Tendou Souji liked basketball.
That was it.
Not "lived and breathed basketball," not "gave up everything for the game," just… liked it. Enough to play when he had time, enough to keep up with leagues, enough to argue online about plays that most people never noticed.
He was good.
Not prodigy good. Not highlight-reel good. Just solid. The kind of player who never looked flashy but somehow was always in the right place. Good footwork. Clean fundamentals. Rarely forced a shot.
If someone asked him what his role was, he'd answer without hesitation.
"Support."
He had played since elementary school. School teams, community courts, three-on-three tournaments. Nothing professional. Life got in the way—college, work, responsibilities. Basketball slowly shifted from something he did to something he watched.
And he watched a lot.
NBA games. Old matches. Breakdown videos. Slow-motion replays. He noticed spacing, timing, off-ball movement. He understood why a pass failed before the commentator finished speaking.
Still, he never thought of himself as special.
If anything, he believed in something very unexciting.
Hard work. Teamwork. Fundamentals.
His favorite basketball manga reflected that perfectly.
Slam Dunk was number one.
No debate.
He loved Sakuragi's absurd growth, Rukawa's silent obsession, Akagi's discipline, Mitsui's redemption. It felt human. Flawed. Painful. Earned.
Kuroko no Basket came second.
He enjoyed it—loved it, even—but in a different way. The Generation of Miracles fascinated him. Talent so overwhelming it bent the game itself. Yet what caught Souji's attention wasn't their dominance.
It was their ego.
"So strong… yet so lonely," he muttered once while rewatching Teiko's arc.
If those players existed in the real world, Souji often wondered, what would happen if someone just… didn't buy into that mindset?
Not stronger than them.
Not above them.
Just someone who refused to accept that talent alone decided everything.
That thought always ended with a shrug.
After all, he was just a fan.
On the day he died, Souji was in a hurry.
He had just finished a late-night pickup game—sweaty, exhausted, satisfied—and was scrolling through his phone while walking home.
A discussion thread about basketball manga was still open.Someone had posted:
"If you were reborn in Kuroko no Basket, who would you want to be?"
Souji smirked.
"None of them," he muttered.
He typed a short reply.
I'd rather be someone normal. Let them be geniuses. I want to see how far effort, fundamentals, and teamwork can really go.
He didn't look up.
The screech of brakes came too late.
Impact.
Pain.
Then nothing.
No regrets.
No dramatic final words.
Just one last thought drifting through his fading consciousness.
If I really had another chance…I'd like to play seriously.
Darkness swallowed everything.And somewhere beyond it—A voice, cold and mechanical, prepared to welcome a new host.