#vickah

They meet at the park, on the basketball court.

Or at least, that's where Kise meets them. He doesn't know how everyone else became acquainted, maybe they knew each other from way back, maybe Akashi recruited them in the same fashion as he recruits Kise, by sending a ball spinning towards his head when he innocently walks past the court on his way home, leaving him too startled to do anything but snap his hands up and catch it.

“Nice reflexes,” a guy says, jogging over to him. His skin is tan and weathered in a way that doesn't match the youthful expression on his face; he's dripping and impossibly cut. Kise takes pride in his body – after all, it is his meal ticket, but he finds himself in the unusual position of feeling hopelessly inadequate next to this boy.

He tosses the ball back, irritated. “Watch where you're throwing that thing.”

The boy sends it flying back, and Kise feels it vibrate down his arms when he catches it again. He glares at the boy, who tugs on his shirt collar and grins. “Wanna play?”

And Kise, who's never had his pride challenged before, has no choice but to accept.

*

“You should come back,” Aomine says, after he dunks on Kise for the last time, leaving his self-esteem in shambles. “You're a natural. I can't believe you've never played seriously before.”

“Why the fuck,” Kise pants, leaning on his knees, “would I want to do that?”

Aomine glances at the rest of his friends, who haven't said a word to Kise yet. He looks back at Kise. “We're a team,” he says. “We play out here for money. You play with us, you get a cut.”

Kise's not hurting for cash, not even a little bit, but there's something even more powerful settling in him, a resolve, a mission. It's a familiar rush, the challenge, but it feels different this time. Because Kise's spent his whole life searching for mountains that turned out to be molehills, he's always overshot the top. And when he looks at Aomine, he sees the struggle, the impossibility of ever standing above him, every ounce of common sense he possesses telling him no, you won't reach this summit, you will fall.

He says, “When do I start?”

*

“Here.” A pile of small bills tumbles into his lap, he looks up in surprise at Midorima. “Your cut.”

“I didn't even play,” Kise says, confused.

“Everyone gets paid, every game,” Midorima says, peering disinterestedly down his nose at Kise. “Unless you don't show up. But that's something you definitely should not do.”

Kise chews his lip. “What happens if we lose?”

“Oh, Akashi has a backup fund for that,” Kuroko says, materializing next to him. Kise starts. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to Kuroko.

“It's irrelevant,” Midorima says coldly. “We don't lose.”

*

Akashi starts every game by shaking hands with the “captains” of the other teams, whoever is representing them, really. Their opponents often exchange dubious glances at the display of formality, but they go along with it. Something about Akashi makes those around him fall into step, even the incorrigible Murasakibara, who has never called Kise by name in the three weeks they've been playing together. Pleasantries are exchanged, and then Akashi says, “Let's play a clean game, and may the best team win.” It's the starting bell to every match, a tone Kise gets used to and doesn't question. Why wouldn't they play a clean game? Isn't basketball supposed to be fun?

*

It takes almost two months for someone to disregard Akashi's opening statement. The “team” they find themselves up against are all brutes in their early twenties, broader and harder than them, taller than everyone except Murasakibara. Kise gets shoved, knocked down, punched, even kicked in the side. Kuroko has to sit out because his head is bleeding, and Aomine looks about ready to kill someone.

“Daiki,” Akashi says sharply, after he body-checks one of the opposing players. “We play a clean game.” He's as focused as Kise's ever seen him. “You know what happens when players break decorum on my court.”

Kise's body is burning with exertion, but a swift chill goes through him when Akashi's lips twist in a very small smile. “It seems, though, that these gentlemen don't.”

Aomine stands up straighter. “No,” he says, voice hard. “But they will.”

How the other team plays doesn't matter after that. Murasakibara plays with a brutality that takes Kise's breath away, Aomine tears through the offense like the players are standing still, and Akashi passes with unprecedented accuracy, like he can see where his teammates are going to be before they even get there. The score gap ends up being the widest of all the games they've played, and the crowd it draws makes Kise feel like more of a celebrity than modeling ever has.

