The whistle cut through the air sharply, echoing across the court like a signal that something inevitable had just begun, and for a brief moment everything seemed to move at once—players shifting into position, feet scraping against the ground, voices rising—but Haruto didn't move at all. Not forward, not back. He simply stood where he was, shoulders slightly lowered, eyes calm in a way that didn't quite match the tension building around him, because deep down, there was nothing to react to. There never was. Across from him, the opposing team spread out quickly, but not in a way that treated him like an equal participant in the match; instead, their movements curved around him, forming a loose circle as if he were an obstacle placed in their path rather than a player standing in their way, and the realization settled in before anything else could happen.
"...Right," Haruto muttered quietly under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. "Same setup as always."
Behind him, his teammates shifted slightly, but there was no urgency in their movements, no sign of coordination or trust—only hesitation. They weren't stepping in to support him, weren't preparing to defend or reposition. They were pulling away, creating space. Avoiding him. It was subtle, almost easy to miss if someone wasn't paying attention, but Haruto felt it immediately. He always did. A clear path opened up through the formation, clean and direct, leading straight to him like a target painted in plain sight, and for a moment, all he could do was let out a small breath through his nose.
"…Of course," he said quietly, though there was no real bitterness left in his voice. Just acceptance.
One of the opposing players stepped forward, breaking away from the rest with an easy confidence that made it clear he already knew how this was going to end. He was taller, broader, his posture relaxed, like this wasn't even a challenge—just something to get through before the real game began—and there was already a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he bounced the ball lightly in his hand, the sound echoing faintly with each controlled impact.
"Well, well," the boy said, voice carrying just enough for others to hear, "looks like we got lucky."
A couple of his teammates laughed behind him, low and amused, like they'd seen this exact scene play out too many times to count.
Haruto exhaled slowly, letting the air leave his lungs as he watched the ball rise and fall in the boy's hand. "…Yeah," he murmured, almost absentmindedly. "Lucky."
The boy rolled his shoulder once, loosening up, and then it happened—a faint glow wrapped itself around his arm, subtle at first but unmistakable. Aether. It wasn't anything flashy, not some overwhelming surge of power or bright display meant to intimidate, but it didn't need to be. Even in its simplicity, the difference between them was obvious.
Haruto's eyes locked onto it, his expression tightening just slightly. "…Reinforcement," he muttered.
The boy's grin widened. "Try not to break too easily."
Haruto didn't answer. There wasn't anything left to say. Words weren't going to change what came next.
The boy stepped forward, planted his foot firmly against the ground, and without any hesitation, threw.
The air cracked.
Haruto's eyes widened, his body trying to react—but it was already too late. The ball tore through the space between them faster than his mind could properly track, closing the distance in an instant, and for a split second, a single thought flashed through him, sharp and unfinished.
I can't—
Impact.
The force slammed into his chest before his arms could even rise, driving the breath out of him in a violent rush as the world tilted sharply out of place. His feet left the ground, his body thrown backward as if the hit itself had ripped him free from everything holding him upright, and then—
He hit the floor.
Hard.
Air vanished from his lungs completely, leaving nothing behind but a hollow, suffocating emptiness as his back struck the ground and pain burst through his chest in a way that made everything else fade out for a second.
"Ghh—!"
No breath. No voice. Just a broken sound forced out of him as his body curled slightly on instinct, trying to protect itself even when it was already too late.
For a moment, everything went quiet.
Then it all came rushing back at once.
Laughter.
"Did you see that?!"
"He didn't even move!"
The voices overlapped, sharp and careless, like they weren't even talking about a person.
Haruto coughed weakly, his body trembling slightly as he tried to draw in air, only for pain to stab through his ribs the moment he tried. "…Tch…"
That… hurt more than usual…
He forced a breath in anyway, shallow and uneven, but it burned the entire way down.
"…Damn it…"
Across the court, the boy who had thrown the ball stepped back casually, raising his hand as his teammates met it without hesitation, their palms colliding in easy high fives, laughter still lingering in their voices.
"Too easy."
Haruto's fingers dug into the ground beneath him, nails pressing into the dirt as if grounding himself would somehow make it easier to move again.
Of course it is.
Slowly, he pushed himself up onto one elbow, his vision blurring at the edges as the world struggled to settle back into place.
Something's off… inside…
His chest burned, each breath coming shorter than the last, uneven and shaky.
Feels like I might pass out…
He clenched his teeth.
"…Not yet."
It took more effort than it should have, but he forced his body upright, pushing past the weight dragging at his limbs until he managed to stand again. His legs trembled under him, unsteady, threatening to give out at any moment, but he stayed on his feet.
"…This is normal," he muttered, though the words felt hollow even as he said them.
He took a slow, unsteady breath.
"…Yeah… this is how it always goes."
Across from him, another player stepped forward, cracking his neck lightly as a grin spread across his face, like this was something he'd been waiting for.
"Round two."
Haruto steadied himself as best he could, though there was barely anything left to steady.
"…Figures."
His arms felt heavy, his chest screaming every time he breathed, but he didn't move away. He didn't step back.
Because he couldn't.
They're all going to take a turn…
He already knew how this would play out.
The second player spun the ball in his hand, and this time, the Aether flared brighter, more defined, the energy wrapping around his arm in a way that made the difference between them even clearer.
Haruto's eyes narrowed slightly.
Stronger…
The player stepped forward.
And threw—
—
The sky was quiet.
Too quiet.
Haruto lay on the ground again, his body barely moving, each breath shallow and uneven as pain lingered in every part of him that could still feel. His arms were bruised, his clothes torn in places, and a thin line of blood trailed slowly from the corner of his mouth, staining the ground beneath him.
"…Ahh…"
The sound barely left his lips.
"…How many times…"
He swallowed, though even that felt difficult.
"…has it been now…?"
No one answered. No one ever did.
His eyes stared upward, unfocused, drifting somewhere between the sky above him and the emptiness settling inside.
"…I don't even remember anymore…"
A faint, broken laugh slipped out, weak and dry.
"…Funny…"
His fingers twitched slightly against the ground.
"…you'd think I'd get used to it by now…"
He drew in a shallow breath.
"…but it still…"
Pain lingered in every inch of him.
"…hurts."
The world around him felt distant, like it existed somewhere just out of reach. Voices blurred together, footsteps faded into nothing, and for a moment, it felt like he wasn't really part of it at all.
Like he never had been.
"…Yeah…"
His eyelids grew heavier, slowly beginning to close.
"…this is just…"
He paused, the words barely forming.
"…normal."
And the silence swallowed everything.