After Akira ran and ran, picking up the pace with every lap, he was bleary-eyed with exhaustion. He remembered slugging his way up the frosted hill to shower in the gym, but then he was blinking awake in the locker room. 

His arms felt like static, like the pins and needles were trying to amputate him, but he made quick work of locking up the gym and dashing across campus. He even arrived early to his lecture and accidentally fell asleep waiting for it to start, until papers slammed down beside his head and he jolted upright to see an unfamiliar face. 

"Sorry," she gasped, fumbling while all her papers continued to spill from her arms. 

Akira caught some for her, still shocked that she intended to sit beside him. 

"I didn't mean to wake you," she said, apologising again. 

"Your timing was great, actually. It would've sucked if I slept through the whole lesson again."

"Well, nearly killing someone with a stack of papers is a pretty rude awakening," she grinned. 

Akira studied one of the papers he had caught. "Is this murder weapon for a different course?"

"Oh, it's the indemnity forms for the camp we're going on in a week's time. And the itinerary." She started tidying up the stack. "I suggested to the class rep that we give it at least a month, but the council wants us all to bond as fast as possible."

"That –makes me feel incredibly pressured," Akira admitted. 

"Same," she laughed. "Icebreakers are so awkward to do. Hey, do you know how much a polar bear weighs?"

Akira blinked at her. "Ah, no?"

"Enough to break the ice." Her grin widened. "See? Who'd want to be friends after saying something as sad as that? The worst part is that the second-years insist we greet them every time we so much as pass them in the hallways. That's too many names and too many faces. Ah, but, I wouldn't mind learning yours? Your name, I mean."

"It's Akira," he said. Then sort of stammered, "A-and yours?"

"Hanami, but you can call me Hana." She pointed to her other side. "This is my friend, Tamane. She and I met at orientation at the beginning of the year. Were you there?"

Akira gave a little wave to Tamane. "Nice to meet you. And no, I registered late."

Tamane beamed at him. "Congrats on your match last week. It was really impressive."

"O-oh, thanks," he grinned, cheeks burning. 

Hana started to say something, but the teaching assistant started the lecture. 

She slid him a note that read: Will you be coming to camp?

Akira couldn't help but feel really happy to have someone talking to him, so he scribbled his response, which resulted in them trading notes throughout the lesson. 

Hana even brought him over to sit with her group of friends at the cafeteria, and he had so much fun that he was practically glowing when he arrived for evening practice at the gym. No one could say or do anything to dampen his mood. Not even Otsuka, who bashed him into the lockers. He kept replaying all the conversations he had as he ran his own drills while the coach fussed over his star players. 

But the absolute highlight of his day came when everyone separated to do their individual stretches. Akira was sprinting suicides along the back wall of the gym when he suddenly heard someone approaching him. 

"Malay, do you –do you have a moment?" It was Asahi. 

Asahi was one of the Little Bears' starting five and a third-year. His preference for offensive rebounds, and his domineering build, put him under the hoop as their centre. He was a solid defender, consistently breaking an opponent's charge, but he was slow and not well-matched for smaller players with better ball-handling skills. His talent lay in finishing, which was why Otsuka used him to rake in all the one-pointers through dunking. 

"Hi, is something wrong?" Akira asked. He felt dwarfed by Asahi as he came closer.

Asahi took a moment to wipe the sweat off his brow with a towel he then slung over his shoulder. He clearly struggled to initiate the conversation, but while he steeled himself, Akira stood on one leg, like a little flamingo. 

That disconcerted Asahi enough for him to blurt out, "You screened me earlier when I was marking you. But I didn't see how you did it."

Akira drew a blank. Did he screen Asahi? He tried his best to recall, especially when Asahi's brows drew into a frightening scowl. He came up behind Akira and shoved a ball against Akira's chest to try imitate their earlier play. 

"Oh, you mean this?" Akira shifted, and in the blink of an eye, he squeezed out of Asahi's overwhelming circle. 

"That," Asahi muttered, bothered by it. "Is that based on speed?"

"Not really. I did it because I knew it was in your blind-spot. Let me show you." Akira pressed back in front of Asahi, distinctly aware of how Asahi was like a looming wall of muscle. Even Asahi's chin was mere inches away from the curls of Akira's hair. "You can predict where I'm going to pass, but the reason you can't do anything about it is because you're shifting your weight onto your back foot."

Akira turned to see if Asahi understood, and it was obvious he didn't. So Akira took up a position and asked Asahi to pass him the ball. Asahi didn't even hesitate. His arm recoiled and he hurled the ball into the empty space on Akira's right. But Akira moved with a burst of speed, and his fingertips dug into the hard texture of the ball. 

"So it's like this, like falling?" Asahi said, stiffly trying to mimic the movement. 

Akira started to throw the ball for him so he could practice. He also offered a few pointers. Whenever Asahi missed or nearly face-planted, he'd glare at Akira, daring him to laugh, but Akira was just as invested in seeing him improve. 

"Does that look right?" Asahi eventually panted, stumbling out of his lunge. 

"We should test it against someone else." Akira then admitted with disappointment, "Probably someone taller than me would be better."

The problem was that their captain was doing dribbling drills with Dassin and Rylen. Dassin was their power forward, nearly as tall as Asahi but faster. His playing style was just as vicious as his hatred for Akira. His cousin, Rylen, was their small forward. Rylen also hadn't forgiven the coach for subbing him out for Akira in their last match. 

Of course, both of them despised Akira, so that wasn't great. 

"They're all busy," Asahi muttered. 

"Let's get Riggs," Akira brightly suggested. 

"I'd prefer to guard against Dassin."

Ugh, but this would be the perfect chance for Akira to talk to Riggs. If he could choose any particular position to play, it'd be the shooting guard's. Riggs lived up to it. His court vision was exceptional, and he was a master of mid-range goals. His ability to evade other players was mesmerising. But perhaps his greatest talent was ignoring Akira's staring whenever he was on the court. 

"Okay, thanks for the help," Asahi said. "Any other tips?" 

Akira seriously thought for a moment, then told him, "I'd say trust your gut, but what if you're lactose intolerant? Then you can't even handle milk." 

Asahi actually snorted with laughter, and covered his face with his hand to smother it before very quickly walking away.