“That was incredible,” Kise laughs, folding up an enormous wad of bills and stuffing them into his jeans. They made almost double their usual take; Akashi'd used the gathered crowd to place more bets. “I guess that's what happens when the other team plays dirty.”

Akashi gives him a long, indecipherable look. “We're not finished, Ryouta.” Then, with a nod to Aomine, he stands up and walks away.

Kise blinks. “Huh?”

“We're having a rematch,” Aomine tells him brightly, swinging his arm around Kise's shoulders and walking him back across the park. “Tonight. There's a street court by the train tracks not far from here.”

“Um,” Kise says. “Is it really...safe?” He knows the court in question, it's too run-down to be considered anything but a dump. He has no idea why they'd want to have a rematch there, not when they have a perfectly good court right here in the park, in the center of things.

Aomine laughs. “No,” he says. “But I'll protect you. Just don't get in Akashi's way.”

Kise glances back to where Akashi is talking to Kuroko, hands on his shoulders, lean arms stretched between them. “Will Kurokocchi be alright?”

“He better be,” Aomine says with a wolfish grin. “Tetsu loves a good rematch.”

After a period of silence, he adds, “Don't wear any clothing you'd miss.”

And Kise doesn't know quite what to make of that.

*

“Hope we didn't keep you waiting,” the leader of their earlier opponents sneers, stepping onto the cracked cement court. “If you think you have some kind of advantage out here, you're dead wrong.”

“Hm,” Akashi says. Kise sees a glint of silver inside his sleeve. “I take it you don't want to play, then.”

“Hell no,” the guy growls.

“Too bad.” Akashi steps back like he's going to turn away, but then launches his arm forward, and it's so fast that Kise doesn't even realize what's happened until the guy is falling, choking, with a pair of kitchen shears jutting out of his throat.

Kise's leg's won't work. His eyes won't move. He hears a whistle of appreciation that sounds like it's coming from Aomine, but that can't be right, Akashi just killed that guy –

“Disappointing,” Akashi sighs. “I was hoping he'd at least try to dodge.”

The guy's four teammates look how Kise feels, frozen, confused, horrified. One of them jerks his head up to look at Akashi, fury etched in every line. “You're gonna die for that,” he says.

“Hm,” Akashi says again. “Tetsuya, that one's yours.”

*

“You did well,” Kuroko says when it's all over. He's bleeding more heavily than before, from his nose and his shoulder. His knuckles, too, but Kise is fairly certain it's not all Kuroko's blood. “I threw up the first time I came to a rematch.”

“Mine's still alive,” Midorima says, pulling his shirt off and wiping his hands. “If I hit him anymore, I'll compromise my hands.”

Akashi purses his lips. “Fine,” he says. “Atsushi, take care of it.”

Kise doesn't want to listen to the hideous cracking sound that follows, but finds he can't help it.

“Ryouta,” Akashi says, and then suddenly Kise's arms are trapped behind his back, a powerful hold he couldn't break if he tried. Murasakibara must've come up behind him when he wasn't looking.

The scissors are back in Akashi's hand. “Ryouta,” he repeats, stepping forward. Kise wonders if he's going to die. “You didn't participate.”

The strike seems to come in slow motion, although Kise reasons it's probably lightning-fast in reality. He watches as the scissors graze against his arm, feels the sharp edge of surprise that turns into pain as the blood begins to flow. It's superficial, he realizes dazedly. Barely a scratch. Then Murasakibara spins him around, draws back his fist, and Kise's world goes dark.

*

Aomine's waiting for him when he wakes up, slumped tiredly against the chain-link fence surrounding the court. Kise gets to his feet dizzily, feels the gash and swelling in his jaw where Murasakibara hit him.

“Where'd everyone go?”

“Home,” Aomine grunts, climbing up from the ground.

“When?”

Aomine gives him a look. “Like, two minutes ago? Jeez, Murasakibara didn't hit you that hard.”

Kise's jaw isn't broken, so, he supposes Aomine has a point.

“Does that,” Kise starts, when they're back by the road and he feels less surreal, “like...happen a lot? Do you...” He isn't sure how to finish the sentence.

