy with glasses elbows him hard.

The boy, however, is not deflated. “That’s alright! I cod do with some fried fish, is that batter?” Nijimura doesn’t have to do anything but note down his order— half the team pummels the boy for the puns.

“I’d like 3 plates of omuraisu, 2 bowls of katsudon and 2 bowls of ramen to start with please,” a tall boy with red hair says, pointing out the items in the menu. Nijimura stares at him. For some reason, he reminds him of an annoying Teikou kohai. So he says flatly, “For making me carry all that later, you’re giving me extra tip.”

The boy splutters. Kuroko says serenely, “I agree with Nijimura-senpai. Kagami-kun, you eat such ridiculous amounts it is only fitting.” Nijimura turns to the next boy, ignoring Kagami’s spluttered “What the hell, Kuroko! If we had eaten at Maji burger we wouldn’t have to tip!” and Kuroko’s calm “He is my old captain, so he should be accorded some respect,” and Kagami’s subsequent, “He’s not my old captain!” and ignores the ensuing tussle.

The next boy does not say anything. Nijimura raises an eyebrow and prompts him. He still doesn’t say anything. Just then, the boy who had rushed to the bathroom (Koganei, was it?) comes back whistling merrily.

“Ah, that felt better than winning that free cap! Oh Mitobe, it’s your turn to order? Mitobe will have a unagi bento. Oh, and I’ll have a katsudon please,” Koganei says cheerfully, sitting beside the silent Mitobe. Nijimura just shakes his head and writes down the order. He did not even want to know how that worked.

The next boy is even taller than Kagami. He smiles brightly and says, “I will have whatever the chef feels like making on this beautiful day.” Nijimura frowns and clarifies, “You mean the special? It’s grilled saba.” The boy shakes his head serenely and says, “No, I want what the chef feels like making. Tell him to surprise me!”

The boy with glasses slams his palm on his face. “Kiyoshi, shut up. Just get him the saba.” A captain after my own heart, Nijimura thinks. Until the boy opens his mouth to order and the girl cuts in. “Hyuuga-kun will have the protein shake. He is building muscle mass and shouldn’t eat anything else after that burger he had earlier.”

Hyuuga groans and whines, “Rikoooo…” Nijimura says slowly, “A protein shake…?” The girl smiles sweetly at Nijimura and gives him a pack of protein supplements. “Just add these protein supplements to whatever banana shake you have! As for me, I’ll have a seaweed salad and miso soup.”

Nijimura warily takes the pack of supplements from her. He secretly pities Hyuuga.

“Is that it then?” he asks. Riko’s gaze suddenly sharpens. “Kuroko! You didn’t order anything!” Overriding his “I’m full, coach…” she orders “He’ll have a teriyaki chicken bento box. With more meat and vegetables.”

As Nijimura expects, the team talks about basketball all through lunch. He listens in despite himself (and the yearning in his heart that had awoken since his streetball match with Kaijo a few weeks ago).

Kagami wildly gesticulates, food flying everywhere, as he demonstrates a dunk. Hyuuga slams a hand in his head as hot ramen soup flicks on his face. Kuroko smiles his quiet, hidden smile and gives keen observational input on NBA defensive formations. Mitobe nods smiling through the conversation while Koganei cheerfully takes bets on the next NBA match. Kiyoshi is offering everyone his head massaging skills instead of money for the bets. Riko is whacking Koganei with a paper fan and reminding him to focus on his own upcoming matches. Izuki is happily making puns (“I have never gambled before, but I will give it a shot. I hope I can rebound from my losses.”).

And Nijimura has never missed basketball so much in his life as when he hears the love in their voices for the game he had given up for the sake of things in life he knew were more important than basketball.

As the team leaves, Nijimura is surprised at the hefty tip not just from Kagami, but from the entire team. Riko smiles at him and says, “Nijimura-senpai, Kuroko’s old captain from Teikou, right? Kuroko’s learnt a lot from you — Seirin thanks you for that.”

Hyuuga shuffles uncomfortably next to her, coughs and looks straight at him. “Thanks for taking care of Kuroko — we’ll take good care of him now.” Nijimura vaguely wonders why he makes it sound like Nijimura has given Kuroko to him like a father gives his daughter away at a wedding. Still, he straightens and smiles back at him.

Kuroko smiles and says, “Nijimura-senpai, I can still learn from you. You are very welcome to play with us sometime.”

Nijimura just smiles back and says, “Sure, maybe I will.” The entire Seirin team might be made up of basketball idiots, but they are basketball idiots who could teach him how to love again a game he thought he’d forgotten.

Chapter Text

Nijimura catches the basketball flying towards him on reflex.

“Hey, senpai,” Aomine says, smirking. Nijimura frowns and flicks him on the forehead. “Is that any way to greet your old captain?”

Aomine looks shocked at what he dares to do. Nijimura is unperturbed. Aomine may have grown much taller (the brat now had two inches on him), but when he looked at him he still saw the boy who played basketball with reckless joy and abandon, young and raw and bursting with talent that would prove to grow beyond his control. He still saw the boy who had begun to feel lost and scared of his own skill with the basketball.

Just then, Momoi runs up. “Dai-chan!” she admonishes him, and turns to Nijimura. “Hello, senpai! It’s been a while,” she smiles, still as sweet as ever, as shrewd as ever.

Nijimura throws the basketball, aiming at Aomine’s face. “What are you doing, bothering me on my break?” The brat’s reflexes are even faster than before, he notes, as Aomine just catches it with one hand, covering his mouth with the other as he yawns.

“Allow me to apologize for Aomine. Although I’m sure a fast pass is nothing for the former Teikou captain.” A smiling boy with glasses steps closer, sauntering from behind Momoi. Nijimura stiffens — why did he feel like he was being challenged?

“Oi, Aomine! Is he going to play streetball with us or what!” a yell from the distance arrives before the owner of the voice, a tall boy with bleached hair.

“Shut up! I’m working on it,” Aomine yells back. The boy rushes to grab his collar. “Is that any way to talk to your senpai and future captain?”

Irritated with the yelling and hotheadedness around him, Nijimura whacked both of them on the head. “Enough already! There are still customers in the store— you idiots are loud enough to bother them. I still have half an hour on my break, let’s go somewhere else.” The boy with glasses looks a little surprised at the way he easily takes control of the situation — Nijimura feels vindicated despite himself. He has nothing to prove, he reminds himself annoyedly.

As they head towards the restaurant’s spare room, a boy rushes after them. “I’m sorry I’m so slow! So sorry I took so long to get here!”

“It’s alright Sakurai,” the boy with glasses reassures him in such an automatic way that Nijimura knows this is a common occurrence. Sakurai continues apologizing, bowing the whole way.

“So senpai— we heard you are interested in playing basketball again?” Momoi asks, smile innocent but eyes as keen and sharp as ever. And basketball talk ensues.

During conversation, Nijimura is surprised at himself — somehow, he still has the skill to analyze a basketball team’s dynamics. Wakamatsu, the blond kid, is loud and boisterous, but has the makings of a leader, at least once he learns to calm down. Imayoshi, the smug one with glasses, is irritatingly know-it-all, but has the calm confidence and certainty that leads everyone to naturally gravitate around him. Sakurai, slowly growing out of his insecurities by learning to be self-confident with his own basketball skills.

And Aomine, still lost despite his attempt to appear intimidating and thuggish. Momoi, hiding her vulnerabilities with her keen words and astute gaze. Two of Nijimura’s kohai who still seemed to need a leader even though Nijimura could not, would not, get back into that mess of a situation. Teikou had hurt them, somehow he could tell.

Sometime during their conversation, Momoi takes out some of her homemade cookies. Aomine turns green and bolts, overturning three chairs along the way. Wakamatsu yells a “Never, never again!” and runs after him, this time overturning the table. Sakurai pushes the cookies away from him yelling “Sorry…I’m so sorry!” Imayoshi smiles complacently while Nijimura, confused and annoyed as hell with Aomine’s and Wakamatsu’s making a mess, grabs both Wakamatsu and Aomine by the collars and throttles them, holding them in place. Everything calms down soon after.

With that, Nijimura’s break is almost over. Somehow, Imayoshi has managed to manipulate Nijimura’s boss into believing that it wasn’t their fault the room was a mess, and to throw in three free meals for the team at the restaurant. Nijimura is impressed, despite himself.

