The next Tuesday brought his first varsity basketball game. Yosuke sat in the bleachers, watching the Greenwode Gryphons demolish Jefferson High School 78-52. The tall seniors made it look so easy, especially that captain with the snagged dark blond hair and pale green eyes, handsome despite the pockmarked skin and unusual snub nose. L. Kovacs the back of his green and silver tank top had said. Every pass seemed to flow through his hands like water finding the easiest path downhill. When he moved across the court, gravity became optional.

Yosuke decided there and then he wanted to fly like that too. He wrote Want to play basketball like Kovacs in his book's margin. Leon didn't show up to the game, choosing game night in his room instead.

By Wednesday, someone had drawn a banana penetrating buttocks on his locker. Yosuke tilted his head, studying the careful shading, the joyful curve of the fruit. Art? Warning? Sexual education?

"Absolutely not." Erik materialized with cleaning supplies, face burning red. He scrubbed like he was erasing sin itself, muttering about "future gas station attendants" and "complete wastes of potential."

"Bananas contain serotonin," Yosuke observed, making a mental note to add this fact to page 12 of his book later.

Erik's scrubbing intensified. "You're better than this. Better than them. Remember that when they're asking if you want fries with that."

The ghost marks remained, visible only in afternoon light. Evidence that even careful cleaning couldn't erase everything.

Thursday, Erik disappeared after second period for student council something-or-other. Yosuke was halfway to the drinking fountain when the clicking started behind him — heels on linoleum, steady as a metronome. Like she'd been waiting around the corner, counting to thirty.

Karin had something crinkled in her manicured hand.

"Oh. My. God. We like, totally need to talk." Valley girl accent thick as honey. "About our little conversation after your basketball performance?"

She unfolded a worn magazine poster — younger Ratio, all sharp cheekbones and ethereal beauty, pale Enhanced eyes gazing out like they could see through walls. She held it next to Yosuke's face, close enough that he could smell her perfume. Something floral and expensive that probably had a French name.

"Look at this and tell me I'm like, totally wrong. Same mouth. Same bone structure. Same Enhanced eyes when you're not hiding behind those fake glasses. You're like, obviously Enhanced too!"

"I don't understand —"

"Stop playing dumb! That shot you made? Pure genetic perfection. Like, hello?"

Yosuke channeled that lost puppy look that usually made teachers stop asking questions. "I'm just new here. Everything's very confusing..."

"Seriously, Karin? This is getting old."

Pablo appeared at the end of the hallway, already wearing that particular expression — the one reserved for cleaning up his sister's social wreckage. He had a dog-eared paperback shoved in his back pocket and his school tie loosened to the point of anarchy.

"What's your damage?" Karin spun on him. "Erik's got everyone playing bodyguard now?"

"Maybe if you weren't such a fascist—" Pablo grabbed her bag, spinning her around. "Some of us are trying to maintain our cultural dignity while you're going full Reagan youth."

Karin jabbed a finger at Yosuke, poster crumpling in her other hand. "He's the one with the fake glasses, pretending like we're all blind or something."

"Right, because every asian dude with killer cheekbones must be connected to Ratio." Pablo's voice dripped sarcasm. "Just like me and Tony Danza are totally related because we're both Italian."

"God, spare me the social commentary." Karin rolled her eyes, shoving the poster back in her bag. "Not everyone's reading Chomsky between shifts at dad's restaurant."

Yosuke slipped away while they argued, his heart hammering against his ribs. Pablo caught up with him by the science labs, looking apologetic.

"Your sister is evil," Yosuke whispered, still shaken.

"Nah, she's just..." Pablo glanced at him sideways, his face puckered in a pained grimace. "Think Seattle grunge scene meets Heathers. Plus she's basically president of the Ratio fan club. Which means you're like, her new obsession." His gap tooth caught the light as he almost smirked. "In a very aggressive, praying mantis kind of way."

