𝐌𝐘 𝐈𝐍-𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 [Kozume Kenma]

26. CHANCE

~ SHIRO ~

I stared blankly as the blonde setter put up another perfect toss, as per usual. The ball travelled smoothly through the air, not incredibly fast, but not slow enough to be predictable, placed at the best possible height for the grey-haired giant to hit.

But the anticipated impact never came. What an anti-climax. I sighed deeply, jotting this down in my notebook as another failed attempt at a quick attack. I cringed slightly as I reviewed Lev's performance so far. Kenma wasn't getting anywhere either.

Nekoma, as a whole, had been averaging quite well, however, not nearly well enough compared to Fukurodani. If this was happening a few days ago, I would've been worried for my team, but now, strangely enough, I couldn't bring myself to care.

Ever since the fight with Kenma, I had been contemplating my position as the manager. All of a sudden, it seemed completely and utterly pointless. Why did I even agree to this in the first place? If it weren't for that stupid cat boy and his stupid cat eyes, I would've never even thought about joining this stupid club.

When he first asked me to be the manager, I thought it was because they needed my help. I thought that he needed me. I was foolish enough to let myself believe that someone finally needed me.

But turns out it had been the other way around all along. From his perspective, I needed him. I was a loner who needed his help to make friends. In his mind, he was doing me a favour by kindly granting my pitiful self this wonderful opportunity to potentially escape my loneliness.

You fool. Loneliness should be embraced. The blissfulness of solitude can only be savoured by the intelligent.

And yet a part of me didn't feel convinced. I looked up from my scribble of notes, feeling a pair of eyes trained on me. I could usually tell when someone was staring, an ability I had developed over time trying to avoid those stares. The golden-eyed boy quickly glanced away, as if by doing so he could prevent me from noticing.

I glared at him. Quit staring or I'll gouge those pretty eyes out. I bet they'd sell for a fair price on the black market. I couldn't stand it, the sorrowful looks he had been casting my way for the past few days. As if I needed any more pity from this guy.

His words hurt me more than I'd like to admit. Especially the way he had carelessly thrown them at me like he was playing with knives.

I could tell that he felt bad. But it angered me that he had the audacity to feel bad. Those were his words. He could say that he didn't mean them, convince himself that he didn't, but I knew there was a part of him that did. He must have. Words came from thoughts and thoughts came from the mind. Deep down in a reserved section of his mind, he believe that I was lonely and needed him. How pathetic.