“I’ll be looking forward to playing with you,” Imayoshi smiles a knowing smile at him, like Nijimura has passed some sort of internal test. Nijimura just rolls his eyes and shakes his hand. “That’ll be interesting, for sure,” he responds.

Wakamatsu punches him in the shoulder (it takes almost all of Nijimura’s will not to wince — the guy is strong). “I’ll challenge you sometime too!” Nijimura just shakes his head at him, but smiles and nods.

“I’m so sorry we messed up the restaurant backroom. I’m sorry we troubled you during your break. Sorry we…” Nijimura cuts him off by flicking him on the forehead. Hard. “Sakurai, I’m going to keep doing this unless you stop apologizing around me.” Sakurai blinks, but nods vigorously in agreement, lips sealed tight to stop himself apologizing, red spot blooming on his forehead.

Aomine and Momoi are hanging around awkwardly as the three of them set off first.

Nijimura looks straight at Aomine and says, “Brat, I’ll only say this once. I know you think the world revolves around basketball, but it doesn’t. Yes, learn what basketball means to you beyond just winning, but also learn what you find in life that is almost as important as basketball to you. Trust me, there’s more to life than basketball.”

He turns to Momoi, ignoring her sniffling at his ‘touching’ speech to Aomine. He said simply, “Momoi— learn to live for yourself, instead of for others.” And then pats her head awkwardly as she full-on starts bawling.

“Senpai,” Aomine says, amidst Momoi’s blubbed “Thank you senpai…” He shuffles uncomfortably and, running a hand over the back of his head, mumbles, “Let’s play a one-on-one sometime?”

Nijimura smiles and musses his hair. Even if he has to reach up to do it now, he does it anyway because there’s still no mistaking the boy who had loved basketball so much he would risk his own position on Teikou’s starting team to stand up for a friend who worked at and loved the game just as hard.

As he watches them leave, Aomine with an arm slung comfortingly around a still sobbing Momoi, he finds himself smiling. Annoying kohai — they can’t even function without a leader to point them in the right direction, he thinks. But Nijimura doesn’t mind at all.

Chapter Text

Nijimura is unlocking the restaurant for the morning when he hears the thud of something falling behind him. 

He frowns as he picks it up. It is a shojo romance manga, the sparkly picture of a pretty boy and cute girl clasping hands on the cover with “It was a love never meant to be” in flowery text. It is well taken care of, wrapped carefully in plastic.

“Takao, I’m going to kill you!” He hears an urgent, angry whisper nearby, then a sniggered, “But Shin-chan, you can’t hide forever! Besides, your disguise sucks— you would have been found out anyway.”

“Midorima,” he sighs, “stop being weird and come out.” If Teikou had been a more buddy-buddy kind of place, he would have been most worried about Midorima ‘fitting in’ with the rest of the team. Sure, most of Teikou’s first string were made up of freaks. But Midorima was odd. He would have been the easiest to make fun of.

As it were, he was a member of the Generation of Miracles. He had the basketball talent, and worked hard enough to garner the respect of any player who watched him.

Midorima stepped out, stiffly pushing his sunglasses up on his face. He was wearing a brown scarf which covered virtually half of his face. Nijimura did not even bother to wonder why he was wearing sunglasses so early in the morning and a scarf in early fall— with Midorima, sometimes it was better not to know.

“Hello, senpai. I hope you have been doing well,” he said, rigid and awkward. And he extends a hand to shake Nijimura’s, stiff and formal. Proper as ever, that was Midorima. Nijimura ignores all that, slams a hand on his head and musses his hair. He was taller than Aomine. Nijimura is not even surprised that his kohai have surpassed him.

Midorima blinks as his glasses go askew. He coughs, adjusts them and says, “Can I have my lucky item back, please. I apologize for Takao’s rudeness. ” Nijimura rolls his eyes and shoves the manga back to him. Midorima carefully holds it in his left hand, taped fingers clutching it tightly but gently.

Just then his companion shimmies between them and slings his arms around them. “Weelll…this is a touching reunion. Did you come all the way here just to skulk around hiding and then leave?”

Midorima sniffs condescendingly. “Don’t be ridiculous, Takao. We just happened to be around the area. And stop being rude— introduce yourself to Nijimura-senpai, my former captain.”

Takao just cheekily winks at Nijimura and says, “Don’t believe him — he’s just being a tsundere. He wanted to see you so much he dragged all of us here on a day trip with him. The captain refused to go, but the rest of us starters are here. Oh, and by the way, hi senpai! I’m Takao, Shuutoku point guard and Shin-chan’s official baby-sitter.”

Nijimura is surprised. This boy got Midorima, odd as he is.

Just then, Nijimura hears a “If he leaves us behind one more time, I’m going to throw a pineapple at his head!” as a boy angrily storms up to them. Another boy comes up behind him.

“Midorima, when we get back you’re doing triple training! Takao, you too!” the boy yells angrily as Takao slumps and whines, “But Miyaji-senpai, I was just following Shin-chan! You know how he needs me…”

Miyaji still frowns angrily, but then he claps a hand so hard on Midorima’s back he stumbles forward. He grumbles, “Stop leaving us behind, brat. You’re not the only one on this trip, you know.”

The other boy offers a fruit basket and said, “Here— my mum insisted on giving us these fruits for the trip. There’s a special Kimura-brand pineapple in there if you want it, Miyaji.” Nijimura is amused to see Midorima flinch and Takao duck reflexively.

Then he looks at all of them and says flatly, “I need to prepare the restaurant for opening time. Instead of bothering me and wasting my time, you’re going to help me do it.”

Ignoring Miyaji’s shout of protest, Takao’s wail (“Whyyy?!”) and Midorima’s splutter, he walks into the restaurant.

He starts giving orders. “Miyaji, you seem loud and violent. I guess you’re strong enough to arrange the tables and chairs. Kimura, since you seem to handle fruits well, you can chop the ingredients in preparation for today. Takao, you talk too much. You can calculate the inventory of ingredients to decide how much we need for tomorrow, quietly.”

Then he turns to Midorima. “Midorima, you can help me set the tables.”

Nijimura is pleasantly surprised when after a bit of shuffling and grumbling, they get to work.  Although his years as Teikou captain were a distant past, he did not expect to find the authority in himself to still command a team.

Even though Takao is unable to follow his instructions and starts humming and singing loudly, Shuutoku works well together. They start helping each other after their tasks are done.  Nijimura is surprised further when even Midorima starts ‘helping’ Takao (by virtue of lecturing him). As shooting guard, Midorima always worked and trained alone. He had been the most isolated member at Teikou. It looked like Shuutoku had taught him things Teikou never did.

As Midorima is finishing up his meticulous work setting the table, Nijimura throws a can at him. Still sharp as ever, he notes as Midorima catches it easily. He hides a smile as Midorima’s eyes widen at the red bean soup label on the can. It was hard to forget what his favourite drink was when it was always what he drank after practice, after all.

Nijimura treats them all to cold drinks from the vending machine as they eat the fruits after work. As he watches Miyaji snap at Takao for eating all the strawberries and Midorima lecturing everyone on the proper way to peel oranges, he finds himself comparing Shuutoku and Teikou and wondering. How had Teikou got things so wrong?

As they leave, Nijimura taps Midorima on the back. “What did you come all the way here for? It couldn’t be that you intended to help me prepare the restaurant.”

Midorima clears his throat awkwardly and avoids his gaze, pushing his glasses up. “We are both Cancers. Oha Asa said today was a lucky day for reunions. Also, Momoi said you were playing basketball again.”

Takao, listening in as always (Nijimura personally felt the boy needed to learn boundaries), said, “Aw stop being so shy, Shin-chan!” He informs Nijimura, “Shin-chan just misses playing basketball with you.”

Miyaji slings an arm around him. “Yup, I came because I was curious about you, but you seem like a cool guy. I guess you are worthy of playing with us sometime.”

Nijimura shrugs his arm off, but slaps him on the shoulder in turn. “I guess I don’t mind playing with you guys sometime.”  

After they leave, Nijimura is surprised to find a paper bag lying innocuously on the table. Curious, Nijimura peers into the bag. And can’t help smiling as he takes out another romance manga, this one still crisp and new, sealed in its plastic covering.

Chapter Text

Nijimura is having one of those days where he hates the fact he works part-time in a restaurant. Not only is it his turn to go grocery shopping for the ingredients in the restaurant, he also has a double shift that night to cover for a colleague. 