"But—" Yosuke's face scrunched in confusion. "Leon should be her obsession, not me. He's her boyfriend."

"More like convenient allies." Pablo glanced around conspiratorially. "It's complicated. Leon's got his own... thing going on. Makes chicks curious."

And then to Yosuke's utter astonishment, Pablo's hand made an awkward gesture downward near his belt. Yosuke leaned closer, grinning. "What thing?"

Pablo's face went through several complicated expressions before settling on concerned. "Forget it, Space Cadet. Just stupid gossip."

Down the hall, Leon's distinctive swagger parted the crowd. They watched him "accidentally" shoulder-check Justin's sophomore friend into a locker, then bow with exaggerated apology. Someone shouted about him losing his D&D chair privileges, while Leon just made an 'L' on his forehead and giggled.

"You know he's just as dumb as my sister, right?" Pablo whispered. "Well, at least his school version."

Yosuke watched Leon's performance, something tight forming in his chest. But there was something else — the way Leon's eyes kept finding him across crowded hallways, like checking he was still real. Still safe.

He pulled out his penguin book when Pablo left and wrote between the lines on page 43: Karin thinks I'm Enhanced. Knows about my eyes. Find better glasses?

The ink smudged under his thumb. He blew on it, then added: Leon has a thing near his belt. Ask someone who isn't Pablo.

He studied the words, decided they made about as much sense as anything else this week, and tucked the book away.

Last period Chemistry had been titration — droplets of sodium hydroxide into hydrochloric acid, watching the indicator blush from clear to pink. Yosuke had gotten his to change color on the first try. Adrian hadn't. His elbow caught the test tube rack mid-celebration of someone else's result and the whole thing went sideways — crucibles, beakers, and Adrian himself crashing to the floor in a spectacular chain reaction that left ceramic shards scattered across the linoleum like shrapnel.

Pablo buried his face in his lab journal. Leon didn't bother hiding it — just howled, slapping the bench, tears forming behind plastic goggles.

"My nose," Calvin whimpered from the next station over, where he'd somehow gotten indicator solution up his left nostril during the commotion.

Harris pinched the bridge of his own nose. Then pointed at Yosuke without looking. "Shirai. Supply closet. More crucibles. Go."

Thirty-seven steps. Muscle memory by now.

The closet smelled like iron filings and old rubber. Shelves crammed floor to ceiling — beakers nested in beakers, test tube racks tilted at defeated angles, a box of glass stirring rods someone had just dumped in there like animals.

Crucibles. He needed crucibles. Small clay cups, heat-blackened and chipped. Should be on the ceramics shelf, except the ceramics shelf held rubber bands, a Milky Way wrapper, and someone's retainer.

He checked the shelf below. Copper sulfate where the litmus paper should be. Litmus paper in with the mineral samples. The mineral samples in a cardboard box on the floor labeled MISC.

His fingers itched.

Just the stirring rods first. Sorted by length, then diameter, arranged upright in three holders he found behind the copper sulfate. Then the litmus paper into its correct drawer. Then the minerals, alphabetized —

He'd lost track of time entirely when voices pulled him back. Not from the classroom. From the corridor, drifting around the corner. Sharp. Predatory.

The sound of boys becoming wolves.

The captain hunched against the lockers in his Greenwode varsity jacket, broad shoulders pressed into the metal just below the 'Say no to drugs' poster. Yosuke recognized him immediately—L. Kovacs, the boy who'd dominated that court Tuesday like he owned gravity itself. His prominent jaw worked silently as he tracked his attackers with those pale green eyes.

Four other varsity players surrounded him. Yosuke recognized them from Tuesday's game—the ones who'd been on Kovacs's team but hadn't played with half his grace. D. Martinez, the tallest one, the forward with the tribal tattoo rippling across his bicep. J. Cooper, the center with rough features and choppy fade. K. Taylor, the new captain with the precise fade cut and expensive Jordans. J. Washington, shooting guard with thin dreads tied back.

