Every day, Midorima Shintarou does everything humanly possible—and every day, he comes in second. Second in exams. Second on the court. Always one step behind Akashi Seijuurou, the captain who seems to excel at everything without breaking a sweat.
When a sudden downpour catches Midorima without an umbrella, it's Akashi who appears with a spare, offering it with that same gentle, unreadable smile. Midorima accepts it grudgingly, determined to return it the next day and forget the whole thing.
B
The Forgotten Umbrella - The Night I Gripped the Umbrella — Feelings That Went Beyond the Bounds of Friendship
The winter air had seeped all the way into the corridors.
Outside the windows, bare trees swayed in the north wind. The season when every breath came out in white puffs. Months had passed since that rainy day.
Midorima Shintarou gazed down the hallway through his black-framed under-rim glasses. In his pocket, his fingertips rolled a small silver bell—the lucky item designated by the horoscope on the morning news program. Cancer's fortune for the day: dead last, twelfth place.
(Just my luck.)
Midorima clicked his tongue inwardly.
On days when the horoscope was bad, something always happened. His experience told him so.
That was when it came.
"Hey, did you hear? Apparently the captain's been pretty bad lately."
From around the corner of the hallway, the voices of the basketball club's underclassmen drifted over. Midorima stopped walking.
"Yeah. I heard he doesn't say anything anymore except 'to win.'"
"He used to be so kind, but his eyes have changed, haven't they? Like—I dunno, like they've turned to ice."
"Scary, man. If that guy glares at you, you're done for."
Midorima pushed up the position of his glasses with his middle finger. His fingertip was trembling faintly.
(What would underclassmen like you know?)
That's what he thought. But deep down, Midorima himself knew better than anyone that their words had struck the truth.
That day—the day of the one-on-one with Murasakibara Atsushi. Akashi Seijuurou had certainly changed.
His first-person pronoun shifted from "ore" to "boku." He went from calling him Midorima to calling him Shintarou. A voice that had been warm turned cold as ice.
(It's been a month since then.)
Midorima looked outside the window. An overcast sky. A heavy, brooding sky that looked like it might snow.
In his pocket, the silver bell gave a small chime.
The last-place fortune the horoscope had declared. Midorima gripped the bell.
(Man proposes, and heaven disposes—but heaven can be moved if you do everything in your power.)
(No. It's called heaven's will precisely because it can't be changed.)
Contradictory thoughts spun round and round in his head.
His steps toward the club room felt heavier than usual.
——
When he opened the door to the club room, it was quiet inside.
The members changing into their practice clothes seemed somehow subdued. The air was tense.
"You're late, Shintarou."
A voice spoke.
Midorima turned toward it reflexively.
Akashi Seijuurou stood in the center of the club room. His vivid red hair was as neat as ever, his eyes heterochromatic—red on the right, amber on the left. His small frame carried the dignity of a captain.
But in those eyes, there was none of the warmth that had once been there.
"...Sorry. I was called to the staff room."
Midorima answered, feigning composure.
"I see. From now on, notify me in advance. Wasted time is a loss for the team."
Having said only that, Akashi looked away from Midorima.
(Wasted time, is it.)
Midorima felt a small, sharp pain deep in his chest.
The old Akashi would have said this:
"Are you all right? If something's troubling you, I'm here to listen."
Smiling as he said it.
(No. That's already in the past.)
Midorima told himself so.
But the memory of that rainy day refused to leave his head.
In front of the school gate in the pouring rain. Himself, standing frozen. And there, a red-haired boy holding out a folding umbrella.
"Use this. I have a spare."
Akashi's smile in that moment. That warmth.
(Was that an act?)
(Or is the coldness now the real thing?)
No answer came.
Midorima silently opened his locker and began changing into his practice clothes.
The bell in his pocket chimed again.
——
The gymnasium was freezing.
A winter gymnasium is nothing like a summer one. The cold of the floor travels up through the soles of his shoes into the bottoms of his feet. Every breath came out in white puffs.
The members began warming up in silence.
Akashi blew his whistle.
"Today's menu is confirming our offensive coordination. We'll crush the problems we saw in yesterday's game. We do only what's necessary to win."
To win.
Every time he heard those words, Midorima's chest tightened.
(To win. To win. To win.)
Everything that came out of Akashi's mouth had come to be summed up in that single phrase.
The old Akashi had been different.
"Let's play good basketball together."
"We turn each person's strength into the team's strength."
He used to say such things with a smile.
(Where did you go, the you from back then?)
Midorima murmured in his heart.
But he couldn't say it aloud.
Because he knew exactly what he'd get back.
"It's to win."
Just that one phrase.
Midorima unconsciously stroked the taping wrapped around the fingers of his left hand.
(What was it I was seeing in you?)
Practice began.
——
By the time practice ended, it was completely dark outside.
The members left the gymnasium in twos and threes.
Midorima stayed behind alone in a corner of the gym.
Leaning against the wall, he looked up at the ceiling. The white light of the fluorescent lamps stung his eyes.
(I'm tired.)
Not physical fatigue. Fatigue of the heart.
Practicing while listening to Akashi's cold instructions. Just that was enough to drain him completely.
(Was I always this weak?)
Midorima laughed at himself.
That was when it came.
"Midorima-kun."
A voice spoke.
Midorima turned around, startled.
At some point, Kuroko Tetsuya had come to stand right beside him. Pale blue hair, faint blue eyes. A man with an extraordinarily thin presence. Without giving any sign of his aura, he was simply there. That was the kind of man Kuroko was.
"...What is it, Kuroko. Don't startle me."
Midorima spoke from on high, as usual—his habitual way of hiding his agitation.
"I'm sorry. But you've been here all this time, Midorima-kun."
Kuroko spoke in his flat tone.