As he makes his way through the aisles of the grocery store, he remembers that his younger brothers love matcha Pocky. He heads towards the snack aisle, stopping short when he hears the familiar drawl of a Teikou kohai.

“I could either go for my favourite combination of chocolate, caramel candy and cheese, or I could go for more exciting flavours like beef tongue, natto and takoyaki…what do you think, Muro-chin?” Murasakibara is gazing intently at the shelves of family-pack umaibo. He is with a boy almost as annoyingly pretty as Kise, his hair covering one side of his face.

“Murasakibara,” Nijimura says. “You know you’ll just end up getting both.” The two of them turn at the sound of his voice. Murasakibara’s eyes widen. “Eeeh, Mura-chin!”

Nijimura frowns and punches him in the shoulder (he would have whacked him on the head, but Murasakibara was tall, and he would have looked ridiculous). “Call me senpai, damnit!” he says.

Murasakibara just tilts his head. “Eeh…Mura-chin-senpai? Sounds weird…” Nijimura resists the urge to facepalm.

The pretty boy smiles placatingly. “Nijimura-senpai, is it? I’m Himuro of Yosen. Most of us are here on a training trip. We were just about to head over to your restaurant, but stopped by the store because Atsushi needed a snack.” When does he never need one, the question went unneeded to be said.

“Oi, Himuro, Murasakibara! Let’s go already. What’s taking so long, are you still deciding??” Three other boys turn into their aisle.

“Oh, you’re Murasakibara’s old captain at Teikou?” one of them claps him on the back. He is huge and muscular. “Pleased to meet you! I’m Okamura, Yosen’s captain.”

The other two just raise their hands in acknowledgement. “Fukui.” “Liu here.” Nijimura feels better that he’s at least taller than Fukui and (slightly) taller than Himuro. As for the others, Nijimura has never seen a team this huge.

Fukui said flatly, “The captain was interested in looking at cutesy girly magazines. So we thought it would be a good time to leave.”

Okamura looks scandalized. “Nooo I wasn’t, stop badmouthing me Fukui! I was just doing research to understand what girls would be interested in!”

Liu rolls his eyes. “Even I know that’s not the way to do it — and anyway, it still wouldn’t work for you.” Okamura gapes. “How mean!” he says, tears streaming down his face.

Despite the ridiculous sight of a big muscular guy crying like a little girl from some ribbing, Nijimura feels bad for the guy. “Is this really the way you treat your captain?” he demands, staring down Fukui and Liu, eyes narrowed.

They just shrugged, but looked shamefacedly away, defiance set in their mouths. And Nijimura wonders why he needs to discipline every one of his irritating Teikou kohais and their teams that come his way.

Murasakibara then yawns. “Can we go now, I’m hungry…”

Himuro smiles again. “Why don’t we help Nijimura-senpai carry all these groceries back to the restaurant? You need help, right?” he says, looking at the cart piled high with groceries behind Nijimura. Nijimura shrugs. “I still have a few things to pick up.”

As they walk towards the meat section, Himuro leaves his teammates behind to walk with Nijimura. “I’m curious about you,” he says simply, smiling. Nijimura is immediately suspicious. He smiled too much, and he was too polite. Nijimura was used to annoying kohai who liked getting into his face. Annoying kohai he could beat up and that was it.

“What did it feel like to captain a team like the Generation of Miracles and be average yourself?” The question came out of nowhere, like a punch to the gut. Nijimura stops, peers sideways at Himuro. “I should punch you for that,” he says, calmly.

Himuro immediately looks apologetic. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. I just…have that problem myself.” Nijimura glares at him, but sighs. He can somewhat understand the kid — being in the same team with someone like Murasakibara, so naturally, terrifyingly good at basketball, yet so mind-numbingly, frustratingly indifferent about everything.

Nijimura turns back, to look at Murasakibara. The brat (the boy may be nearly 2 metres tall, but Teikou kohai were all brats in his mind) was getting distracted by some samples displaying the new flavours of Meiji snacks. Okamura, Liu and Fukui were all unsuccessfully trying to distract him from it. Okumura yells, “We’re the Shield of Aegis! We can do this!” Fukui just snaps, “Are you kidding me Captain! Murasakibara’s at least three quarters of our ‘shield’!”

Nijimura sighs and continues walking. Murasakibara was their problem to handle now. “Look, kid, I’m not a freaking therapist. I don’t know what you should feel or what you should do. At Teikou, all I knew was I loved basketball, so I became captain. Then I watched my team become that good at basketball, and had to make way for them. And then I had to make way for other things besides basketball. You basketball idiots always forget life is not just made up of basketball.”

It was Himuro’s turn to turn back, whilst he considers Nijimura’s speech. They both watch as Murasakibara gets distracted by yet another display of new flavours, this time of Lotte snacks. Liu is unsuccessfully trying to block Murasakibara’s eyesight, waving his arms, while Okamura and Fukui point in random directions (“Look, Murasakibara! A huge chocolate bar just popped up right there!” “Captain, that doesn’t make any sense.”).

Nijimura frowns at Himuro’s silence and says, “Look, it’s very simple. Do you love basketball?”

Himuro looks taken off guard by his question, but contemplative. “With all my heart,” he says, simply.

“Then, it shouldn’t matter whether you are genius-level or not. Regardless, you should feel happy to be playing basketball competitively, with your team, at national-level.”

Before Himuro can respond, they both hear a crash behind them. Murasakibara had ran towards some new flavours and Okamura, Fukui and Liu had all dived to tackle him to stop him once and for all. They were entangled, lying in a pile on the floor.

Fed up, Nijimura stomps up to them. “Murasakibara, if you choose some flavours now and save some for later, you can lengthen the time to enjoy them instead of trying all the flavours at once. So buy some now, and be done with it.”

At his words, Murasakibara looks like he has an epiphany. “Aaaah, Mura-chin, you’re right!” The long-suffering trio look in awe at Nijimura’s ability to handle Murasakibara. He glares at them and says, “He’s really simple. All you need to do is think what situation would cause him to have less or no snacks, and then warn him against it.”

Himuro taps him on the shoulder, and smiles. “I don’t think you were made captain because you simply loved basketball, Nijimura-senpai. You were made captain because you are good at being captain.”

Nijimura rolls his eyes. “You just get over your issues, brat. You’re lucky to still be playing basketball competitively, with a team as good as Yosen.” Himuro’s eyes widen, and his smile loses its sadness just a little.

As they check out and leave the store, Okamura goes up to Nijimura. “Murasakibara insisted that we should meet you, but refused to say why.” Then he smiled. “I think I understand why now, though.”

Nijimura looks at Murasakibara, yawning as he clutches an open pack of newly-purchased umaibo. He goes up to him. “Murasakibara. How are you finding the basketball at Yosen?”

Murasakibara stares at him, stifling a yawn. “Weeelll…sometimes I can’t decide which snacks to bring to practice. And sometimes I can’t fit all my snacks in my locker. And sometimes it’s annoying to stop eating to play. And…” Nijimura whacks him on the shoulder. “Get to the point!”

Murasakibara just yawns again. “It’s like this umaibo, I guess. I might not like the flavour sometimes, but I eat it anyway. Because there’re all these flavours of umaibo, and…”

This time Nijimura just cuts him off. “I’m glad you enjoy basketball now. And tell Momoi she has a mouth as big as Kise’s.”

Murasakibara peers down at him. Then he says, “Want to try some umaibo?”

Nijimura just nods at him. “As long as it’s not natto-flavoured.”

Chapter Text

As Nijimura locks up the restaurant for the day and starts to head home, he isn’t even surprised by the limousine pulled up by the side of the road.

The tinted window goes down to reveal the leader of Nijimura’s most troublesome Teikou kohai. “Akashi,” Nijimura says. “Did you wait until every one of your team had met me first before you yourself decided to visit me?” It was just like Akashi to make dramatic impressions like that.

Akashi deliberately did not answer his question. “Shuuzou, it’s been a while. Would you like to join us for dinner?”

Nijimura flicks him on the forehead. “What did you address me as? You haven’t grown up that much, kid.” He hears two strangled gasps inside the limo — a “Sei-chan!” and a “He’s gonna die…”

Akashi just blinked. Then he smiled. “Nijimura-san, let me introduce you to my team at Rakuzan.” Nijimura just sighs and gets into the car. That was the best he would get out of Akashi.