"Keep it cool," Kovacs's voice strained against the locker metal.

"On the court maybe," Martinez's neck muscles bulged like rising dough. "But out here? That's jungle law, baby."

Cooper made chimpanzee sounds. The noise bounced off concrete walls, primitive and wrong. Washington joined with gorilla grunts, their shadows swelling larger than their bodies deserved.

Yosuke inched closer, head tilting. These boys moved nothing like Kovacs's morning practice—no grace, no flight, just meat and anger. He'd watched the captain that day, flying across polished wood, making gravity optional. That's what basketball was supposed to be. Not this.

"You got till Friday," Cooper's fist dented metal beside Kovacs's head. "Or Coach Anderson finds out how our star player cheated his way onto varsity. Bet that scholarship committee would love hearing about the perfect student who's actually just another—"

"Um, excuse me?" Yosuke drifted into view, adjusting his foggy goggles. The world looked softer through scratched plastic, less dangerous. "Is this the right way to the bathroom? The signs are really confusing."

Five heads turned to stare. Each one a player from that Tuesday game—the teammates who'd let Kovacs do all the work while they stood around looking impressive in their green and silver.

Yosuke drifted toward the ancient vending machine that separated the science wing from the math classrooms. His fingers found random buttons, pressing without inserting coins.

"Why's it called Snickers anyway?" His voice came out too loud in the tense corridor. "All that peanut never made me laugh." A pause as the varsity players turned to stare. "Just thirsty, really."

Cooper stepped away from the captain, his large shadow falling across the cheap floor. "I said, get lost, freak!"

"The commercials are pretty funny though," Yosuke continued pressing buttons. "Maybe that's why—"

"Yosuke?" Mr. Harris's voice carried from the science room. "Those crucibles?"

Cooper took another step forward, shoulders bunching under his varsity jacket. But Harris appeared in the doorway, keys jangling against his hip like tiny bells.

"Don't you boys have somewhere to be?"

They drifted apart like storm clouds breaking. Mr. Harris just shook his head and returned inside. Kovacs stayed against the lockers, straightening his tie with fingers that barely shook. The acne scars caught shadows differently when his jaw unclenched—less like craters, more like constellations.

"Thanks," he muttered, though he sounded more drained than grateful. "Weird approach, but it worked."

"I get that a lot." Yosuke's goggles slipped down his nose, revealing those too-blue eyes. "Actually, I'm going to try out for basketball next season! You were amazing at that game Tuesday."

"You're way too short, pretty boy." Kovacs's voice carried something heavier than just height requirements.

Another pause. The fluorescent light directly above them flickered twice.

"So, what do you think of Leon? He's in your class right?"

The question hung in the stale air. Yosuke frowned, safety goggles slipping again.

"Larger head than you might think. Quite annoying actually." He shifted his weight. "But he can be really nice too, when he's not running away."

Kovacs's smile grew slightly more real. "Yeah, that sounds right." He adjusted his tie one final time, but then his expression flickered like the light overhead as he turned away, footsteps echoing down the hall.

Later, Yosuke wrote Captain L. Kovacs knows Leon - seemed sad about it between pages 71 and 72.

Feeling oddly brave in the empty corridor, Yosuke finally found the box of crucibles and returned to class. "Sorry Mr. Harris, took me forever to find these. Nothing's labeled in there. I could stay after school and organize—"

A paper ball bounced off his goggles. "Ass licker!" Adrian's voice cut through the classroom chatter.

"Teacher's pet!"

Yosuke yanked off the goggles and changed into his foggy glasses, face burning under the classroom's fluorescent glare. Helping teachers wasn't cool - apparently made them think you'd do anything for grades, very foul things that twisted his stomach.

"Oh wait," he stammered. "I can't. I was going to... um... play with the station. Remembered now." His voice trailed off as several classmates snickered. Leon met his eyes through his own goggles with a look he couldn't decide if it was amusement or pity.