“Kill people?” Aomine supplies. “Not too often. Sometimes we just kick their asses. Akashi wanted to make an example of these guys, because of what they did to Kuroko.”

“Doesn't it bother you?” Kise asks, and realizes very suddenly that it doesn't really bother him, not as much as it should. His hands aren't shaking, his mind feels – strangely clear.

Aomine looks thoughtful. “It did, I guess, once,” he says. “But it's not like I'm the one picking who lives and who dies. Akashi knows. He sees things the rest of us don't.” He shrugs. “If he says someone needs to die, I believe him.”

“Right,” Kise replies. He feels insane and cavalier, he's fighting back hysterical impulses that, deep down, he knows will never surface. “You're just a bunch of guys who play basketball together, and sometimes commit homicide on the weekends. So. No big deal.”

“It's not like that,” Aomine says, shaking his head. “There's a balance, you'll see.”

Kise rubs his jaw, scowling.

“Besides,” Aomine adds. “Akashi wouldn't've picked you if he didn't think you were cut out for this.”

“How are you so sure about him?” Kise asks.

Aomine stops walking abruptly, and Kise experiences a brief thrill of fear, before he realizes that Aomine's simply taking a seat on a bench, waiting for him to do the same.

“I didn't always believe,” Aomine says. “In Akashi, I mean. I'm not the type to just give my respect to people unless they earn it.”

Kise looks at his hands.

“I had this foster dad, a few years back. We were still in middle school. Guy was a fucking asshole, he used to rail on me and my foster sister all the time.” Aomine's voice is distant. “I'd been playing with these guys for like, a year, and Akashi asked if if I'd rather live on my own.”

“On your – ”

“And I was like, 'yeah', but I didn't wanna leave Satsuki alone with that asswipe.” Aomine flexes his knuckles. “So, one day I came home, and he was dead. Just like that.” He draws a line across his throat.

Kise swallows. “Just like that, huh.”

“Akashi had my back,” Aomine says seriously. “So now I get my own digs, and Satsuki's with a new family.”

“I do have this manager,” Kise says, surprised at himself. “It doesn't happen so much anymore, but. When I was younger.”

Aomine nods, understanding without saying it out loud, which Kise appreciates. “Sounds like something we could take care of.”

“Yeah?” Kise grins.

“Sure.” Aomine claps him on the shoulder, standing up. “Talk to Akashi. He likes when we take initiative.”

*

Akashi listens to Kise's proposal, and nods. “I'll need you to prove yourself at another rematch,” he says. “This isn't a free-for-all. We have rules.”

Kise says, “Works for me.”

Akashi says, “Don't forget to pay attention, Ryouta. You're a copycat, after all.”

*

At the next rematch, Kise watches Akashi's scissors drag in a smooth, unhesitating arc across a gangbanger's throat. When Akashi tosses him the shears, he catches them by the handle and copies the move perfectly.

Akashi treats them all to ice cream afterwards.

*

“Akashi's not gonna be happy about this,” Midorima says as they all gaze down at the body of the motorist.

“He shoved Satsuki!” Aomine argues angrily. There's blood all down the front of his shirt, his knuckles are split wide open. “The fuck were we supposed to do?”

“We should've called Akashi,” Kuroko agrees softly. There's blood dripping from his mouth; it's not his own. Kise's learned to be a little scared of Kuroko.

He says, “We should go, before the cops come.” It's not the best part of town that they're in, but it's not the quietest, either. Someone's bound to walk by soon.

The next day, Akashi folds his hands, listens to Aomine explain, and then gives each of them a black eye. Kise feels the skin under his eyebrow split open, and wonders how on earth he's going to explain this at his shoot tomorrow.

“We have rules,” Akashi says, toying absently with Murasakibara's hair. “If you break them, there are consequences.”

*

A month later, Kise wraps his hands around his manager's throat, squeezes, and dunks on Aomine immediately after. He whistles all the way home, spinning the ball on his finger.