Mibuchi winks at him and bats his eyelashes. “I’m so glad to meet the respected former captain of Teikou!” Hayama pushes him out of the way and leans into Nijimura’s face. “Yeah, I thought you were going to die for sure when you flicked Akashi’s forehead! I guess you are someone important!”

Then Nebuya muscles him out of the way. “We’re trying to decide what to have for dinner, and I voted for all-you-can-eat barbeque buffet! You agree with me, right?” The last member, Mayuzumi, is reading a light novel. He just nods at Nijimura, who nods back at him.

Akashi smiles indulgently. “Reo, Kotarou, Eikichi, stop overwhelming Nijimura-san. We already have reservations at a restaurant for dinner.” Nijimura frowns. There’s something off with the way Akashi tells them what to do, and is one of his eyes orange?

As Nijimura expects, the restaurant is fancy. It makes Nebuya pull a face in disgust as he is forced to put a napkin on his lap, and use three different forks with two different knives for his six different courses.

Hayama rushes to sit next to Nijimura as they are seated (“I want to know more about you, senpai!”). Mibuchi sits with flair and deliberate poise, with a look of disgust at Nebuya next to him (and a sniffed “At least some of us know how to behave.).

Akashi sits at the head of the table like he belongs there, with Nijimura and Mibuchi on his either side. Mayuzumi unobtrusively sits at the other end of the table.

And Nijimura feels weird and out of place. For one thing, he is thoroughly underdressed in his waiter’s uniform. In another, he is used to rough casualness, not this.

Akashi, of course, looks like he was born to this. He makes conversation politely, carefully, about Nijimura’s life. He asks all the right questions — how was Nijimura’s father doing, about his brothers’ schools, his mother’s job. He doesn’t pry too much, yet asks enough to be polite. It is the perfect conversation for a reunion between old middle school teammates. But he doesn’t bring up basketball.

His team is another matter. Hayama gets into Nijimura’s personal space at every opportunity, leaning into him while he eats, asking him non-stop: “Isn’t this steak yummy, senpai? Do you like steak, senpai? What is your favourite food, senpai?” “Do you like the juice, senpai? You look like a soda person, senpai — are you a soda person, senpai?” Nijimura barely gets to answer and chew at the same time.

Mibuchi bats his eyelashes and smiles at Nijimura from across the table, yet snaps at his teammates at every opportunity. “Nebuya, use a fork, not your hands!” he says sharply. “Hayama,calm down and let Nijimura-senpai eat!” Mayuzumi creeps him out slightly, in the blank, silent way he eats. Nijimura at least gets Nebuya, who seems pretty straightforward, albeit uncouth — and he leaves him alone to eat his meals in peace.

Eventually, Nijimura finds it all too weird that none of them are bringing up basketball. So he brings it up, politely, when he is given a brief respite from Hayama, who finally stops talking in lieu of struggling to eat a particularly tough part of the steak. “Are you guys starting training for any upcoming tournaments soon?”

It is as though the subject was taboo. Hayama stops eating and almost chokes (Nijimura thumps him automatically in the back). Mibuchi gasps breathily, dramatically, clutching a hand to his chest. Mayuzumi pauses chewing. Only Nebuya continues eating, lost in his own world.

And Akashi seems frozen, glaring, staring at his steak stonily. Everyone watches him warily.

Then Mayuzumi sighs and says, in a flat, emotionless voice, “We haven’t talked about playing basketball competitively since we lost the Winter Cup.” And there is a slam on the table, then Akashi stands up. “Excuse me, I need to go to the restroom.”

Before he leaves, however, Nijimura frowns and grabs him. “Sit down, and don’t run away.” Again, Mibuchi gasps “Sei-chan!” and Hayama goes “Senpai, you are so cool!” in a choked voice full of fear for Nijimura’s life.

Nijimura ignores them. “What the hell is going on with you guys?” he demands. Nebuya looks up. “Huh?” he says, mouth full. “Wha’s happ’ing?” Mibuchi twists his mouth in disgust and leans far away from him.

Nijimura ignores Nebuya’s question and continues, staring at Akashi. “One loss and you guys can’t handle it? Are you guys basketball players or spoilt toddlers?”

Akashi looks at him. And Nijimura taken aback to see the coldness in his gaze. “Nijimura-san, is this any way to treat your host?”

Thoroughly irritated, Nijimura just glares right back. “Stop avoiding the issue. You’re behaving like a spoilt kid throwing a tantrum. What kind of captain does this after a single loss?” Mibuchi, Hayama, and even Nebuya’s eyes are switching back and forth between them like it’s a tennis rally. Only Mayuzumi continues eating calmly, stoically.

Akashi states imperiously, “Since I always win, I’m always right. That loss means that we are not fit to play basketball competitively. I was wrong to think we were.”

Nijimura stares incredulously at him. “Do you love winning more, or do you love basketball more?” Akashi’s eyes widen, and he doesn’t, can’t, say anything. “Make a choice,” Nijimura says simply. Then he sighs, shakes his head and continues eating his steak.

There is a long pause, in which Akashi remains frozen with eyes widened, Mibuchi wipes tears from his eyes, Nebuya shrugs and continues eating, Hayama is silent for once as he stares at Nijimura in awe, and Mayuzumi eats calmly as always, but this time with a slight smile on his face. Then Akashi starts eating again.

“Nijimura-san, did you watch the last NBA playoffs? What did you think of their offensive strategy?” Akashi asks Nijimura, calmly, as though nothing had happened. And basketball talk finally begins.

As Akashi drops Nijimura off at his house, Hayama clings onto him. “I don’t want to go back to Kyoto, I want to stay here with senpai!” he whines. “I want to show you my dribble, senpai!”

Nijimura disentangles himself from him irritatedly, and shoves a hand on his face, pushing him away. “Just continue training hard, and we’ll play basketball together next time we meet,” he says. Hayama perks up. “That’s a promise!” he says excitedly.

Mibuchi smiles coyly at Nijimura. “Senpai, I would love to watch you play basketball as well.” Nijimura just nods in acknowledgement, uncomfortably shifting and trying to ignore the flush rising on the back of his neck.

Nebuya burps loudly (Mibuchi shrieks in disgust) says, “I’ll be different from these lame ones — I’ll challenge you not in basketball, but in wrestling! I’ll warn you though — I’m very strong.” Nijimura just smiles sharply, challengingly, at him. “We’ll see.”

Mayuzumi nods at him, he nods back. That was all he expected, really.

And Akashi steps out of the car as he walks up to his house. “Senpai,” he calls. Nijimura turns in surprise. Looks like the brat has remembered his manners. “It was nice seeing you again,” Akashi says, smiling. His smile is different, as though a heavy burden has been lifted.

Nijimura just places a palm on his head. “Thank you for the dinner,” he says. “I’ll beat you at basketball another time, then.”

Akashi just smiles. “I look forward to it.”

Chapter Text

The sky was dark by the time Nijimura was done for the day. He was bone tired, but the day still wasn’t going to be over for him by the time he got back. He still had to help his brothers with their homework (his mother would be working late again today).

It wasn’t meant to be for him to make it home on time today, though. As Nijimura walked out the restaurant, he gave a cursory glance at the bar next door. And doubled back, almost not believing his eyes, as he recognized someone he never expected to see again.

Walking up to him, Nijimura grabbed the bottle of sake from Haizaki Shougo. “You shouldn’t be drinking, brat — you’re underage,” he commented. He poured a cup for himself, and downed it. Brisk and crisp, and clear — this was not bad sake.

Haizaki’s eyes widened as he recognized him. Then he snorted. “So’re you, bastard,” he said, slightly slurring. He wasn’t yet quite drunk, but he was surely getting there. He poured Nijimura another cup, an uncharacteristically generous gesture. He must be remembering all those times Nijimura had thoroughly beat him up.

“At least you still know how to respect me,” Nijimura said, sipping the sake. “But I don’t think you would be the type to be all sentimental and reminisce, feeling nostalgic for the old days.” The old days of him whacking Haizaki regularly, that is.

“The old days,” Haizaki scoffed. “All of them at Teikou can go screw themselves. That bastard Akashi, Aomine, Kise,” he growled the last name with unexpected venom. Nijimura raised his eyebrows.

“Do you like getting beat up or something, talking like that?” he said, rapping him on the head. “You know, I’ve been playing basketball with some of them recently.”

Haizaki rolled his eyes. “Basketball can rot in hell,” he said, darkly.

