Day Two of Training Camp - 6:00 AM
The pre-dawn darkness was still thick when Nao's whistle pierced the air, jolting the sleeping team awake.
"MORNING RUN! EVERYONE UP! WE LEAVE IN FIVE MINUTES!"
Groans echoed through the gymnasium where futons and sleeping bags were scattered across the floor.
"It's still dark out..." Yasuhara mumbled.
"The sun isn't even awake yet," Chucky protested.
"Then you'll beat the sun!" Nao's cheerfulness was somehow more terrifying than anger would have been. "Move it!"
Sora was already up, his enhanced stamina meaning he'd barely needed the sleep. He'd spent part of the night practicing his Eagle Eye ability, visualizing plays and formations in the darkness.
Kenji emerged from his sleeping bag looking surprisingly alert. Momoharu stretched, his athletic frame loose and ready.
Chiaki... was still asleep.
"Chiaki-senpai!" Sora shook him. "Wake up!"
"Five more minutes..."
"Now!" Nao's voice cracked like a whip.
Chiaki was up and dressed in record time.
----
The team assembled outside the school gates in their running gear. To everyone's surprise, Madoka was there too, looking fully recovered from her flu.
"Madoka-senpai!" Nao waved enthusiastically. "You're joining us?"
"My family's in Fiji, I'm bored at home, and I could use the exercise," Madoka explained. "Plus, I wanted to see how the boys are progressing."
"Excellent! The more the merrier!"
The run began—a five-kilometer route through the still-sleeping neighborhoods around the school. Sora's speed meant he could have easily outpaced everyone, but he held back, running alongside Yasuhara and offering encouragement.
Kenji and Momoharu ran in comfortable silence, their natural athleticism evident.
Madoka kept pace with Nao, the two managers discussing training schedules.
Chiaki was suffering but refused to quit.
Yasuhara, Nabe, and Chucky were struggling, but they kept moving.
By the time they returned to school, the sun was just beginning to rise.
"Stretching!" Nao commanded. "Cool down properly! This prevents injuries and improves flexibility!"
------
"Alright everyone!" Nao stood at center court with her clipboard. "Morning training runs from 9 AM to 11:30 AM. Afternoon session is 2:30 PM to 6:00 PM. Today's continued emphasis: footwork fundamentals and shuttle runs!"
The whistle blew, and the torture began anew.
Sprint, stop, sprint back. Over and over and over.
Sora's Eagle Eye helped him optimize every movement—seeing the perfect angle to plant his foot, the ideal deceleration point, the most efficient turn. His form was nearly perfect.
Kenji moved with controlled aggression, his athletic ability allowing him to maintain speed through the turns.
Momoharu powered through with raw athleticism.
But Yasuhara, Nabe, and Chucky were struggling again.
"Your knees are wobbling!" Sora called out to Yasuhara during a water break. "You need to plant your foot more solidly when you stop, then explode back the other direction using your leg muscles, not momentum!"
Yasuhara blinked. "What?"
"Like... imagine your foot is a spring! You compress it when you stop, then release when you push off!"
Nabe looked even more confused. "A spring?"
"Yeah! Compress and release! Feel the power transfer through your—"
"They have no idea what you're talking about," Kenji said, walking over. He addressed the three beginners directly. "Your problem is simpler than Kurumatani's making it. Look at your feet."
They looked down.
"Your knees and toes aren't pointed in the same direction when you turn. That's why you're losing balance and wasting energy." Kenji demonstrated. "Keep them aligned. And don't turn too fast without stopping correctly first. Steady pace. Stop. Turn. Accelerate. Steady pace. Stop. Turn. Accelerate."
He ran through a shuttle run sequence with textbook form.
"See? It's not about being fast like Kurumatani. It's about being efficient."
Yasuhara tried again, this time focusing on the alignment. His form improved immediately.
"Oh! That's way better!" Nabe noticed.