***

They meet after school, on the basketball court. Kuroko's tired, tired to his bones, he's playing himself and somehow losing. It's not a pretty sight, he's certain, but he draws himself up tall anyways when a figure steps forward out of the doorway.

“Hi,” a boy says, around his age, and Kuroko looks down at red shoes that could probably be used as baby bassinets. “Uh, you kind of suck. No offense.”

“It's not a good day,” Kuroko admits.

“Yeah, I have those,” the boy says. “I'll play you, if you want.”

Kuroko looks him up and down. “Are you going to go easy on me?”

The boy scoffs. “Fuck no.”

“Good.”

They play for ten minutes, and then the boy stops. “Dude, this is bumming me out. I'm not even trying; I think we should call it quits.”

The score is twenty-nine to zero. Kuroko has to agree. He bows, panting. “Thank you for the game.”

“Yeah.” The boy makes an abortive gesture to bow back, then rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “You come to this court a lot?”

“Well, I go to school here,” Kuroko replies.

The boy straightens. “What? Seriously? I've never seen you before, I thought I knew all the basketball players at Seirin!”

“I play...on a different team,” Kuroko says, unsure how much he should say. “In the park.”

“No way! Street ball?” The boy grins. “Do they all suck as bad as you?”

“That was very rude,” Kuroko glares. “And no, as it happens, they do not.”

“I'm just messing with you, I can tell you're better than that. Wouldn't've bothered playing you in the first place otherwise,” the boy shrugs. “What's your name, anyways?”

“Kuroko Tetsuya. Yours?”

“I'm Tai – I mean, Kagami Taiga.”

Kuroko cocks his head. “Where are you from?”

“I'm from Tokyo, I just spent the last ten years in America.” Kagami scowls at his shoes. “Still getting my accent back.”

“It's not terrible,” Kuroko reassures him. “Your English must be excellent, at any rate.”

“Yeah, tell that to my English professor,” Kagami sighs. “Whatever.”

Kuroko looks at the sun. It's starting to descend; they have business to attend to in the evening. “I have to go,” he says. “It was nice to meet you, Kagami.”

“Oh, yeah, same,” Kagami says. “Rematch tomorrow?”

Kuroko hesitates, then says, “Yes, I'd like that very much.”

When he meets the others, Kise asks him why he's smiling.

*

The guy they're meeting isn't anyone from the park, just some lowlife gangbanger who put Momoi in the hospital a few days ago. Aomine has a baseball bat, and Kise is tossing a hammer to himself gleefully.

“Momoi-san's going to find out about this,” Kuroko feels the need to point out.

“Good,” Aomine growls. “Maybe then she'll stop hanging around with fucking bangers all the time.”

“She won't find out,” Akashi says calmly. “He's no different than any of the others. They say gang violence is getting worse in this area, you know. The newspapers don't even bother reporting the body count from turf warfare.” He glances at Midorima. “Shintarou, tell me you know how to use that thing.”

“Of course I do,” Midorima says stiffly, fitting his hand over the katana's handle. “Shuutoku offers fencing classes, which I have made use of.”

“How fortunate,” Akashi says. “Leave it at home next time. You know how I feel about flashy weapons.”

“Aka-chin, you need to let the thing with the chainsaw go,” Murasakibara says.

*

In the end, the guy's only brought three friends, so there's little for Kuroko to do. He takes a few turns with the bat, on Momoi's behalf, but Aomine's the one to finish it.

“Kind of a slow night,” Kise says, wiping his hands on his shirt. “Do we know anyone else?”

“Should've left one alive to get some more friends,” Aomine muses. There's a skull fragment with a clot of hair stuck to the top of his bat. He flicks it off disinterestedly.

Akashi frowns. “Go play basketball, if you're so restless,” he says. “We've dealt our punishment. That is enough.”

“Is that what this is about?” Aomine demands, stepping forward. “I thought the whole point of the games was for you to figure out who needs taking down.”

“The point is to win,” Akashi says in a low voice, meeting him right under his chin. “Basketball's only part of the game, Daiki, I wouldn't expect you to understand. I only eliminate those who are in my way.” He turns the scissors over in his hand. “Are you in my way, Daiki?”