Alcohol always made Nijimura a little more violent, a little more honest, a little more brash. Hearing Haizaki diss the game Nijimura tried not to love too much (but still did, to his eternal frustration) reminded him of all those times Haizaki had disrespected him as captain back at Teikou.

Haizaki was actually good at basketball, too — Nijimura sometimes thought if Akashi had not expelled him from the team, Haizaki could have surpassed Nijimura, too, just like the rest of the Miracles. So hearing him talk like that pissed him off more than he anticipated.

Nijimura punched Haizaki, in the face. Haizaki reeled at the unexpected attack, and snarled at him, charging at him.

Nijimura relished the opportunity to release his stress through a good old fashioned fight, brawling with fists. Working at the restaurant every day, making time to study, playing basketball with players like the Miracles (always being reminded of the player he could never be), and taking care of his brothers and sick father sometimes got too much.

By the time the izakaya manager broke them apart, Haizaki was bleeding at the lip, with a rapidly forming black eye. Nijimura looked better, although his fists hurt. The brat had a hard head.

They both sat at the curb outside the bar, having been kicked out, half-finished bottle of sake lying at their feet. They took turns taking swigs from it, having abandoned the formalcy of those irritatingly small, dainty sake cups.

“You’re a self-pitying, destructive jackass,” Nijimura glared at the player who had given him the most trouble as captain, back at Teikou. “You should try treating others, and basketball, better. Then maybe you’ll find yourself liking yourself more.”

Haizaki snarled, and lunged towards Nijimura. He was now well and truly drunk, though, so Nijimura didn’t even bother dodging. His punch missed Nijimura, widely. He fell flat on his face on the street.

He lay there, pathetic and broken. “I don’t need basketball. There’s nothing in it for me,” he growled sullenly. Then he raised his head, eyes glazed from the alcohol, and smirked at Nijimura. “Now, girls, however…”

Nijimura reached over and whacked him upside the head. “You wish you didn’t need basketball, you mean.” He could still remember how Haizaki played basketball during the times he did show up to practice, shitty attitude firmly in place. He could still see Haizaki’s ruthless skill with the ball, his merciless decimation of his opponents. But he also remembered Haizaki’s smirk as he did so.

Haizaki may have been cruel and anything but a good sportsman, but he had enjoyed creating chaos on court. He had enjoyed basketball.

“Find a way to actually try to enjoy playing basketball again,” Nijimura said. “Then maybe you’ll stop being such an asshole.”

Haizaki was silent. Then he smirked, and spat derisively at Nijimura’s direction. “Always trying to be the all-knowing, wise captain, huh. That’s what I could never stand about you. You think you know enough to guide your kohai, but you yourself are a washed out has-been.”

Nijimura didn’t even blink. He was used to Haizaki’s attitude, even after those few years. “I know I’m never going to play basketball competitively again,” he said. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to be a whiny jerk about it and take it out on others because of my own issues.”

Then he stood up. “Come on, I’ll call you a taxi to bring you home.” He pulled Haizaki up, none too gently. “If I have to hang out with you any longer I’m not going to be able to stop myself beating you up so badly you won’t even remember you’re supposed to be working on your attitude.”

As he helped Haizaki into the taxi, Nijimura flicked his forehead. “By the way, you look ridiculous, brat. This look doesn’t suit you,” he said. “I’m no fashion expert, but I think you’ll get more girls if you tried not look like a gangster.”

Haizaki just laughed, short and derisive. Then he looked away. “I’ll think about it.” And somehow Nijimura knew he wasn’t just talking about changing his look.

As he headed home, Nijimura was surprised at his own ability to still walk in a straight line. He had held his alcohol better than he thought. He smiled as he checked his phone messages.

Akashi being an overbearing mother-hen as usual, double-confirming Nijimura’s basketball game with the Rakuzan team that weekend. Momoi’s message complaining that Aomine kept pestering her to ask Nijimura-senpai which basketball brand he liked better, Air Jordans or And1. Midorima reminding him that Cancers had to eat cup ramen for supper that night to ensure good luck for the next day.

Kise’s emoticon-filled, too-peppy, too-long message about how fun his karaoke session had been with Kaijou that past weekend, and how he just had to sing a duet with Nijimura-senpai one of these days. Kuroko’s short, meaningful message about the progress he had made in training that week. Murasakibara’s weekly whine for Nijimura to courier Tokyo-exclusive flavours of umaibo to him in Akita.

Nijimura knew there wasn’t even a remote possibility that he would ever want Haizaki to join him on his occasional basketball games with the Miracles. Haizaki would always be an asshole. But, if he started working on his self-pitying attitude, hopefully, maybe, probably he would be, at the very least, a little more of a tolerable asshole.

Chapter Text

Nijimura is just walking towards the outdoor courts, heading to where he sees Kuroko and Kagami, when his lips are met by another pair of lips. He staggers back, dumbfounded. A beautiful, blonde, woman is standing in front of him.

“Man, Taiga, all your friends are so cute! You should invite me to your street basketball games more often!” she gushes, in English. Nijimura gets the gist from what little he remembers from school.

Kagami runs over yelling from where he had been tossing a ball idly with Kuroko, and nearly trips flat on his face in his haste. “This is why I can’t take you anywhere!” he grumbles, dragging her safely away from Nijimura.

He turns to Nijimura. “S-sorry, senpai,” he says, rubbing the back of his head. Nijimura is a little surprised that he acts so politely for someone who reminds him a little too much of Aomine. Kuroko must have been telling him stories about Nijimura’s ‘pedagogical style’ when disciplining his kohai.

Nijimura just shrugs. “It’s alright,” he says. But he pointedly can’t look at the woman in the eye, and he feels a flush rise at the back of his neck. Damnit, he was normally at least passably, socially adequate around girls, but this was a woman. A beautiful, foreign, woman.

She smiles at him, brightly, and slings an arm around him. She is tall, and is only a few inches shorter than him. “I’m Alex Garcia, Taiga’s basketball mentor!” she introduces herself.

“You must be Nijimura! Well done, kid,” she said, winking. “Handling a bunch of crazy basketball freaks like the Miracles is no joke. I feel like I go insane just handling Taiga and Tatsuya.”

Nijimura feels unexpectedly bashful from her praise, shuffling uncomfortably. He is generally unaffected by people celebrating his time as Teikou’s captain. After all, his thoughts are now about things in his life beyond basketball. His brothers, his father, keeping up with school and work. But praise about basketball feels different coming from this woman.

The woman who made Kagami’s basketball play-style the way it was, so good it could compete with the Miracles. Ex-WNBA, and yet another basketball player who was at a level thoroughly above Nijimura’s.

“Can we play already?” Kagami asks, jumping about on the spot to warm up. “I’m ready!” Next to him, Kuroko jabs him in the ribs. “Kagami-kun, be quiet and don’t be rude. The adults are talking.”

Alex ruffles Kuroko’s hair. “Listen obediently to your shadow, Taiga. He’s your better half.” Then she steers Nijimura towards the benches by the side of the court, calling towards them, “You guys do some drills first. I want to talk to Nijimura for a bit.”

Kagami starts to protest, but Kuroko throws the ball hard in his gut for him to start the layup drills.

“It sucks doesn’t it?” Alex comments, as they watch Kagami and Kuroko practice their passes, fluid and amazing as always, a partnership so perfect it shut out every other player that could ever hope to get between them. “Watching your mentees rise above and beyond you, knowing you could never reach that level.”

Nijimura stays silent, watching her watch Kagami, as she mused. “Loving basketball as much as them, maybe more. But knowing that just loving it is not enough to be just that good.”

Nijimura smirks. “The Himuro Tatsuya syndrome,” he comments. “Except for us it’s the fact that we become irrelevant, as mentors.”

Alex snaps her fingers delightedly. “That’s perfect! I’ll credit you for the name when I get published in some random-ass basketball psychology journal, if those even exist.” Nijimura suppresses a laugh.

She looks at Kagami, watching but not really seeing him. “It’s a weird cycle — I thought I had become irrelevant when I stopped playing basketball competitively. Then Tatsuya and Taiga made me feel important again.” She sighs. “And now it begins again.”

Nijimura is about to reply, but a ball flies towards him, straight at his face. Reflexively, he catches it. Kagami is stuttering his apologies, ending with “It’s Kuroko’s fault!,” pointing at him.

Kuroko just says, “Kagami-kun is a liar. He needs to work on catching his passes.” 

