Chapter Text
The first rumor was that Kuroko Tetsuya had transferred.
The second was that he’d quit school entirely.
By the end of the week…
nobody knew what to believe.
⸻
“He didn’t come today?”
Momoi frowned as she glanced toward the classroom door for what felt like the hundredth time.
Their homeroom teacher simply shook her head.
“No.”
The lesson continued.
No explanation.
No announcement.
Nothing.
⸻
When practice began that afternoon…
his locker was empty.
His shoes were gone.
His spare jersey had disappeared.
Even his water bottle was missing.
It looked as though someone had erased every trace of him overnight.
“…Where’s Kurokocchi?” Kise asked, peeking into the locker one last time.
“I don’t know,” Momoi answered quietly. “He didn’t answer my messages.”
Aomine clicked his tongue.
“Probably skipped.”
“He wouldn’t,” Momoi immediately replied.
She paused.
“He always tells me if he can’t make practice.”
“…Maybe he’s sick.”
“He has perfect attendance.”
Midorima shut his locker with a sharp clang.
“He wouldn’t suddenly stop coming.”
Murasakibara frowned around another potato chip.
“…Maybe he got bored.”
Nobody answered.
Because everyone knew that wasn’t true.
Tetsuya loved basketball.
⸻
Seijuro arrived a few minutes later.
His crimson eyes swept across the gym.
“…Where is Tetsuya?”
Silence.
Momoi hesitated.
“…He wasn’t at school today.”
“Did he send a message?”
“He isn’t answering anyone.”
Seijuro’s expression remained unreadable.
“I see.”
Nothing else.
Practice began.
⸻
The next day…
Tetsuya’s desk remained empty.
The day after that…
Still empty.
Then another.
Then another.
A week became two.
Two became nearly a month.
⸻
“…Did anyone hear from Kurokocchi yet?”
Kise’s question hung awkwardly over the group chat.
Seen.
Seen.
Seen.
No replies.
Eventually Aomine answered.
No.
Another minute passed.
Momoi typed.
I tried calling…
His number doesn’t exist anymore.
Silence again.
Even online…
the phantom had disappeared.
⸻
The basketball club had begun changing.
Not all at once.
Little by little.
Like cracks spreading through glass.
⸻
Aomine stopped staying after practice.
“If nobody can keep up, then what’s the point?”
⸻
Murasakibara skipped drills whenever he felt like it.
⸻
Kise relied more and more on talent than teamwork.
⸻
Midorima practiced alone.
Always alone.
⸻
Even Momoi noticed Seijuro watching the gym entrance every afternoon.
Just once.
Just for a second.
As though expecting a certain light-blue-haired boy to quietly walk through the doors with an apology and his usual polite smile.
He never did.
⸻
Eventually…
the questions stopped.
Nobody asked where Tetsuya was anymore.
Nobody expected him to return.
Because accepting uncertainty was easier than waiting for an answer that never came.
⸻
One evening, after practice, Kise sighed as he slung his bag over his shoulder.
“…Do you think Kurokocchi quit basketball?”
Nobody answered immediately.
Finally…
Aomine shrugged.
“If he wanted to leave, he would’ve said something.”
The words sounded convincing.
Even to himself.
⸻
Seijuro remained standing at the center of the empty court.
The polished floor reflected the bright overhead lights.
There should have been six shadows stretching across it.
Instead…
there were only five.
“…”
He looked toward the entrance one last time.
Then picked up a basketball.
“Practice resumes tomorrow.”
His voice was calm.
Steady.
Unshaken.
No one noticed how long his gaze had lingered on the empty doorway.
No one noticed because they were all looking away from it too.
⸻
Meanwhile…
A hospital room overlooked the city skyline.
Soft afternoon sunlight filtered through the curtains.
Machines hummed quietly.
An IV line disappeared beneath the sleeve of a hospital gown.
Tetsuya sat beside the window with a notebook resting on his lap.
A school notebook.
Homework.
His eyes drifted toward the distant skyline.
Somewhere beyond those buildings…
Teiko was finishing starting practice.
Were they doing well?
The thought lingered for only a moment before a knock came at the door.
“Kuroko-kun.”
A nurse smiled gently.
“Your infusion is ready.”
He closed the notebook.
“…Coming.”
Without another glance toward the window, he stood and followed her into the hallway.
Life continued moving outside.
And somewhere across it…
five boys quietly convinced themselves that the Phantom had abandoned them.
While the Phantom believed leaving was the kindest thing he could do.
⸻
The nurse helped him settle into the chair as practiced hands connected another IV line.
The transparent medicine slowly dripped through the tubing.
Cold.
Always cold.
“…How are your legs today?” she asked gently.
“They hurt less than yesterday.”
“So that’s an improvement.”
“…I suppose.”
She smiled.
“We’ll take every improvement we can.”
Silence settled between them.
It wasn’t uncomfortable.
Everyone in this ward had learned that silence wasn’t always loneliness.
Sometimes…
it was simply exhaustion.
⸻
Tetsuya watched the clear liquid disappear into his arm.
One bag.
Every two weeks.
Blood tests every Monday.
Physical therapy every Wednesday.
MRI every three months.
Emergency admissions whenever the fevers returned.
It had become routine.
Almost normal.
Almost.
⸻
A soft knock came from the open door.
A man in a white coat stepped inside.
Dr. Hayasaka.
He had been treating Tetsuya since the diagnosis.
“Good afternoon, Tetsuya.”
“…Good afternoon.”
The doctor looked over his latest bloodwork.
“The inflammation markers have improved.”
“That’s good.”
“It is.”
“…However.”
Tetsuya already knew.
There was always a “however.”
“The damage to your blood vessels hasn’t changed.”
“…”
“Can’t the medication can suppress the disease?”
“It cannot reverse what’s already been lost.”
Tetsuya nodded quietly.
“I understand.”
Dr. Hayasaka pulled up a chair.
“You asked me once if you’d ever play basketball again.”
“…”
“My answer hasn’t changed.”
Silence.
“The disease has permanently damaged the blood vessels in your arms and legs.”
He paused.
“Your circulation is fragile. High-impact sports carry too much risk.”
Tetsuya’s expression remained the same.
“You could suffer internal bleeding or a ruptured vessel. It could be worse.”
“…I know.”
The doctor sighed softly.
“You’ve accepted this far more calmly than most adults.”
Tetsuya looked toward the window.
“I don’t think I’ve accepted it.”
He pursed his lips.
I just don’t know what else to do.”
The doctor’s expression softened.
“Your form of Progressive Autoimmune Necrotizing Vasculitis is stable.”
“For now?”
“Yes.”
Dr. Hayasaka stood up.
“We’ll continue the immunotherapy and keep monitoring you.”
He looked at Tetsuya.
“We’ll keep fighting it.”
“…Thank you.”
⸻
When the doctor left, the room fell silent once again.
Tettsuya rested his forehead against the cool window.
Practice at Teiko had probably already ended.
He wondered if anyone had noticed his absence.
…
No.
He corrected himself.
They had.
They simply didn’t know why.
And if things went according to plan…
they never would.