"He's not human," Chucky muttered, watching Kenji effortlessly execute another perfect shuttle run. "How does he make it look so easy?"
From the sideline, Madoka watched with growing amazement.
"They're actually learning from each other," she said to Nao. "Sora's trying to help even if his explanations are... creative. Kenji's breaking things down technically. Momoharu's encouraging everyone. Even Chiaki is participating."
"They're becoming a real team," Nao agreed, her eyes shining with pride. "At this rate, by the time Inter-High Preliminaries begin, they'll be ready."
------
After Dinner - 6:30 PM
Sora was exhausted. The day's training had been brutal even for his enhanced stamina. He dragged himself toward the gym, uncertain if he could complete his self-imposed daily quota of 1000 makes.
When he entered, he found Kenji already there, running layup drills and agility exercises with intense focus.
He's been training all day too, Sora thought. But he's still going.
"Natsume!" Sora called out. "Want to help me with some shooting drills? You can pass me the ball for my layups and I'll rebound for yours!"
Kenji caught his ball, breathing heavily but controlled. "No. Focus on your own training. Work on improving your shooting accuracy under fatigue."
"But we could—"
"Kurumatani." Kenji's tone was firm. "You're already elite at shooting. What you need is to maintain that elite level when you're exhausted. Practice that."
Sora nodded, slightly disappointed but understanding the logic.
He began his shooting routine. Kenji, despite his words, kept watching between his own drills.
His form is still perfect, Kenji thought, watching Sora drain three-pointer after three-pointer. Even tired, his release is consistent, his arc is ideal. Maybe I should have accepted his offer to train together.
After two hundred makes, Sora's arms were shaking. His legs felt like lead. His shooting percentage, which had been near-perfect, was starting to drop.
He bent over, hands on knees, gasping.
"Kurumatani," Kenji called out, walking over. "What do you think of the team? Honestly."
Sora straightened up, considering the question. "I think we have potential. Real potential. Yasuhara, Nabe, and Chucky are improving every day. You and I can score at a high level. Momoharu's athleticism is prefecture-level. Chiaki-senpai has the highest basketball IQ I've ever seen. If we can put it all together—"
"Can I join you guys?"
Both turned to see Yasuhara entering the gym, basketball in hand.
"I want to work on my dribbling," Yasuhara continued. "I know it's late and you're both tired, but... I want to get better. I don't want to be dead weight anymore."
Sora and Kenji exchanged glances.
"Alright," Kenji said. "Let's work on your handle. Kurumatani, you work on spot-up shooting. I'll drill Yasuhara, then we'll rotate."
For the next twenty minutes, the three of them trained together. Kenji's technical expertise, Sora's encouragement, and Yasuhara's determination created a synergy that pushed all of them further.
Sora checked his watch and his eyes widened. "6:55! I have to meet Kujou-san for tutoring!"
He sprinted toward the showers.
Kenji smirked. "This should be interesting."
----
Home Economics Classroom - 7:00 PM Sharp
Sora burst through the door at exactly 7:00 PM, freshly showered but his hair still slightly damp, wearing his casual clothes instead of practice gear.
Alisa was already there, seated at a table with textbooks immaculately arranged. She looked up, and something in her expression shifted when she saw him—hair tousled, cheeks still flushed from exertion, that determined energy that always surrounded him.
"Punctual," she said, her voice carefully neutral. "Good. Sit down."
Sora sat across from her, pulling out his notebooks.
That's when he noticed it.
There was red on her stockings—a dark stain on her left leg, just visible above the knee where her skirt ended.
His expression shifted immediately to concern. "Kujou-san, you're hurt!"
"What?" Alisa looked confused.
Sora was already moving around the table, dropping to one knee beside her chair. "There's blood on your leg! What happened? Did you fall?"
Alisa's carefully maintained composure cracked as she realized what he was looking at. "I'm not hurt—"
"The stain looks fresh! We should get you to a nurse!" His genuine concern was evident in every line of his face.