Nijimura rolls his eyes, and approaches them. “You are both asking for it.” Before he can reach out to flick their foreheads, however, Alex is there before him, whacking both their heads, one after the other.

Then, with a “Let’s play!”, she grabs the ball from Nijimura, winking at him. Playing with Alex against Kagami and Kuroko was an experience, to say the least. As expected, she was at a level Nijimura could never hope to get to. Plus they were playing against one of the strongest basketball partnerships Nijimura had ever seen.

At one point, Nijimura is driving through Kagami’s defense successfully, but finds Kuroko right there waiting for him. He lobs the ball between Kuroko’s legs to a waiting Alex, who slams the ball into the net, dunking through Kagami’s jump.

“Yeah!” Alex cheers, highfiving Nijimura hard, delighting in their teamwork. Nijimura finds himself feeling a gratification he had never felt playing basketball at Teikou. Alex is great at controlling the flow of a game such that every player gets to actually play basketball.

Amazing basketball at that, and Nijimura plays it the way he had forgotten to play. Nijimura plays basketball the way Teikou never taught him, not caring about who was winning or who was the best in basketball. He plays it relishing in teamplay and partnership, the way he has forgotten from his days at Teikou.

They switch partners when Kuroko suggests it, quietly stating that he wants to try playing with Nijimura. Alex leaps onto Kagami’s arm, swinging off it and enthusiastically jubilating at the opportunity to play with ‘my cute student.’

Playing with Kuroko is a different kind of feeling from playing with Alex. While Alex’s supportive, equal playing style allowed brilliant teamplay, playing with Kuroko reminds Nijimura of how he used to shine in Teikou as one of the best power forwards in the league. It reminds Nijimura of what it felt like to be a basketball star before the domination of the Miracles.

During the game, Kuroko uses his Ignite Pass to him. Nijimura curses out loud as the ball hits his hands. It hurt, damnit. But he successfully converts the pass into a poweful layup, double clutching as Alex attempts to block it. He feels invincible, and it’s all because of Kuroko, so effective at being a shadow, in helping his partner’s light shine all the brighter.  

“That was brilliant, senpai,” Kuroko says, smiling, fist raised, waiting, to Nijimura. He bumps it, then musses Kuroko’s hair.

And he realizes Kuroko has become an amazing basketball player. Kuroko did not have the flashiness or sheer, overwhelming strength of the Miracles or Kagami, but he had a quiet presence, as pervasive as a shadow and all the more powerful because of it.

“I’m proud of you,” Nijimura says, placing a hand on Kuroko’s head. He adds, “Teikou’s first string was never worthy.” The curve upward on Kuroko’s lips was slight, but spoke more about his happiness, and pride, than any exclamation ever could.

Sometime through their games, they stop keeping track of the score, and it doesn’t even matter.

Before Alex leaves with Kagami and Kuroko, she smiles and whacks Nijimura on the back, hard. “I don’t know what you were talking about earlier, about becoming some irrelevant old mentor,” she laughs. “You have nothing to worry about.”

Then she winks at him, cheekily. “I think we did pretty decently, don’t you?”  Nijimura knows exactly what she means.

Even without keeping track of the score, they both knew Kagami and Kuroko’s unstoppable partnership edged them out. There is only so much they could do against natural talent and genius, after all.

But he smiles back at her. “We did give those brats a workout.” He looks over at where Kagami and Kuroko were tussling over whose turn it was to carry the cooler, Kagami slamming his hand on Kuroko’s head while Kuroko jabs him repeatedly in the gut.

Delighted, she leans in and kisses him goodbye. Nijimura stiffens and this time his blush is obvious, red and bright. Kagami makes enough indignant noise on Nijimura’s behalf so he doesn’t even need to say anything, and Kuroko chokes on what suspiciously sounds like a laugh, so Nijimura flicks him on the forehead, hard.

He watches them leave, Alex in between Kagami and Kuroko, arms slung over the both of them. He feels strangely at peace.

Knowing he would never surpass his kohai in basketball didn’t bother Nijimura anymore. He had stopped caring about being the best a long time ago. He had better things to care about now.

Chapter Text

It becomes a routine that sneaks up on Nijimura almost deceptively, how he starts playing basketball with his kohai almost every week. Some weeks it is Kaijou, Kise insisting on visiting some fancy themed cafe or other after their matches, Moriyama jumping on the opportunity to invite girls along. Some weeks it is Touou, Aomine’s lighting-quick movements impressing Nijimura every time, at least until he opened his mouth to say some stupid thing or another and Nijimura has to flick him on the forehead, admiration dissipating immediately.

All those times, Nijimura is reminded of how far his kohai have grown, how much they have left him behind. It is amazing and bittersweet at the same time. Nijimura is both happy that he is able to play basketball again, and unsure how to feel about the constant reminder of his failed basketball career. Most of the time, however, he is just happy to see their love for basketball, and how they help him find his own love for basketball again.

It is after a streetball match with Rakuzan that Nijimura is reminded that even with all their basketball talent, his kohai are still struggling to understand what it meant to love a game, versus loving being good at the game. They were still struggling to understand what it meant to love a game for itself, versus loving the wins.

Nijimura has just successfully pried Hayama away from constantly being by his side, asking him to run to the convenience store and get him a watermelon-flavoured popsicle (which he knew would take a blissful while, since the shop was quite a distance away), when Akashi sits next to him.

“Senpai, let’s play a game,” he asks. Nijimura raises his eyebrows. “I assume you’re not talking about basketball.”

Akashi shakes his head, smiling. “You’ll say a word, and I’ll say the first word that comes to mind. And you continue with another word that comes to mind from that word.”

“How do I win?” Nijimura asks, smirking challengingly at Akashi. That was a language he knew Akashi liked speaking, a code of wins and losses.

Akashi laughs, and it surprises Nijimura. As long as he’s known Akashi, the kid had always been in full control of his emotions, never letting himself show anything less than composed. He had changed, at least a little. It was inevitable.

After all, one could hardly keep one’s composure when their three-on-three streetball games involved Hayama clinging onto Nijimura, boasting about their ‘unstoppable partnership’. Or that they involved Nebuya muscling Mibuchi away hard, so he shrieked and insisted on Nebuya having a timeout. Or Mayuzumi smiling challengingly at Nijimura, telling him they should compete on individual points as well as point difference, to see who was the better power forward.

“Let’s play, and you’ll find out,” Akashi says, smiling mysteriously. Nijimura rolls his eyes.

“Fine. Shogi.” Most of what Nijimura could remember from Teikou was the peaceful silence of the clubroom, Akashi illuminated in the window as he pored over yet another shogi game. Nijimura remembered trying to play with him once, and throwing the game impatiently after a while.

“You win, brat — now let’s talk basketball,” Nijimura had said back then, mussing his hair affectionately, bringing them back to where Nijimura had been most comfortable strategizing. Not with little pieces on a wooden board, but the mapping of player movements, and footwork, and passing routes.

“Osho (King),” Akashi says.

“Shuutoku,” Nijimura replies, because all he has in his head right now is basketball, and how Mibuchi’s shots had been interesting in their unpredictability, compared with the sureness, the predictability, the inevitability of Midorima’s shots.

“Rakuzan,” Akashi responds, and Nijimura wonders if Akashi feels that Midorima has left him behind, so comfortable with his team now, when back at Teikou his loyalty, and faith, in Akashi had seemed to be so constant and unchanging.

“Akashi Seijurou,” Nijimura says, because he is curious to know what Akashi thinks of himself now. He wants to see how much he has grown, from the too-serious boy from Teikou that even then, Nijimura could see had the leadership chops to ensure victory.

“That’s two words, senpai,” Akashi says, lips curving upwards. “You lose.” Nijimura flicks him on the forehead.

“That’s a convenient way to get out of that,” he retorts. Then he demands, “Just tell me what the point of the game was. I know you like being cryptic and dramatic, but you can just say what you mean without the pretty packaging.”

Akashi suppresses a laugh, yet again. “If you insist, senpai. The point is, that I have always won. It is part of who I am, and I expect to continue to win.” Nijimura is just reaching out a hand to whack him upside the head for his audacity, but stops when Akashi continues, “But in the Winter Cup, I lost to Seirin.”

