As soon as he entered the locker room, Hanamichi slumped down on the floor. His breath came in desperate gasps, as if he had been holding it back on his way from the court. His trembling hands rose up to cradle his sweat-slicked face, the roars and cheers from outside hardly reached his ears as series of thoughts swirled in his mind.

What the hell am I doing?

His arms dropped on the floor, his fists clenched as mixture of tears and sweat trickled from his face down to his lap. He wanted to scream, wanted to thrash around and destroy everything in sight but he couldn't. Because he's a Migawa. And a Migawa must be composed and presentable in every way.. in any time.

Who am I, really? Who the fuck am I?!

He hated that name. It was the name that took away his parents, his identity, his innocence. It was the name that used their wealth for vile purposes. It murdered him.. killed the happy, carefree Toyama Hanamichi he once had been.

His stepfather didn't waste much time after he was retrieved. Before Hanamichi ran away he knew little of what his stepfather might have been busying himself with, their corporation aside. Now there was no doubt that Migawa Ichiro had been dealing with the yakuza. The notorious organization eliminated his rivals while in turn, his black market businesses kept them in wealth and power.

Last night had been one of his worst. His stepfather had him "trained" for the first time and it wasn't a pleasant experience. Hanamichi had seen his ste-father's men in action – while they tortured and brutally killed a rumored spy of one of Migawa Ichiro's enemies he had been stoned to the ground to merely "watch" and "learn." "It's better for you to get exposed to these things as early as possible. You'd be filling their positions in no time son! In no time, it would become routine for you…" His stepfather had told him. Hanamichi wanted to hit him then, wanted to scream at him that he wasn't and will never be a son of a drug-dealing, money-laundering sicko and he would never partake in anything as sickening as that. But he couldn't; not because he wasn't capable of doing it, but because he wasn't allowed to. The minute his name had been changed to Migawa, his whole existence had been marked forever – marked as Migawa Ichiro's property.

He shook his head in disgust. Toy is more like it….

After the gruesome display, he was taught how to handle weapons and was forced to fire a Walter PPK on the previously violated and immobile body. It didn't matter to them if the man was already dead. It was a perfect target for a beginner, according to his step-father's men, since it was inanimate and provided a much better target than paper.

He unwillingly complied and for the first time in his life he truly felt sick of himself. His eyes were stinging of unshed tears as he witnessed how the bullets continuously punctured the poor man's chest, or whatever's left of it. He silently watched as the dark puddle beneath the man's body grew wider.. crawling until it reached his shoes. He had thrown that pair away the minute he got home. He burned the rest of his clothes along with it and drowned the tears he had been holding back in the shower. He almost peeled his skin off as he rubbed his body roughly, wanting to rid of the dirty blood stains. But he knew he could never erase the mar in his soul. He could never undo what was done.

When he finished he changed into his night clothes and deposited himself to bed. He didn't even notice when hands started caressing his thighs and chest as his step-father's raspy voice whispered praises to him. He didn't care when his stepfather slowly undressed him, trailed kisses from his jaw, to his navel, and lower. He didn't feel tears storm his cheeks and the searing pain in his lower body as his father took him; the internal stabbing his heart was subjected to drowned any physical feeling he felt at the moment. All he could do was comply like he was supposed to. Like a docile pet.

His tiredness took over him and he fell asleep even before his stepfather was finished with him. He figured it was better – he wouldn't have to throw up in disgust as the man cried in release. But Hanamichi knew he couldn't forget. He would never be able to forget, even if he tried to.

Hanamichi punched the floor hard before drowning himself in his own arms. It was the only thing that gave him comfort besides basketball. Nobody could offer him help, not even Youhei. Not even Rukawa.

Kitsune.

The familiar nickname left him with misery instead of solace. He couldn't push thoughts of the boy away, much as he tried to. Every time he closed his eyes, the piercing gaze of those sapphire-blue orbs haunted him. He didn't understand why the boy had to interfere. Rukawa hated him, didn't he? So why the hell bother?

Envy? Perhaps. Hanamichi didn't know the other boy's motives but whatever they were, he decided it didn't matter. It doesn't concern him anyway, so why bother dragging him into this mess?

Hanamichi gave an audible sigh as he stood up. He knew it was the right thing to do yet he could feel a soft tug somewhere in his heart, as if telling him that the other boy was as much a part of this mess as him. He ignored the feeling as he got some clean towels and fixed himself up. It wasn't the time to dwell on that matter, he decided. He had more important things to ponder on than muse about his passive teammate's actions.

Like killing Migawa Ichiro with his own hands.

I'm sorry this chapter came out late. I've been busy with schoolwork and didn't have time to update any of my fics. Anyways, thanks for all those who reviewed and are still reading this. I'm working on the next chapter now but I still don't know when I'll be able to update. I hope you all bear with me.