Before she could stop him, Sora's hand reached toward her leg, his fingers gentle as they touched the fabric near the stain.
The moment his hand made contact, even through the stocking, Alisa's breath caught.
His fingers rubbed the stain gently, and it came off on his skin.
"It's... paint," Sora said, relief flooding his voice. "You're not hurt."
But he hadn't moved his hand. It was still resting on her leg, just above her knee, warm and firm through the thin fabric.
Alisa's heart was hammering. "Student council project," she managed, her voice higher than normal. "We were painting banners. I must have gotten paint on my stockings."
"Oh. That's good." Sora still hadn't moved his hand, seemingly unaware of where it was resting. "But the paint might stain permanently if you don't wash it out soon."
In Russian, barely audible: "Его рука на моей ноге. Он не двигается. Почему я не хочу, чтобы он двигался?" (His hand is on my leg. He's not moving. Why don't I want him to move?)
"Should you take off your stockings to clean them?" Sora asked innocently. "If the paint sets, it'll ruin them."
Alisa's brain short-circuited. "T-take them off?"
"Yeah! The paint will come out easier from bare skin than from fabric." His logic was completely sound. His hand was still on her leg.
She could feel the warmth of his palm even through the stocking. Could feel each individual finger where they rested against her thigh.
"I... that's... logical," Alisa managed weakly.
She reached down to remove her stockings, but her hands were trembling so badly she couldn't manage the clips.
"Here, let me help," Sora said, his fingers moving to the top of her stocking where it attached to her garter belt.
Oh god oh god oh god, Alisa's mind was screaming, even as she remained frozen.
"I've seen my mother do this with her stockings," Sora said conversationally, completely oblivious to what he was doing to her. "You just unclip here, right?"
His fingers found the clasp, unhooked it.
Then he began to slowly roll the stocking down.
His touch was clinical, careful, completely innocent.
It was also the most intimate thing Alisa had ever experienced.
His fingers traced down her thigh—warm, gentle, unhurried.
Past her knee.
Down her calf, his palm cupping the muscle briefly.
Around her ankle.
Finally reaching her foot, where he carefully slipped the stocking free.
The entire process took perhaps twenty seconds.
To Alisa, it felt like an eternity.
When he stood up, holding her stocking, she was breathing like she'd run a marathon.
"I'll rinse this in the sink," Sora said cheerfully. "The paint should come out!"
He walked to the classroom sink, leaving Alisa sitting there with one bare leg, her entire body trembling, her face burning hot.
In Russian, to herself: "Его руки были на моем бедре. На моей икре. На моей ступне. И он даже не понимает, что он делает со мной..." (His hands were on my thigh. On my calf. On my foot. And he doesn't even understand what he's doing to me...)
Sora returned with the damp stocking. "Got the paint out! It'll need to dry, but it should be fine."
He handed it to her, their fingers brushing.
Then he noticed her flushed face, her slightly parted lips, the way she was breathing.
"Kujou-san? Are you okay? You look really red. Are you getting sick?"
That snapped Alisa back to reality.
No. I will NOT lose control. I am Alisa Mikhailovna Kujou. I am in charge here.
She took a deep breath, forcing herself back into her ice princess persona—but with an edge. If he was going to touch her so casually, even innocently, she would show him what real tension felt like.
"I'm fine," she said, her voice dropping to a lower, more controlled tone. "Sit down, Kurumatani-kun. We have work to do."
"Yes!" Sora sat immediately, pulling out his notebooks.
Alisa stood up, deliberately leaving one stocking off, her bare leg exposed. She walked behind his chair with slow, measured steps.
She leaned over his shoulder to look at his homework, deliberately letting her silver hair fall forward to brush against his cheek and neck.
Sora tensed slightly at the contact, but said nothing.
