Machida Yuki has spent her whole life being the reliable one—the flawless manager who records every stat, the eldest daughter who runs the household while her parents work late. Giving up before hoping, staying quiet before confessing: that's how she's kept herself from getting hurt. But when the third-years retire and a cocky first-year named Naruse Sho looks her dead in the eye and says, "I like you, Yuki-san"—not once, but as many times as it takes—her carefully knotted defenses begin to fray
Cheeky Brat: The Knot of the Shoelace - The Clumsy Ace and the Court of Jealousy
In late October, the air inside the prefectural general gymnasium carried the sharp scent of winter. High up in the vaulted arena, the squeal of basketball shoes against the floor rang out in fits and starts. The bounce of warm-up balls, the players' terse calls—all of it echoed and swelled into one great surge that reached Machida Yuki's ears.
Yuki sat on the bench at courtside, eyes fixed on the scorebook spread across her knees. With her fingertip, she clicked the button of her ballpoint pen—click, click. Today's opponent was Sanzuzu High. One of the top teams in the prefecture, a private boys' school with national tournament experience. Even for a practice game, they were not an opponent to take lightly.
"Yuki-san, is the timer all right over here?"
She looked up at the voice and found Naruse Sho standing beside her, having appeared without her noticing. He bent his tall frame slightly, peering down at her hands. Even through his warm-up jacket, the line of his shoulders was supple and strong. The way he raked his sweat-dampened bangs back with a careless hand was somehow animal.
"I'm fine. You go get yourself ready."
Yuki answered curtly and dropped her eyes back to the scorebook. Naruse didn't move. She could feel his gaze fixed on her profile.
"Something you need?"
"Nah, not really."
With that, Naruse finally left her side and ran out onto the court. Yuki let out a breath—just a small one.
(That's the look he gets when he's plotting something.)
That hungry light in Naruse's eyes whenever he looked at her. She traced the numbers in the scorebook with her finger, trying not to be conscious of it. Today's practice game was also the new team's first match against an outside opponent. With the third-years retired and Naruse and the other first-years becoming the core of Ryokuhoku, Sanzuzu was the perfect test.
On the far side of the gym, at the Sanzuzu bench, their coach Tonomura Seiichi was giving instructions to his players. A stern-looking man, he looked each player in the eye as he spoke, his words short and rapid-fire. Beside him, a particularly tall player was silently retying his shoelaces.
Hakamada Shizuka. Sanzuzu High, second year. Position: point guard. Tall, with long limbs, the muscles beneath his uniform supple and spare. His well-formed features, when silent, gave the impression of a sculpture—still and composed. But his fingers had fumbled the laces again and again.
"Hakamada, you all right?"
When Tonomura spoke, Hakamada raised his face and gave a small nod. But his expression was stiff.
"...I'm fine."
Even his voice wavered slightly.
The game began.
From the first quarter, Ryokuhoku built its offense around Naruse. His shots were accurate, his speed surpassing Sanzuzu's defense. But Sanzuzu steadily racked up points as well, fed by Hakamada's passing. Hakamada's play was clean, quiet, and coldly precise.
"Nice pass!"
A Sanzuzu player shouted. Hakamada ran without a word, moving to the next play. His face showed almost no trace of emotion.
Writing numbers into the scorebook, Yuki followed Hakamada's movements with her eyes.
(That player is really good. Every pass he makes hits exactly where it hurts us.)
With a manager's eye, Yuki analyzed his play. His choice of passing lanes, his positioning on defense—all of it made perfect sense. A different type from Naruse: a quiet dominator. That was the impression he gave.
The second quarter ended, and halftime began.
On the bench, Yuki was preparing drinks to hand out to the players. She lined up water bottles, folded towels, readied paper cups for each person. Her hands moved without hesitation, without waste.
"Um, excuse me..."
An unfamiliar voice made her stop. She looked up to find Hakamada Shizuka standing there. Still in his Sanzuzu uniform, standing before her. In his hand, a crumpled empty paper cup.
"Thank you for the drink."
He said it and held the cup out to her. No—more precisely, he tried to hold it out, and his hand stopped in midair.
"...Ah, no, I mean, where should I throw away the cup—"
Yuki looked at his hands. The paper cup was on the verge of being crushed between his fingers.
"Oh, the trash bag over there is fine."
When she pointed, Hakamada looked in that direction with a start, then gave an awkward bow of his head.
"I'm sorry. Thank you."
With that, he walked toward the trash bag. His back was somehow rigid with tension.
(What an clumsy person.)
Watching his retreating figure, that was what Yuki thought. So tall, his play so precise—and yet in a moment like this, he was as helpless as a lost child. That imbalance, strangely, softened something in Yuki's heart.
"You really are clumsy, aren't you."
A small laugh escaped her, and she murmured it under her breath. The words were quiet—perhaps Hakamada hadn't heard. But a smile had certainly risen to Yuki's lips.
And that was the moment.
At center court, Naruse, ball in hand, was staring straight at her. His eyes were different from the sharp look he'd worn during the game. Darker, hotter—like something simmering down to its essence.
When their eyes met, Naruse slowly twisted the corner of his mouth. It looked like a smile, but it wasn't. That was the face Naruse made when he was holding something back.
Yuki looked away at once.
(Why are you making a face like that?)
Something stirred deep in her chest. Yuki opened the scorebook and traced the numbers with her finger for no reason at all.
When the second half began, Naruse's play had clearly changed.
He had been mixing in passes to his teammates before, but from the second half on, every time Hakamada guarded him, he forced one-on-one drives. He barreled straight at Hakamada with his dribble, rammed his shoulder in, threw out his elbow. It was closer to a brawl than basketball.
Tweet!
