Inspiration Equals 90 per cent Motivation and 10 per cent Exhaustion

Reason #7 - Practice was the easy part

Mitsui was getting better at bearing it, even if the grinning part still needed some work. Even if the latter had been Miyagi's fault too, a year ago, before he'd had to worry about gaps in his smirks and false teeth that were still taking the resentment.

Besides, maybe she hadn't even noticed that either.

It was a grey, cloudy Saturday noon that he'd awoken to. The only time he was allowed to sleep in was when he had something 'more substantial than slamming balls around' planned for later. Which he did, for a change. A study session with Akagi and Kogure wasn't exactly the glowing zenith of the week but he could use the company. Being the oldest member on the team came with too many barbs and brick-bats, worst of all the reminder of his glory years as a fading memento. Jeez.

He'd been surprised to discover that Kogure's house was only two blocks away from his. All this time, all those telephone calls, and their ever-reliable vice-captain had always been ten minutes away. Mitsui savored the shortness of the walk; it had been a while since he'd had lack of time to over-think or worry himself sick with trite teenage troubles. Until he glimpsed the first sight of Kogure's doorstep on the first floor of the split-level house, his mind was blissfully blank.

The first niggle of a doubt prodded him as he rapped politely on the door. Kogure was an understanding guy but wouldn't he assume that Mitsui was far beyond pining for someone else's girl? They were eighteen after all. They were supposed to have done away with this kids' stuff long ago...

The door opened and he blinked. The woman standing before had strikingly familiar brown eyes, not to mention the same kind smile that could put anyone at ease.

"Oh, good afternoon. You must be Mitsui-kun?"

"Uh, yeah - sorry, good afternoon to you too, Kogure-san. I'm, um, here to study..."

"Of course," she nodded, brushing aside his awkwardness. "Kimi and Akagi-kun have already begun, I believe. Come in, come in, I'll show you to his room..."

Kogure lived in a small, clean apartment that allowed little room for guessing that one of its occupants had once played for the district's second-ranked basketball team. Still, it seemed quite cozy and Mitsui spotted a cluster of bright crayon-sketches taped to the fridge when they passed the kitchen. He thought of his own bedroom: its bed, desk, and trophies gathering dust for no one to see. If she'd noticed, Kogure's mother hadn't commented on his brooding.

She paused at a door and knocked quietly. "Kimi, Mitsui-kun is here."

Kogure responded immediately, opening the door with a welcoming smile. Was it just Mitsui or was this family always happy to see anyone they met? He mumbled a greeting before entering, then nodded to Akagi who was already seated next to a stack of books on the floor. Like the rest of the apartment, the room was tiny, almost cramped when he took his and Akagi's height into consideration.

"Make yourself comfortable, Mitsui," Kogure clapped him on the back before joining Akagi. "Pull up a patch of floor, if you may."

"Sure. Nice poster you have there, Kimi."

Kogure blushed slightly at the nickname while Akagi let out a rare chuckle. "Yeah, remember that summer at the Nationals? I got a copy of the group photo we took enlarged."

"Nice."

The image of them all sweaty, exhausted, but so damn happy at the time brought back a deluge of memories. Uozumi cheering on Akagi from the crowd, Rukawa shooting that penalty with his eyes closed, Miyagi overcoming the taunts from those Toyotama players, Sakuragi smashing through that table, the fear of them being crushed underfoot towards the end and yet defeating Japan's top-ranked team without a doubt. Anzai-sensei's reaction had been the best.

That brought a pang to Mitsui's chest, not unlike the last time he'd last spoken to the man. The time they'd had that talk.

"So, Mitsui, Akagi and I were just getting started on trigonometry. Did you bring your notes?"

"Yeah, sure..."

Reluctantly, he reached in to his backpack and pulled out a fistful of loose sheets. He glanced over at Kogure's notes, taking in the neat handwriting and clear diagrams. The first page of Mitsui's was smudged with a drool spot from when he'd dozed off during Monday's class.

At least Kogure was polite enough to look sympathetic. Akagi frowned.

"Yeah, I know, I know. Organization and initiative, I get that." He took another surreptitious glance at page two of Kogure's notes. It listed the propertines of sine, cosine, and... what? "Well, I will. Soon."

Akagi shuffled his own in order. "You'd better. The only thing worse than bad grades is an angry captain picking on you about them."

An angry captain and his girl... but that wasn't the point, Mitsui persuaded himself. He wouldn't let his team down. Each and every one included, envy or not.

"Right," He tried to close his mind off from last night, setting on a distant goal. It always worked with three-pointers. "So, trig. Let's get to it."

He could do this, Mitsui told himself. He just had to.

In those few hours, Mitsui learnt that time could be on his side if he took it by the hand, instead of holding it with a glare. Akagi was an encouraging, if strict, tutor and Kogure was supportive enough. He made more mistakes than he thought he should, but he would learn from them and that was the most important thing of all.

Anzai-sensei had once asked him about his future plans.

"College. Work." he'd replied. It was a safe answer, one that he could fall back on and expect an approving nod from, whether he really aspired to them or not.