"Your work is terrible," Alisa said, her breath warm against his ear. "Look at this equation. You're not carrying the negative properly."
She reached down, her fingers sliding under his chin, tilting his face up to meet her eyes.
Their faces were inches apart.
"When I teach you something, Kurumatani-kun," she said softly, her blue eyes locked on his, "I expect you to remember it."
Sora's eyes widened. Up close, Alisa's face was impossibly beautiful—those sapphire eyes that seemed to see right through him, skin like porcelain, lips that were slightly parted as she spoke.
"Y-yes, Kujou-san," he managed.
Why does my heart feel like it's going to explode? Why can't I look away from her eyes?
Alisa smirked slightly, pleased with his reaction. She let her thumb trace along his jawline—just once, slowly—before releasing his chin.
"Good boy," she murmured, the words carrying an undertone that went straight through him.
She moved to sit beside him instead of across from him, close enough that their arms were almost touching.
"Let's begin," she said, opening his textbook.
For the next thirty minutes, every interaction was charged with tension.
When Sora got a problem wrong, Alisa would lean in close, her shoulder pressing against his, her hair falling across his arm as she pointed out the error.
When he got something right, she would smile—a genuine, warm smile that made his heart stutter—and her hand would rest briefly on his forearm in approval, her fingers warm against his skin.
At one point, Sora was struggling with a particularly difficult concept. Alisa moved even closer, until she was practically pressed against his side, her body warm along his arm and shoulder.
"Look," she said, her voice soft and patient. "It's like basketball. You're trying to find the optimal trajectory, right? The perfect arc?"
She took his hand in hers—ostensibly to guide his pencil, but her fingers interlaced with his, her palm against his.
"You calculate the angle," she continued, using their joined hands to draw on the paper. "Account for variables. Find the solution."
Sora was barely hearing the math explanation. All he could focus on was how soft her hand was, how perfectly it fit in his, how she smelled faintly of cherry blossoms and something uniquely her.
"Do you understand?" Alisa asked, her face turned toward his, close enough that he could feel her breath.
"I... yes. I think so."
"Good." But she didn't let go of his hand immediately. She held it for one more moment, her thumb brushing across his knuckles, before slowly releasing him.
In Russian, so quiet: "Я играю с огнем. Это опасно. Но я не могу остановиться..." (I'm playing with fire. This is dangerous. But I can't stop...)
Its fun
"Russian again," Sora said, his voice slightly rougher than normal. "You really do that when you're thinking."
"Would you like me to teach you some Russian?" Alisa asked, an idea forming. "It might help with your overall language skills."
"Really? You'd do that?"
"Of course." She smiled, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "Let's start with something simple. Repeat after me: Ty mne nravishsya."
"Ty... mne... nra-veesh-ya?" Sora's pronunciation was terrible.
"Close enough. Do you know what it means?"
"No. What does it mean?"
Alisa's smile widened, her eyes glinting. "It means 'I understand mathematics.'"
It actually means "I like you," but he didn't need to know that.
"Oh! Ty mne nravishsya!" Sora repeated, more confidently this time.
In Russian, barely audible: "Если бы ты только знал, что говоришь..." (If only you knew what you're saying...)
They continued studying, and the tension continued building with each "accidental" touch, each moment of close proximity, each loaded glance.
Alisa would adjust his hand position on the pencil, her fingers lingering.
Sora would lean in to see her example, his shoulder pressing against hers.
When she corrected his third mistake, she stood behind his chair again, her hands on his shoulders as she leaned forward to look at his work. Her hair fell around them like a silver curtain, creating an intimate space.
"You're making the same mistake," she said, her voice low. "You're not paying attention to the details."
Her hands squeezed his shoulders gently, and Sora felt heat spread through his body from the points of contact.
"Sorry," he managed. "I'll focus better."
"See that you do." Her hands remained on his shoulders for a long moment before sliding away slowly, her fingers trailing across his collarbone.
