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A whole year went by, before Kuroko heard anyone mention it.
Maybe that was to be expected. After all, Kise joined Teikou’s basketball club in his second year. In the end, he was the person who brought it up, one summer day when the six members of the Generation of Miracles were sitting at lunch together.
“Hey, isn’t it kind of weird? The color thing.”
The other five looked at Kise like he was an alien from another galaxy. A particularly talkative alien, who had just landed his UFO in the middle of their lunch table.
“’Color thing’?” Midorima repeated, in his usual tone of disdain.
“Um, yeah.” Kise blinked. “You know what I mean. Right? Don’t tell me you guys haven’t noticed. That we all have family names with colors, and our hair is the same—”
“—Color as our names, yes,” Akashi said. “Your point being?”
Kise’s mouth hung open.
“Well, it’s weird,” he said at last, like he was struggling to find the right words. “For all six of us to be the same. Right? I guess Kurokocchi’s hair doesn’t match, but his name’s still a color… And anyway it’s not like I planned on joining the basketball club when I came here. Or like we all decided to go to Teikou together. It’s a weird coincidence. Isn’t it?”
He trailed off at the last part. A cloud of discomfort muted his sunny eyes.
For a moment, no one spoke. Kuroko was almost tempted to say something. In the end, though, Kise-kun wasn’t talking about him… Not really. He was different from the other five, in more ways than one. He returned to his lunch.
Meanwhile, Akashi traced the edge of his lunch tray with his fingernail. A slight smile uncoiled on his lips.
“I never thought it was strange,” he said. “But then again, I didn’t think it was a coincidence. It’s a bit extreme for that.”
“Fate, hmm?” Midorima adjusted his glasses, with a knowing sort of expression.
Across the way, Aomine groaned, slumping halfway over the table like he was about to take a nap. “God. Not this crap again. Yeah, fine, so we’re all good at basketball, and we’re from the same year. So what? It’s not some kind of freaking miracle. No matter what those idiot reporters are calling us.”
“It isn’t?” Akashi said, looking amused about something.
“No.” Aomine’s deep blue eyes flicked toward the person on his right. “Murasakibara agrees with me. Right?”
“I don’t agree with anybody,” Murasakibara said in a muttery singsong sort of way, through a mouthful of chips. “I just don’t care.”
“Well, there you have it,” Akashi said, with his chin resting gracefully in his hand. “Murasakibara doesn’t care. Aomine insists we aren’t a miracle. Kise thinks it’s all a coincidence, albeit a bizarre one, and Midorima agrees with me, that some sort of act of God or fate must be involved. So what do you think, Kuroko?”
Kuroko gave a start, nearly dropping his chopsticks. He still wasn’t used to being included in conversations with his teammates. He’d gone for so long without being noticed by the other members of the basketball club, that it felt strange for them to address him by name. Especially Akashi, the new captain of the team.
But in the pause that followed, Kuroko noticed something even stranger. They were all looking at him. Not just Akashi, but each one of his five teammates, who were so talented that reporters had started calling them “The Generation of Miracles.” Even Midorima, who always acted like he scorned Kuroko’s opinion—or anyone’s opinion, really, except Akashi’s—and Murasakibara, who rarely paid attention to these debates, or conversation of any kind.
Yet it was true. In this moment, all five of them were looking at Kuroko, waiting for his reply. Like they actually cared what he thought. For some reason, this idea sent butterflies swirling through his stomach.
Suddenly, Kuroko realized something. Whatever his five teammates felt about him, whether they got along with him or not, they were all the same in one respect…
They all acknowledged him. They could see him.
He wondered when that had changed. Had it happened gradually over the past few months, as they practiced together? Or had they always seen him a little better than other people? Maybe not from the start… But even before he qualified for Teikou’s first string, Aomine and Akashi had noticed him. They encouraged him, and gave him advice.
It was strange for Kuroko, to realize how much this mattered to him.
Akashi’s question still echoed inside his mind. Kuroko had no idea how to respond. Honestly, he didn’t know where to begin. Did he think the six of them were brought together by fate? Did he believe in miracles, and if so, did this qualify? Or was it just a coincidence—and did that mean it didn’t matter?
“I…” He swallowed. His thoughts spun in circles, directionless. And embarrassing.
Honestly, Kuroko couldn’t help but regard his teammates as miraculous. He didn’t think their nickname was a misnomer at all. How could he, when he saw the kind of basketball they played every day? Other players called their skills freakish, monstrous, terrifying… But Kuroko loved basketball. He loved everything about it.
So he couldn’t help but stare, whenever Aomine executed a lightning-fast drive to the basket, or Murasakibara blocked a shot that should have been impossible to reach. His pulse quickened when Akashi initiated a play with flawless timing, or Midorima shot the ball from halfway across the court and it went in without ever touching the rim. Sometimes his jaw simply dropped when he watched Kise, who replicated the most polished moves in a matter of seconds, without ever trying them beforehand.
Kuroko could feel it even now, sitting at lunch with all of them. They had presence. Sometimes he felt almost crushed by the weight of it. As though when the five of them were together, they formed a black hole of talent—a massive and unstoppable force that drew in everything around it, only to squash it into nothing.
And they were getting better every day. It was mind-boggling.
Even the thing that Kise mentioned… Kuroko did think “the color thing” was strange. Eerie, almost. Sometimes, when his teammates turned those impossibly vibrant eyes on him, Kuroko would feel a twinkling shiver race down his back.
To be honest, he thought his teammates were superhuman.
