Satsuki had been walking home from a nearby convenience store, a plastic bag in each hand. With intentions of training again, Aomine had asked her to begin stocking up on first aid kit supplies, in case of any minor injuries during practice. While waiting at an empty bus stop, she spotted a lone figure on a street basketball court across the street.
No notable features could be spotted, but she could recognize professional plays being played solo on the empty lot. He’s good, he must be on a team. As she continued to observe, a familiar stance caught her attention. The player stood at a 3-point line, aligned with the basket. Leaping into the air, the dark haired male was allowing himself to fall back, waiting for the right moment to release the ball. Was he trying to copy Dai-chan’s formless shot?!
Not only had the player failed to release at the right time, but his shot was totally off, the ball bouncing off the wooden frame, rolling off into the street. When a grunt was heard, Momoi’s eyes shot back to figure on the ground. Although she didn’t know who the person was, or why they were trying to copy Aomine’s shot, she stood up. Checking the street for any cars, she then found herself picking up the ball and walking into the fenced in court.
”H-Hey, are you okay..?” In the dim glow from the street lights, deadly was the first word to come to mind. Was it too late to run off? Surely he wouldn’t be offended if she did, he knew just as well as she did that he was known for violence, in and off the court! Yet here she was, standing in front of a bloody palmed Hanamiya Makoto.
♛ ] How long he had been there, he couldn't say for sure, nor did he really care. His irritation grew with every passing minute, though that only reinforced his obstinacy. It was a good thing no one was there to see him--he wouldn't have let them live to tell the tale. There was hardly anything more annoying than not getting his way and at the moment, that was certainly the case. This is pointless.
Yet he continued, stubbornly trying time and time again only to fail. The threads of his spider web were not unbreakable and the other tricks he had up his sleeve had turned out to be insufficient, regardless of their efficiency. What exactly was driving him was only for him to say, as strange as it might seem to others. Had he not rejected hard work? Had he not been disgusted by all those weaklings who thought they could overcome all by trying their best?
The moment the ball left his fingertips, he realised it was wrong. Another faint pang of frustration was all he felt before making contact with the ground, having lost his balance and paying the price with physical ache instead. It was nothing too bad (especially compared to what he had caused others in the past) but he had scraped his hands in a rather unfortunate way--signifying that his lonely evening practice was over. All those hours wasted only to get himself injured. With a quiet growl he rose, mood sourer than ever. Of course, his bad luck didn't end there.
"What do you think?" Makoto scoffed, regarding the girl with unkind eyes. Though he recognized her face, he didn't know her name--if he had heard it once then he hadn't bothered to remember it. At any rate, he hadn't been looking for an audience, nor for anyone's concern. All he wanted was to get home so he could treat his abrasions. His gaze flickered to the ball that she was holding for some reason, thick brows furrowing. "That's mine," he said, lips curling into a toxic smile. "I'll have it back now, if you don't mind."