*

“I can see how one-on-one isn't your strong suit,” Kagami laughs, dunking on him easily. “But damn, that vanishing shot? I bet your style is off the chain in team play.”

Kuroko braces his hands on his knees, winded. “I'm stronger as a voice in the chorus,” he admits. “You're very fast.”

“You're just slow,” Kagami says bluntly. “You know, if you wanted to play seriously, I bet I could get you a spot on the team. If you show our coach what you can do, she'll almost definitely put you on first string.” He punches Kuroko good-naturedly in the shoulder, nearly sending him sprawling. “And she'll whip your butt into shape, too. She's a real hard-ass.”

“I wish I could,” Kuroko says, and realizes with a start that part of him really means that. “I'm very...attached to my current team. I don't think it would go over well if I left.”

Kagami shrugs, twirls the ball on his finger. “Whatever. Hey, you hungry? I'm fucking starving.”

“A little, actually.”

“C'mon, lets go to Maji Burger. I'm buying. I'm gonna eat like, fifty of those things.”

As it turns out, Kagami is not even remotely exaggerating. In fact, he's probably the most voracious eater Kuroko has ever known, and he's seen Murasakibara eat an entire chicken in one sitting before.

*

“We should play sometime, in the park,” Kagami says somewhere between burgers twenty-nine and thirty. “I could totally get some of the guys on the team to come out for it.”

Kuroko freezes, his hand tightening reflexively on his milkshake. “No,” he says, and it's probably too loud, so he lowers his voice. “No, I don't think that's a good idea.”

*

“Tetsu!” Aomine barks, shaking his guard effortlessly and darting part Kuroko. A quick swipe of his hand is all it takes, and then Aomine's sailing down the court, tossing the ball into the hoop over his shoulder to several whoops and jeers from the crowd.

“They're lively today,” Midorima says unenthusiastically. “Akashi's probably tripled our take by now.”

Kuroko feels uneasy, and he isn't sure why. “Let's just finish this game,” he says, jogging away from Midorima. Kise's stolen the ball again, he's trying to copy Aomine's charge but Kuroko can see it's not going to work. He meets Akashi's eyes from the bench and gets into position to backtap the ball when their opposition's shooting guard steals it back.

Murasakibara blows past his two defenders and dunks the ball savagely, glaring at Kuroko. “Stop trying so hard,” he complains. “These guys aren't even that good. You're making me tired.”

“Don't be a dick,” Aomine says, elbowing him. “Think of all the candy you can buy after this.”

Murasakibara gives him a long-suffering look. If he says something, Kuroko doesn't hear it, because someone collides with his shoulder and he goes tumbling to the ground.

“Shit! Sorry, I didn't see you,” their opponents center says, reaching for his hand to pull him up. He glances nervously at Akashi. “That really wasn't on purpose, I swear.”

“Thank you,” Kuroko gasps, regaining his equilibrium. “I'm alright, but please watch where you're going.”

Next to him, Kise snickers under his breath. Then he glances at the crowd and says, “Whoa. Kurokocchi, that guy's looking right at you.”

Kuroko looks, and his heart goes to his throat. Kagami is standing in the audience with his hands in his pockets and a quietly awed expression on his face. It turns to a wide, sheepish grin when he sees that Kuroko's spotted him.

He shouldn't, he knows he shouldn't, but Kuroko cuts a glance straight to Akashi, and sees with a sinking feeling that Akashi has noticed Kagami as well.

*

“You came,” is the only thing he can think of to say, afterwards.

Kagami gives him a strange look. “Why are you being weird? Tons of people came, not just me.”

I only eliminate those who are in my way.

“Tetsu's kind of a weird guy,” Aomine says, swaggering over and throwing his arm over Kuroko's shoulder. “If you were friends with him, you'd probably know that.”

“Fuck you,” Kagami snarls, stepping forward. “Kuroko and I are friends, we practice together at school every goddamn day. The hell is it to you, anyways?”