But Kuroko couldn’t say that out loud, not in front of his closest friend on the team. Aomine hated it when people marveled at their skills too much—particularly his own. Sometimes it almost seemed like he resented his talent, for whatever reason. Despite all his bravado toward his opponents, Aomine was clearly unhappy with being put on a pedestal.
And there were other things Kuroko couldn’t say, things that were just as embarrassing. Like how it was a miracle he had made it onto Teikou’s regular team at all. And how he owed that miracle to Aomine and Akashi, because they had helped him, at the very moment he was preparing to give up on basketball. He was truly grateful for the miracle they had given him, without asking for anything in return.
He wanted to repay them. But he had no idea how he could.
Then there was perhaps the most embarrassing thought of all… Secretly, Kuroko had always believed that finding a friend was a miracle in its own right. Over the past few months, he had come to feel as though these five teammates of his weren’t just fellow students. They were his friends. What people called a “nakama”—comrades with a shared purpose.
They weren’t exactly the most close-knit group. None of them were open or easygoing people, not really, no matter how they seemed on the surface. But they talked with one another, helped each other, and spent time together, even when they didn’t have to.
So Kuroko couldn’t help thinking… Whenever the six of them strolled underneath the cherry trees after practice, and one of them said something kind of stupid (Kise-kun, usually) and another one said something sarcastic back, and before they knew it they were all shoving each other and yelling and maybe even laughing out loud, though they tried not to…
Being together, just by itself, was a miracle.
All this and more raced through Kuroko’s head. He had no idea how long he sat there without saying anything. Finally he managed to open his mouth a second time.
“Well, I think—”
“I think the five of you play basketball like a miracle. I think it’s a miracle you actually gave me the chance to stand with you on the court. I think it’s a miracle we met, and that we’ve been spending time together, and I hope we keep doing it…”
“I don’t know,” he said at last, his voice even quieter than usual.
Akashi raised an eyebrow. “You don’t?”
“It certainly seemed like you were thinking hard about it,” Midorima said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a pained expression on your face.”
“Mmm, yeah. Not like Mido-chin, who always looks like that…”
Midorima shot Murasakibara a glare. “Excuse me?”
Akashi rubbed his forehead. “Are the two of you going at it again? I genuinely believe it has been all of five minutes.”
“Well, Mido-chin was the one who started it.”
“I most certainly was not.”
The conversation descended into the usual back-and-forth between them all, with constant squabbling, and various discussions about nothing in particular. Kuroko smiled at the chaos, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. He glanced around the table—only to discover Akashi looking at him, intently. He blinked, startled.
Akashi leaned toward him with a smile.
“You’ll decide on your answer someday,” he said, in a muted voice, one meant only for his ears. “When you do, I hope you’ll tell me.”
Kuroko managed a nod. He wasn’t sure he would ever be brave enough, to voice his thoughts on that particular subject. But maybe someday.
Maybe.
The Winter Cup was at an end. It had been two and a half years since that summer day at Teikou. Much of that time had been difficult, and painful, and had sorely tested Kuroko’s faith in things like miracles. But as he cheered at the top of his lungs with his teammates from Seirin, in celebration of their championship victory, that long-ago conversation echoed inside his mind.
Did he believe in miracles? Did he believe in fate?
He had already shaken hands with Akashi at the end of the game. But as the memory washed over him yet again, Kuroko made a decision. He slipped away from his team and hurried across the court, to where the red-haired captain was standing. Akashi turned as he approached, as if he had sensed him coming.
Kuroko stopped, with only a few feet between them.
“Akashi-kun, you asked me once,” he said. “About fate, and miracles. And whether I thought they applied to the six of us. Do you remember?”
“I remember,” Akashi said, with his gentle smile. The same one Kuroko remembered, from so long ago. The one he hadn’t seen for years. Warmth bloomed in his chest at the sight. Warmth, and courage.
He took a deep breath. And finally forced himself to say the truth.
“My answer was yes,” he said. “From the start.”
A look of confusion crossed Akashi’s face. A frown, a light crease between his brows. Kuroko smiled, understanding. He hastened to explain.
“I always believed in miracles,” he said. “Because I believed in all of you. And now… I believe in them that much more.”
He looked around, at the stadium that surrounded them. The brilliant lights, the flashing cameras. The golden streamers gleaming on the hardwood. Most of all, he looked at the people. His new teammates, still celebrating, grinning and clapping each other on the back as they lined up for the trophy presentation. Akashi’s new teammates on Rakuzan, who hovered close beside their captain. The members of Kaijou and Shuutoku, as they came out onto the court. Perhaps most importantly, the people who were in the stands, watching them. Aomine, and Momoi, and Murasakibara, and their teams. All together.
That was the most important thing, Kuroko realized. Not who won or lost.
“We are a miracle,” he said, softly. “The things we’ve done, and the friends we’ve made. All of it.”
He turned back to Akashi. Finally, he said the most embarrassing thought of all. The words that had gone unspoken for so long…
“We were destined to meet. That’s what I believe.”
Akashi gazed at him, and smiled. A smile that was like a star, softly bright and distant. Like a glimpse into the future.
“Yes, I agree,” he replied. “Wholeheartedly.”
The announcer’s voice echoed over the loudspeakers, and everyone hurried to find their places. Amid all the commotion, Akashi reached out to Kuroko, and Kuroko did the same. They clasped hands, reminiscent of the handshake they’d shared at the end of the match. Firm, warm… Then, just as quickly, their fingers slipped apart. Akashi gave a nod, and one last smile, and turned to line up with his teammates.
And Kuroko beamed too, and went to find his place. Beside his teammates, the second nakama that fate had given him. And his own personal miracle, the light to his shadow.
Because sometimes miracles kept on happening…
Even after you thought you’d seen them all.