The referee's whistle. An offensive foul on Naruse.
"Hey, what the hell are you doing, Naruse!"
Naruse didn't answer his teammate. Wordlessly, he glared at Hakamada. Hakamada planted a hand on the floor and rose slowly. His expression was twisted with pain.
"What are you thinking out there?"
During the timeout, Yuki called Naruse over on the bench.
"I'm just playing normal, that's all."
Wiping the sweat from his face with a towel, Naruse answered flatly.
"There's no way that looks like normal play. Anyone can see you're ramming into him on purpose. Don't disrupt the team's play."
Yuki's voice was low and quiet. But inside it was a clear, unmistakable anger.
With the towel still around his neck, Naruse looked straight into her eyes.
"It's your fault, Yuki-san. For smiling at another guy."
His voice sounded sulky, but at its core it was cold as ice.
"...Huh?"
For a moment, Yuki didn't understand what she'd just heard.
"You smiled at that Hakamada guy, didn't you. I've never seen you make a face that soft before."
Naruse didn't look away. Deep in his eyes, a dark flame flickered.
"What are you even saying? That was just being polite. Besides, he was so clumsy I laughed a little, that's all."
"That's exactly what's not okay."
Naruse took a step closer.
"You making a face like that at another guy—I hate it so much I can't stand it. Just watching makes my blood boil. My chest gets all churned up. You should only make that face for me, Yuki-san."
Yuki was speechless.
(What is this boy even saying right now?)
(Don't smile at other men? Keep your face turned only toward me?)
(That's the kind of thing you'd say to a lover...)
"...Is your head okay?"
That was all she managed to get out.
"I'm fine. When it comes to you, Yuki-san, I go seriously crazy, you know."
Naruse said it with a small smile. But his eyes weren't smiling at all.
The game, in the end, reached its final moments with Ryokuhoku still holding a narrow lead.
Naruse's rough play had sent ripples through the team, but even so, his scoring power was Ryokuhoku's greatest weapon. Hakamada, too, struggled against Naruse's marking in the second half, but still delivered precise passes at the key moments, holding up Sanzuzu's offense.
Then the final buzzer sounded.
Ryokuhoku had won.
The players acknowledged each other's effort. Yuki closed the scorebook and rose from the bench. She watched vaguely as the two teams exchanged post-game greetings.
(It's over.)
Yuki let out a small breath. She was tired. Not from the game. From that pointless exchange with Naruse.
Just then, her phone buzzed in her jacket pocket.
She took it out and looked at the screen.
Kido-senpai.
The name glowed on the display. Yuki's fingertip stopped dead.
(Why now?)
She hesitated for a moment. But the ringtone ignored her hesitation, continuing to sound—quietly, but surely.
Yuki pressed the call button.
"...Hello."
She braced her stomach so her voice wouldn't tremble.
"Yuki? It's been a while. Is now a good time?"
Kido-senpai's voice was gentle and calm, so much so that it carried through the phone. That voice she had secretly held feelings for, for a year and a half.
"Yes, it's fine. The game just ended."
"I see. Good work. So—Yuki, sorry this is sudden, but there's something I need to talk to you about."
His voice turned serious.
"I broke up with Hashino. And there's something I absolutely have to tell you, Yuki."
Yuki's back trembled faintly.
(He broke up with Hashino Rina.)
(Kido-senpai has something to tell me.)
In her mind, the scene from a year and a half ago came back vividly. That day at the back entrance of the prefectural gymnasium, when Kido-senpai and Hashino Rina had walked side by side, looking so happy. That day, Yuki had quietly accepted that her love was over.
"...I understand. Please let me know a day that works for you."
Fighting to suppress her trembling voice, that was how she answered.
After the call ended, Yuki couldn't move for a while, her phone clutched in her hand.
"Yuki-san."
A voice came from just behind her.
She turned. Naruse was standing there. When had he appeared? His eyes moved back and forth between her phone and her face.
"Who was that. Just now."
His voice was low and flat.
"...It's none of your business."
Sliding her phone into her pocket, Yuki answered coldly.
"It was Kido-senpai, wasn't it."
Naruse ignored her words and spoke.
"The former captain. The guy you liked."
Yuki couldn't say anything.
"Don't go."
Naruse said it abruptly.
"...What?"
"Don't go see Kido-senpai. I don't want you to."
His voice was quiet. But within that quiet was a force that allowed no argument.
"Who I meet has nothing to do with you."
Yuki looked straight at him and said it.
"It does have something to do with me."
Naruse took a step closer.
"I will never let you go, Yuki-san."
His eyes caught her and wouldn't let go. Deep within them, a dark, hot flame of obsession burned fiercely.
"I don't know what Kido-senpai is going to say to you. But just the fact that you're going to him—right now, it's making me feel something awful. I can't stand it, you going to another man."
His words pierced her chest—heavy and sharp.
(This boy is seriously...)
For the first time, Yuki was truly thrown off by the intensity of Naruse's obsession.
"...Who do you think you are, anyway?"
That was all she could manage.
"Just a kouhai who's seriously fallen for you, Yuki-san."
Naruse said it with a small, somehow sorrowful smile.
At that smile, Yuki felt something tighten deep in her chest.
(No. That's not it.)
(I have to see Kido-senpai.)
(To settle a year and a half.)
Yuki looked away from Naruse.
"...I'm going home. You go home too, and soon."
With that, she turned her back on him.
"Yuki-san."
His voice chased after her.
"I won't wait. I'll say it as many times as it takes. If you go to Kido-senpai, I'll never give up either. Whoever you choose, Yuki-san, I'll keep chasing you. Always."
Yuki didn't turn around. If she did, she felt like something would change irrevocably.
She left the gymnasium at a quick pace.
When sh
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