“Jesus,” Aomine barks out a harsh laugh, covering up his surprise. “I was joking, chill the fuck out.” He glances sideways at Kuroko. “Every day, huh?”

“Tetsuya, I'm glad you decided to finally introduce us to your new friend,” Akashi says, walking over. “Taiga, isn't it?”

Kagami blinks. “Uh, yeah.”

“Interesting.” Akashi looks him over, and Kuroko feels something clench uncomfortably in his gut. “A strong player. I'd be interested to see your talents.”

“I'm not anything like you guys,” Kagami admits, looking wistful. “At least, not yet.”

Aomine smirks.

“Perhaps you need stronger opponents,” Akashi says. “Are you free this evening?”

“Akashi-kun,” Kuroko says, dread filling his chest.

“Sure,” Kagami grins. “You wanna play?”

Akashi smiles back. “I would like that, yes.”

Kuroko steps forward. “Akashi-kun, please.”

Kagami frowns at him.

“Tetsuya, calm yourself. We'll meet here, of course.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Kagami says. “Cool.” He bounces on his heels. “See you later, Kuroko.”

*

“Do you think Akashi actually wants to play him?” Kise asks, tilting his head.

“He's not a candidate for a rematch,” Midorima says. “Unless Akashi knows something we don't. Perhaps he's going to join us.”

“Tch. Fuck that,” Aomine says. “Did you see Tetsu's face?”

“Stop reminding me,” Kise whines. “I hope Akashicchi doesn't hurt him too much, seeing Kuroko's sad face breaks my heart.”

Murasakibara sighs deeply. “I'm bored,” he says. “I hope we get to kill him.”

Next to him, Midorima shifts uncomfortably, and the others lapse into thoughtful silence.

*

They meet at the usual time. Kuroko notices Aomine's brought his bat again, which Akashi instructs him to put away.

“For now,” he says.

Kuroko doesn't speak.

Kagami walks onto the court some minutes later. “Oi,” he says, squinting. “Any chance we could turn the lights on? Kinda hard to play in the dark like this.”

“In time,” Akashi says. “How are your reflexes?”

Kagami stares at him. “My what?”

Kuroko doesn't want to look, doesn't want to see, but his eyes travel to Akashi's sleeve anyway, the flash of steel there. He wants to scream, wants to launch himself at Akashi and tell Kagami to run, but he's frozen, the words are stuck in his throat.

Akashi moves.

Kagami ducks.

No one seems to be breathing. There's a soft thud as the shears land somewhere behind Kagami, and he reaches up to touch his cheek. “What the fuck.”

There's blood on his hand, but Kuroko can see even in the dim light that it's just a scratch.

Murasakibara, of all people, lets out a soft whistle.

“Interesting,” Akashi says. “Kuroko, I assume you no longer wish to play with us.”

“Akashi-kun is correct,” Kuroko rasps, finding his voice at last.

“Hold up – what the fuck, seriously? Did you just try to kill me?” Kagami looks at Kuroko. “Did he just try to kill me?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Akashi says. “If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead.”

*

“You're just going to let him take Kuroko?” Aomine bellows, after Kuroko and Kagami have walked away together.

“Tetsuya has been drifting away from us. He no longer values winning,” Akashi says. “I have no use for anyone like that on my team. Taiga will make a suitable partner for him.”

“So,” Kise says, slowly, like he's on the brink of a revelation, “any of us can leave? If we want?”

“If you want,” Akashi nods. He looks at Midorima. “Just don't get in my way, once you do.”

*

It's several minutes of silent walking through the park before Kagami says anything. Kuroko, for once, speaks first.

“I'm sorry,” he says, feeling those words to be the most inadequate ones he's ever offered.

Kagami looks at him as though he'd forgotten he was there. “It's not too deep. And I live alone, so it's not like there's anybody I'll have to explain it to. Did you really used to kill people?”

“I did. We did,” Kuroko says. “I didn't want – I'm sorry.”

“You're not,” Kagami says dryly. “Not about that, anyways. Whatever, I'm sure you had your reasons.”

He supposes he did, though Kuroko isn't sure he ever needed any. “Do you want us to stop being friends?”