Nijimura is slightly taken aback by the almost-bitterness in his voice. Akashi Seijurou never did bitterness. He did cynicism, and realism, and pragmatism, but never bitterness. It would have been unbecoming. But then he is reminded that even the too-serious captain of Rakuzan was still a brat, after all. He is reminded of how vulnerable Akashi could be, even when he always seemed to be totally in control of a situation.

“Rakuzan may have lost the game, but was it really a loss in the end?” Nijimura asks. He remembers how basketball used to be in Teikou. Not a game, but a mission, with the sole aim, the heavy burden, to win at all costs. It wasn’t really basketball — it was a battlefield, and Teikou was a conquering army. He wonders if all those wins were really wins in the end, instead of experiences that corrosively chipped away at his kohai and their love for the game.  

“A loss is a loss,” Akashi says. This time the bitterness is clear.

Nijimura gets impatient. Akashi had always been too much about talk, too much about pretty words, compared to Nijimura’s own predilection for action. And the brat was stubborn as anything. “Come on, you realize how ridiculous it is to define yourself by the fact that you always win, right?” he demands.

“You shouldn’t love basketball any less just because there are winners and losers,” Nijimura continues. “If you are, you shouldn’t be continuing to play it.”

He didn’t say that Akashi should be feeling happy he was still playing basketball competitively, with a whole high school basketball career stretched out before him. He didn’t say that he should be glad he didn’t have to settle with playing streetball games. To force himself not to think about the roar of spectators in an auditorium, the people screaming your name, the intensity of a close match a feeling unable to be replaced, no matter how much Nijimura loved, and cared, for his family.

He felt Akashi already had enough to think about, enough confusion to sort through. Enough relationships to build again, with people who he had left behind and people who had left him behind, in turn.

“So what do I do, senpai?” Akashi asks. For the first time Nijimura has ever known him, Akashi is asking someone else what to do. Nijimura should feel honoured, but he feels oddly uncomfortable. It didn’t fit that Akashi Seijurou was at a loss. His air of certainty, of knowledge, of confidence, was part of what made Nijimura have enough faith to leave Teikou’s team in his hands. But Akashi was his kohai, and they could never leave him alone. He could never leave them alone.

“You begin again,” Nijimura says, simply. “You begin again with the next tournament, the next match, the next challenge.”

He gets up. “Come on, let’s play a one-on-one before Hayama gets back and imposes himself on us.”

Akashi smiles, and spins the ball on one hand. “Do you really think basketball solves everything, senpai?”

Nijimura jabs at the ball so it stops spinning in Akashi’s hand, and Akashi has to grab it quickly before it falls. He smirks. “Don’t mock me, brat. No, it may not solve everything, but it helps, don’t you think?”

Akashi peers at the basketball in his hands. At that moment, he looks lost, like the kid he really was. The kid people tended to forget he was, when he put on that all-knowing presence.

He doesn’t answer, but as they play, Nijimura senses a freedom that was hitherto not present in Akashi’s normally carefully precise, controlled movements. Footwork that normally gave no room for mistakes. This time, however, Akashi attempts shots that actually risked not making it. He attempts drives that actually allows openings for Nijimura to steal the ball.

And when Hayama returns, launching himself onto Nijimura with a “Senpai and I are on the same team!” Akashi calmly suggests Mayuzumi try captaining his team against Nijimura’s, for that round. Nebuya had stared at him, mouth hanging open, and Hayama had shut up for once, speechless in shock.

Nijimura hides a smile, and brushes a hand over Akashi’s head. “Akashi Seijurou, releasing control? Stranger things have happened, I guess.”

Akashi just gives his mysterious smile. “Change is the start of new beginnings.” Nijimura rolls his eyes. Still the same Akashi, with his dramatic statements.

Nijimura didn’t mind that Akashi had not answered his earlier question. He didn’t need an answer. Nijimura already knew that under all his propriety and careful calibration of himself, Akashi was the biggest basketball freak of them all.

Chapter Text

“Senpai!”

“Nijimura-senpai!”

“Hi senpai, nice seeing you again!” 

Nijimura feels ambushed. And a little lost. For one thing, all of the four boys now standing in front of him seem to know him. For another, he doesn’t think he knows them. He does not recognize any of their typically Japanese looks and eager, bright smiles on their faces.

His confusion, and confoundment, intensifies when one of them brightly orders, “Senpai, we’d like twenty servings of fried rice to go please!” 

He stares. “What.”

Another one of them laughs bashfully, apologetically. “Sorry about the large order, but Kagami-kun eats enough for eight people alone.”

Then it clicks. “Seirin?” Nijimura clarifies. They all nod, as one.

“Sorry, I don’t remember meeting any of you,” Nijimura says with his characteristic bluntness, although he allows a slight, apologetic curve of his lips.

“It’s alright, senpai!” one of them says. “This happens a lot.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Nijimura feels a little uncomfortable, so he turns to give their order to an instantly-dismayed chef. They reminded him a little of all the Teikou basketball team hopefuls he had rejected as captain, forgotten and easily overlooked. Rejected in lieu of flashier-skilled players with personalities as bright as their diverse hair colours.

He racks his brains, mentally going through the checklist of people he had met the last time he had played streetball with Seirin. Hyuuga, authoritatively bonking Izuki in the head for yet another one of his ridiculous puns. Kiyoshi, serenely smiling as he breaks yet another of Kagami and Kuroko’s tussles. Riko, diligently preparing energy snacks for their break, which Nijimura, informed through Hyuuga’s frantic whispers, avoids at all costs.

Then he remembers. The benches, of course. While Nijimura had been preoccupied by yet another dazzling display of Kuroko and Kagami’s unstoppable partnership, these four had been by the side, on the benches. It is only now that he places their faces. And they had cheered so loudly and supportively of their teammates, too.

“Your order’ll take a while,” he told them, but they just nod eagerly. And peer at Nijimura curiously, almost adoringly. Nijimura shuffles uncomfortably. They remind him too much of how Teikou’s first string aspirants used to gaze at him and the other starters.

To snap them out of it, Nijimura demands their names, authoritatively, and sears them into his memory as best as he can. Furihata. Kawahara. Fukuda. And Tsuchida. Nijimura was not in Teikou anymore. He ought to give them the respect they deserved, even if he wasn’t the type to become all buddy-buddy with them.

“How’s training coming along?” he asks. Fukuda launches into a spiel about how Kiyoshi-senpai and Kagami-kun had an epic showdown the other day, and how Kuroko-kun seemed to get better and better at shooting those mysterious, disappearing shots. Nijimura nods, but then asks, “And your own progress?”

Fukuda blinks, startled, while the other three look slightly blindsided. Nijimura wonders if the substitute players on Teikou’s bench had used to feel like them, back when he was Teikou’s captain. Nijimura remembers his own experience on the bench, and how he himself had not even blamed the coach for treating him the way these four were used to being treated. 

“You probably don’t want to know our progress, senpai. It doesn’t matter, anyway,” Furihata says apologetically. “We’re always on the bench, after all. We don’t play in tournaments all that much.”

Nijimura is struck by the lack of bitterness in his words. Seirin was more inclusive than Teikou ever was, if it could nurture such support from even its substitute players. But he still had a point of pride to make to these brats.

“I was on the bench too, my third year at Teikou,” Nijimura flicks Furihata on the forehead. “Are you saying I was completely irrelevant then?” 

Kawahara and Fukuda gulp as one, while Tsuchida elbows Furihata hard. “Sorry senpai!” Furihata yells. “I never meant — I meant...” 

Nijimura rolls his eyes. “Calm down, don’t piss yourself.”

He levelled a gaze at all of them. “You are all shortchanging yourselves as bench players. Part of why Teikou was so strong was not just because of the Miracles, but because it had a bench of reliable substitute players, too.”

Kawahara ventures, timidly, “But senpai, we’re not like you. Or any player at Teikou.” Nijimura wonders if every bench player felt the enduring throb of insecurity, and thinks back to some of his own darkest times, when he had sat alone in Teikou’s locker room after everyone had left, and questioned, doubted, his decision. The corrosive doubt that had ate away greedily, slowly, at his resolve back then to voluntarily go on the bench, a decision most basketball players would have found unthinkable. 

Nijimura gives him a forehead flick, too. “Do you think Seirin’s starters would play as strongly if they weren’t assured you guys were around to support them if anything happened?”

Fukuda’s eyes widen at the new way of thinking about his place on Seirin’s team. But now it was his turn to venture, “Kagami-kun and Kuroko-kun are strong. I think even without us, they could clinch Seirin’s win.” 