"It's nothing, really. I was just thinking about some things."
"I see."
Kuroko stared fixedly at Midorima's face. Those faint blue eyes felt as though they could see straight through to the depths of Midorima's heart.
"You watch Akashi-kun very closely, don't you, Midorima-kun."
Kuroko said quietly.
Midorima's heart gave a violent throb.
"W-what are you talking about. That's only natural. As vice-captain, watching over the captain is a given."
Midorima rattled it off at high speed. Even he knew it sounded like an excuse.
"I see."
Kuroko said only that and gave a small nod.
"But I feel like what you're watching isn't just Akashi-kun as the captain."
Midorima caught his breath.
(How much does this guy see?)
Kuroko Tetsuya—perhaps because his presence was so thin—was terrifyingly sensitive to the movements of people's hearts.
"...What are you trying to say?"
Midorima lowered his voice.
"Nothing. Just an observation. Please don't mind me."
Having said that, Kuroko looked away from Midorima.
"Well then, I'll be going on ahead."
Kuroko gave a small bow and left the gymnasium.
Midorima was left alone in the gym.
(As vice-captain, it's only natural.)
(That's what I said.)
(But is that really true?)
Kuroko's words had lodged themselves in his chest and wouldn't come out.
Midorima took off his glasses and pressed his fingers to the corners of his eyes.
His vision blurred.
(What is it I'm seeing in Akashi?)
No answer came.
No—he couldn't produce one.
——
Back in his room, Midorima sat at his desk.
The room was quiet. Only the faint hum of the heater echoed.
On the desk lay the day's lucky item, the silver bell.
Midorima stared at the bell.
(Did this day turn out this way because my fortune was last place?)
(No. It's not the horoscope's fault.)
(It's my own problem.)
Midorima let out a deep breath.
Then he opened the desk drawer.
At the very back, it was there.
A folding umbrella.
The umbrella he had borrowed from Akashi Seijuurou on that rainy day.
Midorima took it out.
Held it in his hand. It was light.
(I could have returned it if I'd wanted to.)
(And yet, I didn't.)
Midorima stared at the umbrella.
Why hadn't he returned it?
He still couldn't put the reason into words.
(I just somehow couldn't bear to give it back.)
(That's all.)
(No—that's not all.)
Midorima opened the umbrella.
A light pop.
The black umbrella spread open in the room.
Inside it, the sound of that day's rain came back to life.
The sound of a downpour—zaaaa.
And Akashi's voice.
"Use this. I have a spare."
"If you caught a cold, it would interfere with practice, wouldn't it? You're the team's lifeline, after all."
The Akashi of that moment had been smiling.
An approachable, warm smile.
(I can't forget that smile.)
Midorima gripped the umbrella's handle tightly.
A cold sensation against his palm.
(You don't show me that smile anymore.)
(That smile has vanished.)
(You've become this cold person who says nothing but "to win.")
Midorima's chest ached as though being squeezed.
It was hard to breathe.
"...Seijuurou."
Without realizing it, he had called the name.
Not the surname—the given name.
Akashi Seijuurou's—Seijuurou.
The moment he said it, something inside Midorima's chest took clear shape.
(What did I just...?)
Midorima was stunned by the words that had left his own mouth.
(Seijuurou? I called him by his given name?)
His heart pounded violently.
His chest hurt.
(This isn't friendship.)
(Friendship couldn't hurt this much.)
(This is something else, something more—)
Still gripping the umbrella, Midorima hung his head.
Behind his glasses, his vision blurred.
(I—toward Akashi—)
He couldn't think of how the sentence continued.
He was afraid to think it.
Afraid to admit it.
(Something a lucky item could never fill.)
(Something no horoscope could ever fix.)
(This feeling has been smoldering at the bottom of my heart all along.)
Midorima closed the umbrella.
And gently laid it on the desk.
The silver bell chimed.
(What am I supposed to do?)
There was no answer anywhere.
——
The next day's practice.
The members had already gathered in the gymnasium.
Midorima took a deep breath before entering.
(Today's the day I say it.)
(That I have something to talk about with Akashi.)
Midorima had steeled his resolve.
It was the conclusion he'd reached after thinking all night.
(I don't know what to do with this feeling.)
(But staying silent like this—that's not right.)
(At the very least, about that umbrella—)
Midorima searched for Akashi.
Akashi stood at the center of the court.
"Assembly is late. Everyone run three laps, then assemble."
The cold voice echoed through the gymnasium.
The members scrambled to start running.
Midorima stood rooted to the spot, watching Akashi.
(Go. It's now or never.)
Midorima took one step toward Akashi.
"Akashi, I have something to—"
Just as Midorima began to speak—
Akashi turned around.
Those eyes were cold as ice.
"What is it, Shintarou."
Midorima lost his words.
(Shintarou...)
Called by his given name. The old Akashi had used his surname. The current Akashi used his given name.
In that way of calling him, Midorima felt an indescribable sense of wrongness—and a pain in his chest.
"It has nothing to do with me."
Akashi declared coldly.
"If it's not something necessary to win, it's a waste of time. Get back to practice."
Midorima swallowed the words he'd been about to say.
(Nothing to do with you, is it.)
(I see. So to you, I'm—)
Midorima clenched his fist.
His fingertips trembled.
"...Understood."
Having said only that, Midorima turned his back on Akashi.
The members around them had resumed practice as though nothing had happened.
No one was looking at Midorima.
No one knew what was in Midorima's heart.
Midorima shoved his hand into his pocket.
The silver bell touched his fingertips.
(This isn't a problem a good-luck charm can solve.)
(I know that.)
(I know, and yet this is all I can do.)
Midorima gripped the bell tightly.
The bell made no sound.
——
Practice ended.
The
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