Chapter BGM:
"Peach Jam" by Joji x 88rising(For slow smiles, sharp plays, and sneakers chasing dreams.)
"Japanese Denim" by Daniel Caesar(When his heart stumbles—but he stays cool anyway.)
"あなただけ見つめてる" on loop(She doesn't know it yet—but someone's been watching all along.)
—
"One high-five. One look. One more reason she couldn't afford to lose."
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The holiday buzz was barely gone, but the new semester had already crept in.
Celeste, Jett, and Nolan were among the first to return to the basketball court. The polished wooden floors, the faded but familiar strategy diagrams—it felt like they'd never left. The team was already back in full-force, grinding through pre-season training.
Too much rich food over the break had clearly taken its toll. Practices got tougher, and to boost morale, Celeste went all-in: "Win this season, and I'll make sure you all get limited-edition sneakers. Plus? Team trip. Anywhere you want—domestic or international!"
This year's tournament, especially the upcoming showdown with the provincial team, was a career-defining moment. If they won, several star players had a shot at being recruited by top universities through athletic programs. The school's rep would skyrocket too. This wasn't just a game—it was about futures and glory.
Celeste understood the stakes better than anyone. Standing at the center of the basketball court, surrounded by sweat-drenched teammates, she said clearly:
"Remember—win this, and it's your ticket to a top university. Plus the shoes. Plus the trip. But first—you can't lose."
No one complained. No one backed down.
They knew that giving it everything might just change their lives. The basketball court lights stayed on unusually late. Even on weekends, the squeak of sneakers echoed nonstop.
Celeste practically lived in the basketball court. She ran fitness tests, fine-tuned plays, and tracked everyone's mood like a pro. She wasn't the coach, but she read the room better than one. She wasn't a player, but somehow still the soul of the team.
Her motto? "Whatever you do—win beautifully." Especially when it came to strategy, she didn't do messy.
One Saturday Afternoon
Sunlight poured through the high windows, catching the top knot of her hair. A pen was tucked behind her ear, arms on her hips, debating intensely with the coach and Nolan's translator. Her left foot was half-raised, ankle turning absentmindedly as she frowned, gaze razor-sharp.
Nolan stood off to the side and muttered to Jett, "Is she about to murder someone, or...?"
Jett grinned and clapped him on the back. "Relax. She's just locked in. When Celeste gets serious, the whole world better step aside."
She had once been the star point guard of the girls' team—left-handed, slippery with the ball, a bit of a legend on campus. But a bad ankle injury during practice forced her off the court. That's when she shifted behind the scenes—and unexpectedly thrived. So much that the boys' team recruited her.
For her and Jett, it was both a challenge and a kind of salvation. A break from suffocating academics, a shot at bonus credits, and best of all—they got to throw themselves completely into something they truly loved. Pure bliss.
Celeste still joined scrimmages now and then, which explained why the boys followed her strategy advice without question.
She dribbled left like second nature. Maybe she didn't have the physical edge the guys did, but her vision and timing gave her an edge every time. She always told them: "On basketball court, brains beat biceps."
During one drill, Nolan got clipped by a teammate near the basket. Celeste instinctively grabbed his arm to steady him.
"You good?" she asked calmly.
"Right now? Very," he said, glancing down at her hand, still on his arm.
She let go immediately and walked off toward the strategy board. Nolan stayed rooted where he was, not moving a muscle, but something in his chest felt shaken.
Then came the familiar click-clack of high heels from the stairwell—Muriel had arrived.
Waves of voluminous curls, perfect makeup, a sleek knit dress that hugged all the right places, and stilettos to top it off. She walked in holding several bags of steaming snacks. Her entrance brought instant cheers from the team.
"Got your weekend fuel right here!" she beamed.
She didn't just bring food—she brought the team's favorite morale booster: her ridiculously photogenic face.
Outside the door, she'd already seen Celeste inside—sweaty in a black T-shirt and shorts, hair tied up but slightly frizzy from the heat. Her glasses couldn't hide the fire in her eyes. Honestly? She looked so cool.
From the stairwell, Muriel paused. That girl in the heat-soaked shirt, shouting about strategy like she owned the court?
It was a whole different kind of beautiful.
Most guys had ditched their shirts mid-training. Celeste? She wiped sweat from her jaw with the hem of her shirt, flashing a sliver of that dancer's waistline. But no one stared. On basketball court, she was just one of them.
But back in girl world? She transformed—makeup, wardrobe, and game-day glam all came courtesy of Celeste. Without her style guidance, Muriel wouldn't have held her "queen of the party" status half as easily.
"You're the best, babe. Showing up with snacks on a Saturday? You spoil me."
Celeste gave her a loose hug, grinning around a bite of food.
"And you've got the best taste, too. Everyone loves the outfit you picked for me."
Muriel hummed happily, soaking in the stares from the team. She thrived in this kind of attention—and she genuinely enjoyed the game. The speed, the lines, the sweat, and—let's be real—some very attractive players.
After a short break, training resumed.
Celeste and Muriel headed to the second-floor gallery, leaning on the rail to watch the scrimmage.
Side by side, their eyes followed the action below. Muriel rested her chin in her hand and smirked.
"Hey, Cel," she said softly. "Nolan on court kinda gives me Rukawa vibes."
"What? He's totally Mitsui!" Celeste frowned, but her eyes sparkled. "You see those three-pointers? Dead-on accuracy. So hot."
(Rukawa and Mitsui are characters from Slam Dunk, a classic Japanese basketball anime—Rukawa is cool and aloof, while Mitsui is the sharp-shooting comeback king.)
Muriel stretched the syllables, her voice dripping with mischief. "Oooh—So… Nolan is your type—sorry, I mean Mitsui's your type? huh?"
Her eyes sparkled knowingly, lips curling into a victorious smirk.
She remembered—Cel had once said Mitsui was her favorite in Slam Dunk.
So this time? That line was no accident. It was a trap. And Celeste had just walked right into it.
Celeste didn't flinch. Cool as ever, she shoved the clipboard at her. "His shooting stats are right here. Just facts. Thanks for coming to my TED Talk."
But the pink dusting her ears gave her away.
Down on the court, the guys glanced up to see the two girls deep in conversation, expressions intense. They started whispering:
"Crap, they're checking stats."
"Think Muriel's snacks were too high-calorie?"
"Should we bring Muriel in as an assistant coach? Or a cheerleader? If she came every day, we'd train like maniacs."
Jett shook his head lazily. "One word. Two girls. One drama."
"Wait, that's more than one word—"
Nolan got it right away. "Loud."
"Ya, that's my bro.!" Jett grinned and held out a hand. They high-fived.
Celeste glanced over with a warning look. Jett immediately wiped his grin and barked:
"Alright! Let's go, boys! "
Nolan glanced up one last time—just in time to see Celeste laughing, head thrown back, eyes shining. He felt it again. That tug.As if something big was about to begin.
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"Up on the bleachers, their laughter echoed. The court buzzed with life, tension, and the thud of sneakers chasing destiny.And in a quiet corner, Mai never put his camera down—quietly capturing every spark, every smile, every stolen glance.Their youth, frozen frame by frame.A season of sweat and sparks. A story still unfolding."