By 8:00 PM, both of them were wound tighter than bowstrings.
That's when the thunder started.
A crack of thunder made both of them jump, breaking the spell.
They looked toward the windows to see heavy rain beginning to fall.
"Oh no," Sora said, his voice still slightly rough. "That storm came out of nowhere."
Another flash of lightning illuminated the classroom, followed immediately by deafening thunder.
Alisa flinched involuntarily, moving closer to Sora without thinking.
"Are you okay?" Sora asked, noticing her reaction.
"I'm fine. I just... I don't like thunder." She tried to maintain her composure, but another flash made her tense.
Without thinking, Sora's hand found hers under the table, squeezing gently. "It's okay. It's just noise."
Alisa looked down at their joined hands, then up at his face—that earnest, concerned expression that made her heart ache.
"How are you getting home?" Sora asked, not letting go of her hand. "Do you have an umbrella?"
"I was planning to walk, but in this storm..."
As if in answer, the rain intensified to a deluge. The wind howled against the windows.
"You can't go out in that," Sora said firmly. "You'll get soaked and it's not safe."
"I don't have much choice—"
"My house is closer than yours. Just a five-minute walk. You could wait there until the storm passes?"
Alisa's mind raced. Go to his house? Meet his family? Be alone with him in a more intimate setting?
Thunder crashed again, and she made her decision.
"Fine. But only until the storm passes."
---
They were gathering their things when they heard footsteps approaching—a teacher doing evening rounds.
"Quick!" Sora grabbed Alisa's hand and pulled her toward a storage closet. "If they find a student here after hours, we'll both get in trouble!"
They tumbled into the closet just as the footsteps reached the Home Economics classroom door.
The closet was tiny—barely big enough for cleaning supplies, let alone two people.
Sora and Alisa were pressed together, her back against the wall, his body flush against hers, his hands on either side of her head to brace himself.
In the darkness, they could hear each other breathing.
Feel the warmth of each other's bodies.
Feel the rapid beating of each other's hearts.
"Kurumatani-kun," Alisa whispered, barely audible. "This is—"
"Shh," he whispered back. "They'll hear us."
The teacher's footsteps entered the classroom. They could hear papers rustling, chairs being checked.
Sora shifted slightly, trying to give Alisa more room in the cramped space, but it only pressed them closer together.
Alisa's hands came up instinctively to rest on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat—rapid, matching hers.
In Russian, so quiet it was almost just breath: "Это слишком близко. Я чувствую все..." (This is too close. I can feel everything...)
"Your Russian sounds pretty even when you're nervous," Sora whispered without thinking.
Her hands tightened on his chest. "You think I'm nervous?"
"Your heart is racing. I can feel it."
"Yours is racing too."
"Because we might get caught."
"Is that the only reason?"
The question hung in the air between them.
The footsteps were getting closer to the closet.
Sora's hand moved to cover Alisa's mouth gently, just in case she made a sound.
Her eyes widened in the darkness.
The door handle rattled.
They both held their breath.
Then the footsteps moved away. The classroom door closed. The sound of the lock clicking into place.
But neither of them moved.
Sora's hand was still over Alisa's mouth. Her hands were still on his chest. Their bodies were still pressed together in the dark.
"I think they're gone," Sora whispered.
"Then why aren't you moving?" Alisa asked against his palm.
"I... I don't know."
In that moment, in the darkness, something shifted between them.
Sora slowly removed his hand from her mouth.
Neither of them stepped back.
"Kujou-san," Sora said quietly, "I—"
Thunder crashed, loud enough to shake the building.
The spell broke.
They stumbled out of the closet, both flushed, both breathing hard, neither meeting the other's eyes.
"We should go," Alisa managed. "Before the storm gets worse."
"Right. Yes. My house. Let's go."
As they headed toward the exit, both of them were acutely aware that something had changed.
They just weren't ready to name it yet.