Kagami shrugs. “Nah. You're done with it now, right?”

Kuroko nods fervently. “Very much so.”

“Cool.” Kagami grins, reaches over and ruffles his hair. “Hey, maybe one day we'll play your old team and actually beat them.”

“I'm content to wait for that day,” Kuroko says, unable to stop his answering smile. “Do you still think there's a spot for me on Seirin?”

“Yeah, definitely. The coach has been asking about you, she calls you my little shadow.” Kagami blushes. “She doesn't mean it the way it sounds, I don't think.”

“I don't mind,” Kuroko says. “You're really – that's it? You're okay with me?”

Kagami pushes his hands into his pockets. “The thing is, I don't have that many friends,” he says. “Gotta take what I can get, even if they're serial killers.”

“I'm not a serial killer,” Kuroko protests.

“Relax, I'm just messing with you. We're cool.” Kagami extends his fist. “Start fresh?”

Kuroko nods, satisfied, and bumps Kagami's fist with his.

*

He doesn't hear from any of them until Kise calls him, some weeks later.

“Kise-kun,” he says, answering on the third ring.

“Kurokocchi!” Kise chirps. “Guess what? I'm going to be a model for Fashion Week in Paris!”

Kuroko congratulates him. “Does Akashi-kun know?”

“Ah, I think I mentioned it to him,” Kise says, sounding vaguely guilty. “I haven't been going to practices much anymore. Or games. I have this new manager, Kasamatsu, he's a total slave driver. It's hard to find time to play basketball.”

Kuroko says, “Oh.”

“Besides, the team kind of fell apart after you left. Midorimacchi quit a day after you, and I heard Aominecchi stopped going to practice too. He plays in games sometimes, though.” Kise pauses. “Now that Momoicchi is going to have a baby, he'll probably quit.”

“Probably,” Kuroko agrees. Akashi, for all his faults, would want Aomine to prioritize his loyalty to Momoi above the rest of them. “I didn't realize Momoi-san was pregnant.”

“She's very frightening,” Kise complains. “Yesterday I offered to go shopping with her for maternity wear and she threatened to cut out my tongue! Can you believe that?” He doesn't wait for Kuroko's response. “Anyways, we definitely have to get together before I go to Paris! Are you free for coffee this weekend?”

“I think so,” Kuroko says. “We have a game, but I'll text you.”

“Ooh, maybe I'll come watch! I could drag Midorimacchi and his new friend along, wouldn't that be fun?”

Kuroko wonders about Kise, sometimes. “I'll text you,” he says again. “Goodbye, Kise-kun.”

*

In retrospect, Akashi shouldn't've expected it to last forever, or perhaps even as long as it did. Even Atsushi, his most faithful disciple, was bound to move on eventually. His new English tutor has him quite taken, treating him with American sweets and luring him away to weekends in Akita. Akashi could eliminate him, but Atsushi has never particularly enjoyed the game as it is. Killing Himuro Tatsuya won't change that.

He finds himself at their old court, not the one in the park, but the other court, the one with bloodstains in the cement cracks that even the city's power washer's couldn't get out. The nets are still chains; he smiles at the memory of Daiki tearing one down and using it to –

“You finally showed,” a voice says, low and deadly. Akashi sees three guys stalk onto the court in his peripheral vision, waits until they're fully illuminated in the moonlight to turn around.

“Do I know you?”

“Four of my boys died on this court,” the middle one says, cracking his knuckles. “Cops called it turf wars. Funny thing is, this isn't anyone's turf.”

“It's Sumiyoshi-kai territory, actually,” Akashi says, for the sake of accuracy. Not that it matters. They don't care about this part of town.

The guy snorts. “You're not Yakuza.”

“I'm not,” Akashi admits. “Though I admire their particular brand of efficiency.”

“Yeah? I like to take my time, personally,” the guy says. “Sucks that you happened to be here all by yourself.”

Akashi slides his hand into his jacket pocket, fingers the shears until they're up his sleeve with the razor-sharp tip pressing into his palm.