Teiko's gym was always buzzing with noise—shouts, sneakers squeaking, basketballs thumping—but in the middle of it all, Kuroko Tetsuya sat like a ghost in a storm. Unnoticed. Unbothered. Unseen.
Except by one.
Gojo spotted him right away.
"You're not invisible, you know," Gojo said one day, tossing a towel over his shoulder as he walked off the court. "You just let people believe you are."
Kuroko blinked up at him. "You noticed me?"
"Hard not to when you pass the ball with such surgical timing," Gojo smirked. "You're like… the anti-me."
Kuroko tilted his head. "You're loud."
"And you're quiet," Gojo replied, grinning. "Perfect duo, huh?"
From that day on, Gojo started showing up to Kuroko's solo practice sessions. At first, he just watched. Then he started offering sarcastic comments. Eventually, he joined in.
Despite their differences, something clicked.
Gojo's blinding presence pulled defenders like moths to a flame. Kuroko's misdirection thrived in that chaos. Together, they executed passes and plays the rest of the team didn't see coming—like magic and sleight of hand working in harmony.
Kuroko began to talk more, just a little. Gojo stopped showing off all the time. They didn't say it aloud, but something unspoken had formed—a rhythm, a bond.
"You really don't care about glory?" Gojo asked once, as they walked home under the pale streetlights.
"I care about winning," Kuroko replied. "But not alone."
Gojo was silent for a while. Then he smirked. "Guess I've got some things to learn from you, partner."
And for the first time in his new life—a life without curses, battles, or blood—Gojo Satoru found something unfamiliar but comforting:
Teamwork.
Not forced. Not demanded.
Chosen.