Despite what he had said earlier, Nijimura privately agrees. Kagami and Kuroko’s partnership, like the Miracles, was something else entirely. It defied traditional basketball philosophy, that was for sure.

So he switches his tack. “Punch me.” he turns and stares straight at Tsuchida. Fukuda whimpers. Kawahara yelps. Furihata actually squeaks. As for Tsuchida — his mouth just drops open.

Tsuchida trembles a little before balling a fist, but the punch is so limp Nijimura doesn’t even bother. The punch doesn’t reach his face, anyway — Tsuchida chickens out and pulls it back before it even manages the hit.

“What was that?” Nijimura demands. “Punch me like you mean it.”

Tsuchida looks terrified, but his eyes become a little more determined. This time, the punch is surer. It sails harmlessly beside Nijimura’s head as he dodges.

Nijimura stares straight into each of their eyes. “I used to do karate. But you saw, just now I didn’t use it on Tsuchida. Did you know that it is considered unusual for a karate devotee to use it in a real confrontation no more than once in a lifetime?” They are silent, eyes wide in awe. 

“One of the philosophies of karate is that it is not supposed to be easily drawn in a fight.”

And, because Nijimura has been around too many moronic kohai not to spell it out more clearly, he adds, “The point is, just because you don’t use something often doesn’t mean it’s not important to have. Every person plays his part, especially in a team sport like basketball.”

Identical expressions of understanding dawn on all of their faces.

Nijimura thinks, and decides, that he shouldn’t tell them about the very definite fact that he had used karate a lot more than once in his lifetime. He couldn’t help his temper, okay? Especially when he came across blockheaded idiots like his kohai.

Furihata, Tsuchida, Kawahara and Fukuda didn’t need to know that. Nijimura needed to keep his whole ‘wise senpai’ image with them, after all.

As they leave, the four of them shoulder the bags containing the steaming packs of fried rice goodnaturedly, and try to force another hefty tip on Nijimura. He whacks them all on the head and refuses until they threaten to tell on him to Riko. So Nijimura resignedly accepts the tip — he has good instincts, and something tells him Riko is not a person to be crossed.

“Thank you, senpai,” they bow, low. Nijimura watches them leave. He thinks about his third year at Teikou, sitting on the bench, watching, longing for the feel of the basketball’s rough leather on his hands, and the adrenaline rush of driving past an opponent. He thinks about the Miracles, and their sheer, overwhelming strength that rendered Teikou’s entire bench impotent. He thinks about being forgotten, overlooked, and the heavy weight of doubt and insecurity.

 Then he thinks about his brothers, and his father, and how he could never be on the bench when it came to his family, because he had always to be the ace, for their sakes. Every person plays his part. He thinks about playing streetball with his kohai, and the joy he still finds in basketball, even when he had tried to leave it behind. Just because you don’t use something often doesn’t mean it’s not important to have. 

Nijimura thinks about karate, and basketball, and the love for something that transcends the love of being a star in it.

Then he remembers that he did not give Tsuchida and Fukuda a forehead flick each, too, even though they deserved it, for troubling Nijimura so, with their ridiculously large order and their obliviousness, their lostness. He promises himself to remember them, and to do it the next time he sees them.  

Chapter Text

Nijimura tapped his pencil impatiently as he glared at the long line of girls before him. It was an unusually hot day in late spring, and it was making him irritable. Every year, he hated this the most — picking managers for Teikou’s basketball team.

His head was beginning to throb. He was already annoyed from having to deal with Midorima’s demands, and Aomine had been more exuberant than usual (he always was during the days B-ball Monthly’s issues were coming out). Thank goodness Akashi was babysitting — he meant, supervising — them in their morning drills that day.

“First of all, if any of you are here because of Kise Ryouta, please leave,” Nijimura barked. “I can guarantee that even as managers you won’t get much chance to interact with him.”

He would make sure of that, Nijimura thought darkly as he remembered yet again the first time he had to wade through the congregation of fangirls the first day Kise had joined. He had made Kise run an additional lap every time a girl squealed “Kise-kun.” And there had been a lot of squealing. 

Needless to say, the next time Nijimura had come to practice, there was a blissful absence of girls around the gym. Kise had gotten rid of the constant distraction surprisingly efficiently. The brat was excellent at handling his fans, although Nijimura would never tell him that.

There was a ripple of sad sighs, and the length of the line halved as the girls left. Nijimura felt the throbbing in his head fade a little. He peered at the remaining girls analytically. 

“The same goes for Akashi Seijurou, Midorima Shintarou, Aomine Daiki and Murasakibara Atsushi as well,” he said pointedly. Despite himself, Nijimura would be glad to be retiring at the end of the month. He loved basketball, but those Miracle brats were a handful, with all their colourful hair and their flashiness. 

A substantial amount of girls left the line. Nijimura’s headache had now nearly, blessedly receded. Now there were only a handful of girls left. Nijimura wished Momoi was here to help him with this ordeal, but she was busy scouting somewhere. He was grateful, but sometimes he wondered why they couldn’t have managers who actually did what they were meant to do.

“Okay, how many of you actually know basketball?” Nijimura asked critically. Two of the girls raised their hands. 

“The rest of you can leave,” Nijimura said dismissively. The rest of the girls started protesting, but Nijimura was firm. “All decisions are final.”

Nijimura was glad that he was the only one who would know his sparse methods of selecting managers. He had better things to do with his time than decide on these things, damnit.

“So how do you girls know basketball?” Nijimura asked casually as he led them on a tour of the gyms.

“I used to manage my junior high team,” one of the girls said. She smiled. “It was really fun! I love basketball. I can’t play it, though.” She sighed regretfully.

The other nudged her. “I tried teaching you already, you just need to practice more!” She turned to Nijimura. “I used to play for the girl’s team in junior high.” Then, answering Nijimura’s questioning gaze, she said, “I’m not good enough to play for Teikou.”

Nijimura was impressed that there was not a tinge of bitterness in her voice. Just realism, and acceptance. He felt proud of himself — he had chosen well, despite his sparse methods. 

“Well, as long as you love basketball, you’ll fit right at home here,” Nijimura’s lips quirked. “We have the biggest collection of basketball idiots you would ever find.”

The girls giggled, and one of them winked at Nijimura. “Including you, senpai?”

Nijimura felt the flush rise at the back of his neck. Damnit, he hated when girls tried flirting with him. He always felt clumsy, and uncouth, when they did. He coughed loudly. 

“And here we have some basketball courts,” he evaded and unnecessarily pointed at them.Damnit, they were in a basketball gym, of course there were courts, Nijimura inwardly cringed. Thankfully, the girls did not say anything.

“Okay, and here we have —” Nijimura continued, but then one of the girls interrupted him.

“Will we get much experience with basketball, senpai?” she asked.

Nijimura looked quizzically at her. “Well, you’ll do a lot of watching of basketball.” He frowned. “What do you mean, experience?”

The girl peered thoughtfully at him. “I just want to know that we won’t just be serving sweaty boys hand and foot.” The other girl elbowed her and chided her in a whisper, but the girl ignored her and continued.

“As a basketball player, you might not think of us as actual basketball lovers,” the girl looked at Nijimura challengingly. “But even passively watching basketball, we are still experiencing it. We love basketball, even if we don’t play it.”

Nijimura nodded at her. He straightened, and raised his eyebrows. “That is what I expect of you. Every person plays their part to ensure Teikou’s win.” The girl looked slightly abashed, but Nijimura patted her on the shoulder reassuringly. 

“Alright, this ends the tour. Meet with Momoi Satsuki at the locker rooms and she’ll tell you what to do from here.” Nijimura escaped, feeling relieved that he wouldn’t have to deal with this anymore. Next time he was making Kise do the tour — the brat had a way with girls Nijimura never would have. 

As they watched Nijimura’s back, A-chan nudged Mii-chan. “I can’t believe you talked to Nijimura-senpai like that!” She smiled dreamily. “But the way he responded was so cool!”

Mii-chan sighed thoughtfully as she stared at Nijimura’s back. A-chan interpreted the sigh expertly. “Me too. We had first wanted to join because of Nijimura-senpai, but now I think there is more to being a basketball team manager than a crush.”

Mii-chan smiled at A-chan. “Senpai understands that, too.” 

After all, even as basketball outsiders, there were different ways to enjoy, and love, basketball. And some ways were better than others.