All it took was a plane crash, and Kise Ryota was no more.
Strangely enough, he didn't feel sadness, only regret. Regret for not checking his engine beforehand. Regret for missing out on his friends with his job as a pilot. Regret for not spending t...
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Quietly humming to himself, golden eyes focused on the pen between his right fingers, Ryota observes the messy lines drawn on the paper. Since losing his left hand and regaining consciousness, the green-haired teen's focus was on writing with his right hand.
He stared with some dejection at the messy paper in front of him, wondering if he should ask someone to write for him to copy or if he should look up a video on the internet. Truth be told, he felt bored and suspected that learning by copying would only serve to turn his only occupation into dust.
Without much thought, he began to twirl the pen between his fingers, only for it to slip out of them and land on the white flooring of his hospital room. He sighed, maybe watching a right-handed person twirl his pen would be a good idea.
The pen on the floor and laziness in his body, Ryota decided to set the paper aside and grab his phone. Unlocking it with the fingerprint locker, he casually scrolled through his newsletter. As usual, he found a bunch of adds and push-ups that he deleted.
The last time he checked his E-mail box was a long time ago, and deleting all of the useless messages that took up his phone's memory took some time. His spams out of the way, Ryota boredly skimmed through his remaining mails.
He yawned, half-bored half-aware of what streamed before his eyes before pausing. It was another push mail, usually nothing worth mentioning, but the subject, Senior High School Winter High, made his fingers momentarily pause.
They hovered over the trash icon for a few seconds before opening the mail. It was a brief announcement, with the initial lineups, and a link to the website responsible for the basketball event.
He hummed to himself, his mood slightly better as a light smile painted his lips, he didn't hesitate to tap on the link. It took a full minute for the website to open as the connection wasn't too good in his room, but he soon scrolled through the website.
With ease, he navigated the many tabs, knowing exactly where to and not to go. Although it had been more than a few years since he last attended the Winter Cup, he still intuitively knew where to look for. First, he went to look at the qualified teams, carelessly scrolling through the school names, sometimes pausing and knitting his brows as he tried to remember who the team was—
He wanted to lean his head on his left hand but as he unconsciously brought it closer to his face he frowned, it seemed the distance wasn't quite right— he froze, suddenly remembering his missing hand. With a shake of his head, he chuckled, resuming his reading and trying to ignore the missing limb.
