"Post-game interview?"
Kota blinked.
"Wouldn't it be better for Kise to handle that? He's way more suited for the spotlight."
When it came to popularity and looks, Kise was basically born to live under the camera lights.
Takeuchi waved his hand.
"You're the star today! No excuses. And Kise already went home."
Before Kota could protest, Takeuchi was already dragging him to the interview room, fussing with his own hair and even trying to fix Kota's.
Despite having lived two lives, Kota had never dealt with post-game press. Even for someone as calm as him, nerves were kicking in.
Noticing Kota's discomfort, Takeuchi leaned in.
"Relax. If any tricky question comes up, I'll help you out. Just be humble—don't say anything that could be twisted. Reporters are like hawks with a thesaurus."
To be fair, when Takeuchi decided to be serious, he was actually reliable. His reassurance helped Kota pull himself together.
FLASH! FLASH!
As soon as they stepped into the room, blinding lights hit Kota's eyes like a surprise full-court press, followed by the relentless sound of camera shutters.
Takeuchi nudged him toward the podium. Kota sat down. More than ten microphones were practically poking him in the face.
Overthinker Talent
A robotic cue echoed in his head as his brain revved up—processing faster, staying cool. His thoughts were suddenly crystal clear.
"Thank goodness my talents work off-court too"
Kota thought. Otherwise, he'd be sweating bullets.
Takeuchi watched from the side, surprised at how fast Kota composed himself.
"Wait, this guy has a talent for interviews too?"
The reporters had also noticed Kota's change in demeanor. One bold, heavily made-up female journalist leaned forward:
"Mr. Kota, congratulations on winning the Winter Cup! How are you feeling right now?"
Kota glanced at Takeuchi. No signals. Looks like this one was on him.
"I'm happy, of course. Winning with my teammates—it's an amazing feeling."
She smiled like she'd just won the championship herself.
"And what's your opinion on Seirin High? Today's opponents?"
Kota looked at Takeuchi again. Still nothing. Arms crossed, fingers under his nose, poker face active.
"Okay then. I got this."
"Seirin has great team chemistry. Every player brings something unique. Playing against them feels like going head-to-head with a bunch of top-tier bosses. Really strong team."
He channeled the poise of seasoned NBA players during interviews—compliment the opponents, avoid trash talk, no loose ends.
Takeuchi gave a discreet approving nod.
"Okay, maybe I underestimated this kid."
"Oh, is that so?" the reporter smiled slyly, jotting down notes. Then she shot her next question like a no-look pass:
"If your team makes it to next year's finals, which school would you most want to face?"
Takeuchi froze, water bottle halfway to his mouth.
"Yup. There it is. The trap."
It was the classic bait. Young, cocky players loved to give "spicy" answers. And reporters? They lived for that.
Kota, still in overthinking mode, picked up on it instantly. Especially with Takeuchi subtly jabbing him under the table.
Kota glanced at him—yep, the coach was doing his best interpretive dance of "Don't. Take. The. Bait."
Message received.
Kota turned back to the reporter, smiled politely, and dropped a perfect NBA veteran line:
"Next question."
Silence. The whole room froze. Even the shutters stopped clicking.
The reporter's smile cracked like a dropped backboard. Her pen stopped mid-scribble.
Takeuchi nearly fell over. "Did he just—?"
Kota caught the look and winked at him like a mischievous raccoon.
"Relax, Coach. I've seen LeBron handle worse."
That one line—"Next question"—was the gold standard in dodging nonsense. Quick, clean, unbreakable.
Luckily, another reporter jumped in to save the vibe.
"Mr. Kota, what's the secret to your team's championship run?"
He even slid in front of the other reporter, shielding her like she'd just air-balled the question of the year.
"Now we're talking" Kota thought.
He nodded and replied: "Hard work. That's our one specialty."
The rest of the questions were easy, light, and drama-free. No traps. The reporters were clearly spooked—no one wanted to be the second "Next question" victim.
Takeuchi, meanwhile, stood to the side looking like he just saw a UFO.
"Wait… that works? Why haven't I done this before?"
About thirty minutes later, the reporters had all packed up and left. No one even tried for a private follow-up. Kota smacked his lips.
"Man, interviews are easy! These people are so nice. I kinda like this. Can't wait to do it again next year!"
As he and Takeuchi were about to leave, one last reporter stopped him.
"Mr. Kota, may I ask one more personal question?"
"A solo interview? Sweet!"
It was the female reporter who'd barely spoken earlier. She had stood in the corner the whole time, clearly not part of the usual pack.
Seeing Kota pause, she smiled, tucked away her pen, and said,
"Don't worry—it's not part of the official interview. Just a personal curiosity. Totally fine if you don't want to answer."
Kota nodded. "Go ahead."
"Is your full name really just... Kota?"
Kota: "…"
Sensing how odd her question sounded, she scratched her head and laughed awkwardly.
"Sorry, I know that sounds weird. It just feels like there's... something more behind your name. Like, it doesn't match your vibe."
"Your vibe?" Kota blinked. "What kind of vibe am I giving off? Time traveler? Secret boss? Hidden protagonist?"
He gave a casual smile. "Yeah, it's just Kota. Short and simple. My parents like keeping things easy."
The reporter nodded, still looking slightly unsatisfied, like she expected a plot twist that never came.
"I see. Well, thank you."
She bowed and left quietly.
Kota stood there for a moment, watching her go.
Kota watched her leave, deep in thought.
Takeuchi broke the silence. "Come on. You've earned this moment."
Kota turned to him, puzzled, until realization hit and a smile crept onto his face.
Both of them walked back to the Kaijo locker room, shoulder to shoulder. Everyone else had already gone home. Just the two of them remained.
Takeuchi flopped onto a bench and dialed a number on his phone.
Kota also pulled out his phone, spotting a missed call from Araki. His smile widened.
"She'll be happy to hear I made the national youth team. I'll surprise her when I visit Shark Gym later tonight."
Just as Kota made up his mind not to call her yet, Takeuchi's call connected.
"Hello, President? Did you catch the finals today?"
"Oh, your scouts were there? And the reports are in already? That's great!"
"What's that? You changed your mind? Even better!"
Takeuchi flashed Kota an excited thumbs-up mid-call.
"Yeah, go ahead—I'm listening... huh?"
Suddenly, his face stiffened. The smile dropped.
Kota raised a brow.
"That's odd. I played great today. Unless Akashi is switching paths, there's no way another point guard my age outshines me."
Takeuchi hung up and forced a smile.
"Kota, good news.... the president thinks you did great. You're cleared for the national team."
Kota didn't react. That pause? That look? There's definitely a "but."
Sure enough, Takeuchi rubbed his face and added, "Buuuut… there's one condition. You gotta pass a physical tryout at the federation first. Just some routine fitness tests."