And Anzai-sensei had just adjusted his glasses, murmuring a faint, calm 'Ah'.

Rather than all the lectures composed of endless streams of micro-lessons composed of more lessons his father seemed so intent on drilling into him, it was the promise of what came after the beguiling 'Ah' that held him on. He waited, poised on the edge of the seat before Sensei's desk. After all these months of unrealized expectations, he needed an answer.

Anzai-sensei had just gazed back, like he would with an interesting piece of art or a scene of wasted destruction. There was always something to be said about each.

Or maybe it was high time he took his leave.

"Um, Sensei, if we're done here, I..."

"Of course you may leave, Mitsui-kun. I wouldn't want to delay your first practice of the semester."

He had frozen mid-way to the door.

"... Practice?"

"We look forward to having you on the team this winter."

Mitsui had done nothing but gape for the first few seconds, the clarity of the statement jarring to his resignation. A reformed man he was but a good enough man?

His mouth had worked on its own accord, syllable by stuttering syllable. "Y-Yeah. S-Sure, Sensei. I, uh, I... I didn't know... I, I wasn't expecting..."

"You're welcome, Mitsui-kun."

Mitsui had smiled back.

Better. Better, a better man. I'm new, a whole new person with new dreams.

Kogure returned his practice note-book, each page of figures and diagrams spattered with crosses and corrections. He ran a thumb down the marred sheets, feeling the rise of ink beneath his skin. Scars.

He wondered if a day would come when he would finally feel smoothness beneath his hands again. Whether it was the dimpled leather-skinned basketball or his chin cupped in his palm during Chemistry, that roughness had come with years he'd always felt. He hadn't felt Ayako creep up on him that way; she hadn't been a lingering crush or a sudden spurt of realization. One sunny afternoon, she had been there after practice, and they'd had another talk about...

They'd talked about Math. It was her favorite subject and he'd liked how the side of her mouth sloped into a smirk when he confessed his latest test-score then. Was that it? Or just the way that it had been what it should have been like ages ago; the two of them together and alone, if but for a while, their one-liners falling together as easily as rain into a puddle. But maybe that was the earlier morning shower that was getting to him.

He tried to picture a life ahead of her, without her. Another blank space to be filled with by another face, cheeky wink and curly hair and steadfast gaze.

He really wasn't getting this right.

It was close to six by the time Mitsui finished at Kogure's, after promising he would return next week. The sun had already set, he could sense a cold snap in the wind as he zipped up his jacket, and his head was still swimming from numbers, formulae, angles, and girlish grins that made his skin prickle beneath his clothes. Of course he needed to study if he had to get through senior year but if he had to survive it, he would follow his own path.

He knew of a street-court not too far away, one he used to frequent in junior high. Taking the chill in the air as a challenge, he swung the strap of his bag to his other shoulder so that it hung across his chest and set off at a brisk jog. Each echoing footfall brought him closer to the sweetness his mind prepared itself for. Free, free, freedom, I am, I am, I will be.

His old haven soon began to appear before him, in a halo of halogen street-light. The beat of a bouncing ball spurred his heart to follow suit. With a final burst of energy, his feet carried him to the edge of the chain-link fence and then promptly froze at the sight that awaited him.

Sure, she was team-manageress after all, but he never knew she could actually play the game.

If Mitsui had to draw a line at talent, Ayako would have stood clearly far behind it, compared to the likes of the explosives he'd seen from Akagi, Rukawa, and hell, even Sakuragi on his good days. But whether he really did know it or not, he had left his mind and its judgements behind him, along with study habits, lecture notes, comparitive theories, and other things that had to make sense at all. He was here and in a strange way, she had always been.

Her footwork wasn't the best but her dribbling was on point. Two times out of five, she missed the basket from her spot inside the D, three times when she stepped out. Her turns weren't as sharp as other players he'd stood against, her skin looked dewy under the light. Whenever she did turn, her hair flared out along the curve of her shoulders. Her lips were parted in concentration and her eyes blazed with a tenacity he'd only seen so close during the last few game-clinching minutes of a shoot-out.

And like all beautiful flames, she was on her last stretch, and off she went, wiping her damp forehead with the back of her hand, to the corner where the rest of her things lay. By chance or not, she gradually sensed another presence and before he could seize his opportunity to escape, her searching gaze landed on his.

She did not waver. She stood quite still, cheeks rosy, eyes steeled, hands defiant on her hips, silent and accusing. She did not waver. For the second time this year, he found his tongue acting on its own whim.

"You need to ease up on your wrists."

Ayako seemed just as surprised as he was at his own comment. "What?"

"You need to relax your wrists more," He held up his hands, thought about making an apologetic gesture, but instead flexed them about, circling around his own wrists. "You have to flick them like this to get your technique right. Don't just throw the ball or you'll end up missing."

At least she was listening. So it seemed.

"... Listen, Ayako, I'm sorry. About just standing here and watching without your permission. I'll be on my way - "

"Teach me how to do that wrist thing tomorrow and I'll let it slide."

He resisted the urge to pat a hand on his chest, if only to feel the pound of his quickening heartbeat.

"Sure."