Akashi was a mystery. No one knew the small boy very well. Even those who were believed to be closest to him—like Midorima and Murasakibara—didn't really know him at all.

Aside from his ridiculous win-at-all-costs mentality, the main thing anyone who somewhat knew him remembered about him was his puzzles. Whether it was how he spoke or how he wrote, Akashi enjoyed seeing his team struggle to understand him. He claimed it was to make sure they were to be as mentally fit as they were physically, but everyone knew it was probably an extension of his I'm-the-supreme-commander-and-you're-all-plebeians thinking.

No one really thought of Akashi or his puzzling behaviour, and even less so now that he was gone. So of course no one, especially not the Generation of Miracles, expected that, a year after his sudden disappearance, they'd each receive a note written eerily similar to the ones he used to give them…

1. | Gathering the Pieces
Individually, we are one drop. Together, we are an ocean.
—Ryunosuke Satoro

"God, it's freezing," Aomine hisses, rubbing his hands together. He walks beside Momoi to the shoe lockers. School was over and there was no practice to do, so the duo decided to head home. "This is supposed to be one of the best schools in Tokyo, how is it that they can't afford proper heating?"

"You're the one who refused to wear a coat," Momoi points out.

"Satsuki," he says, as they reach the shoe lockers, "We're indoors."

"Oh, hush," Momoi says, opening her locker. A folded note falls out.

"Ooooh, is that a confession?" Aomine snatches the note from the ground. He unfolds it and skims it quickly while dodging Momoi's hands.

"Give it back, Daiki!" she cries out. "I'm serious, Dai—what? What is it? What's wrong?"

Wordlessly, he hands her back the note. She takes it and reads. When she finishes, a horrified look crosses her face.

"That's impossible," Momoi says. "It…it can't. How? He…it's been months…I-I thought he was…Daiki, how is this possible?"

He looks down, saying nothing.

"Daiki," she says, "Seriously, Daiki, this has to be a joke. It's a dumb joke. It's not possible. Someone is just—"

"I got the same note," he says suddenly. He's still looking at the floor. "It says something different, but I know it's from him. I…I didn't think anyone else got one."

"You don't believe this," she says, her voice growing hysteric, "You can't! He's…he's dead. He has to be dead. He's been gone for too long—this can't be possible. It can't. It doesn't make any sense!"

"B…but what if it's him?" he asks. "What if it's him? I mean, who else can write like that."

"Daiki, it's not possible! It's just not possible!"

"Did you guys hear about that crazy new serial killer?" Mami, one of the models, asks as they're preparing to leave the shoot.

Kise shakes his head as his agent hands him his things. It was the last shoot for a new phone campaign. Along with getting paid, he and the other models involved in the shoot would be receiving the phones they were advertising.

Mami purses her glossed lips. "It's soooo freaky. He, like, only attacks girls, but, like, get this: he kills them by asphyxiated them. They're calling him the Serial Suffocator."

"But suffocator isn't even a word," Ken, another of the models from the campaign, points out.

"Even so," Kise says, "That's really scary. Be careful, Mamiecchi!"

"Psh, as if any killer could mess with me!" she cries, flexing her nonexistent muscles.

They all laugh until an assistant rushes with a note in her hand. "Ah, Kise-san, good you haven't left," she says, out of the breath, "I've got a note for you."

"Oh, from who?"

The woman shrugs. "I couldn't really see their face."

Mami shivers. "S-scary! What if it's the Serial Suffocator?"

"I thought he only went after girls," Ken says.

"Kise-kun's good looks probably wooed him into wanting to kill pretty boys—h-hey, Kise, are you alright?" she asks as his face pales. "It was a joke, you know. I'm sure no serial killer is after you!"

"No, it's not that," he assures her with a weak smile. He folds the note and puts it into his coat pocket. "I, um, I have to go now, though."

Ken frowns. "But I thought we were going to go for drinks!"

"Next time," Kise promises, as he exits the studio. "And it'll be on me, too!"

Before entering his home, Midorima always knocks on the door three times before checking his mail. He had read somewhere that knocking three times on a wooden door worked to dispel any bad luck lingering in the household.

In his mail box was a folded note. He frowns, opening it and skimming the contents. Well, there wasn't really much to skim. The note didn't say much. In fact, to the untrained eye it made absolutely no sense.

With a weary sigh, he turns away from his door and heads in the direction of a place he didn't imagine he'd ever visit again.

"Even when he isn't here," he mutters bitterly, "He's still as irritating as ever."

Murasakibara yawns, lying happily on his couch watching some strange show on kangaroos while he munches on some treats he bought from the convenience store nearby. He'd successfully avoided practice yet again, leaving him to enjoy kangaroos and candy.

"I want to try the treats from Australia," he decides, as the two male kangaroos begin fighting with one another over a female kangaroo.

He reaches into his plastic bag for another candy bar when he's met with paper. He pulls out a folded note and opens it. After a long moment, he gets up, grabs his coat, and leaves his house immediately.

His bag of candy is left on the floor of his living room.

"Hey, Kuroko we're all heading to Maji Burger, want to come?" Kagami calls, poking his head into the shoe locker area. "Alright, we'll be outside waiting for you!"

"Yes, just give me a moment," Kuroko replies, opening his locker. A folded note flutters to the ground. He stoops down and picks it up. He reads it once, and then folds it and puts it into his pocket.

"Kagami-kun," he calls out, as he changes into his outdoor shoes, "I won't be able to join you guys. Something came up, and I need to meet some people."

It isn't long before they've all gathered outside of their old middle school. They exchange no pleasantries and simply stare at one another. The air around them is solemn.

Without even saying anything, they all gather their notes and place them in an order that made sense. Before long they had a complete sentence. The air grew heavier when they read it.

The reigning king is not captured, it read.

I'm not dead, was what it actually meant.