The moment the final whistle blew and the trophy was secured, everyone knew the next stop: celebration.
We ended up at Ajidokoro Touya, a cozy local spot tucked behind the main street. Wooden lanterns lit up the warm entrance, and the inside was already buzzing with people, mostly students, families, and staff who had also shown up to celebrate Heiran's win. Our team basically took over the biggest table.
Josh came, too. I wasn't sure if he was invited by Coach or just followed the crowd, but nobody questioned it. The guys didn't throw him looks. No tension. Just laughter, clinking glasses of sodas, and grilled skewers being passed like candy.
"You know," Ryan said, raising his cup, "we played hard. But I say we eat harder."
"I second that," Twan said, his mouth already full of tamagoyaki. "I've earned ten servings."
Minho smiled, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, but not in his usual brooding way. More like satisfaction. His bandaged leg rested on an extra stool.
Travis was still quietly nursing his iced green tea, but even he cracked a smirk when James accidentally slurped soba noodles straight into his eye.
"Food fight?" James grinned, aiming a sushi roll at Ryan.
"Try it," Ryan deadpanned, "and your next roll will be off this table."
Josh sat next to me—calm, smiling. Not overbearing like he sometimes was. Just there. It was weird. Not bad. Just weird. Still, when he offered me a bite of his miso karaage, I took it. (It was really good.)
The feast lasted hours. Plates were stacked. Laughter echoed. Even Coach Saejima dropped by to give the team a toast, clapping Minho on the shoulder and reminding everyone that rest was mandatory tomorrow.
"I don't want any of you dragging your feet at the awarding. Especially you, Travis. You fall asleep on that stage and I'll make you run laps in your dreams."
"Duly noted," Travis said, while raising drink behind his glasses.
...
Saturday Morning – Awarding Ceremony
Heiran's courtyard looked different without the tension of a game day. The bleachers were still there, but less packed. Banners waved lazily in the wind, and the trophy sat gleaming on a velvet-lined table beside a podium.
Principal Sohma gave a speech. Coach Saejima followed. Then came the medals. Ryan's name was called first. Then Minho. Then James, Twan, Travis. The team cheered for each other, wolf-whistling and clapping like kids at a birthday party.
Even the subs got medals, including Josh. I clapped hard when they handed him his. He deserved it.
When the team photo was taken, someone from the crowd yelled, "Elise! Join in!"
"What? No!" I waved it off, embarrassed.
But five voices shouted in unison: "Get up here!"
Before I knew it, I was being pulled into the frame—Minho's hand on one arm, Travis on the other. I stood squished between them, clutching a spare towel like a sash. The camera flashed, and the crowd erupted into cheers. I'd never felt prouder. Or more like I belonged.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the Sagano girls again, gathered near the back of the crowd in their pastel jackets and white ribbons, still cooing over the Heiran guys like the game had been some romantic shojo anime arc. One of them raised her phone like she was filming. I didn't flinch.
Instead, I met their gaze and offered a sweet, smug little smirk, the kind that said, yep, still here, still standing, still ours. Their giggles faltered. Just a little. I turned back toward the team as Minho leaned over and muttered, "You really love stirring things up, huh?"
"Who, me?" I said, eyes wide, innocent.
He just rolled his eyes, but I didn't miss the upward tug at the corner of his mouth.
The rest of the day melted into warm light and laughter. Students dispersed. Staff packed up. The trophy was carried off like some sacred relic, and the school slowly emptied out. By the time we got back to the dorm, it was nearly dusk.
No one said the word rest; but we all felt it. We shuffled inside like veterans back from war, dropping bags, kicking off shoes. Travis immediately flopped face-first onto the couch and didn't move. Twan tried making popcorn but forgot to put the lid on the pot and almost caused an indoor blizzard. James opened a window and declared he needed "exactly three minutes of fresh air or I'll combust." Ryan disappeared into the kitchen and returned five minutes later with six cups of tea, which he passed out like some sleep-deprived nurse.
Minho leaned his head back on the armrest of the couch, eyes half-closed, not speaking. Still, when I handed him a cookie from the emergency snack stash, he accepted it wordlessly and took a bite.
No one mentioned basketball. No one mentioned Sagano. No one brought up the game. And it was kind of perfect.
Eventually, one by one, the lights dimmed. Twan was the first to crawl upstairs, muttering something about "deserving to sleep for seventeen hours." James disappeared next, dragging his duffel behind him like a corpse. Travis turned off the hallway light without being asked. Ryan handed me a sleepy thumbs up before heading off to bed himself.
Minho fell asleep on the couch, hoodie draped over his chest like a blanket. I placed a blanket over him as he draped them unconsciously. I then turned off the last light and left him there, as I made my way back to my room.
...
Sunday slipped by like a whisper. No alarms, no noise, no plans.
Someone made instant curry for lunch, probably Ryan. Twan was on dish washing duty. Travis fixed a squeaky hinge somewhere upstairs. I laid on the floor and scrolled aimlessly through my phone until my battery hit 3%, and I didn't bother to plug it in. And I napped. Twice.
No one really spoke unless they had to. It was a lazy kind of peace, the kind you don't realize you need until your brain finally stops buzzing.
At one point, as I walked outside the dorm, trying to capture a picture of the sunset to post on my story (#LazyAfternoon) I caught Minho sitting outside the front steps, hood up, headphones in, just watching the clouds. I didn't interrupt. I just sat near him after I took the pic, maybe a few steps down, and we shared silence like it was something precious.
...
Monday arrived like a stretch after too much stillness. The buzz of alarms returned. So did rushed breakfast, school bags flung over shoulders, the sound of sneakers tapping along the pavement as we all walked to school together, just like always.
The city felt brighter somehow, like it knew we'd won. There were still leftover tournament posters up, banners flapping in the morning breeze. A few underclassmen from other classes called out "Congrats!" or offered fist bumps to the guys. Minho just nodded coolly at every praise. Travis ignored them all. James soaked it in like sunshine. Ryan smiled politely. Twan tried to high-five everyone.
As for me, I stayed in the middle, matching their pace, pretending it was just another Monday. It wasn't.
The moment lunch hit, I realized how not normal today was.
We were halfway through rice bowls and steamed dumplings in our usual lunch spot when someone from the senior year poked his head into our circle, an upperclassman named Akito, known for being both part of the school's journalism club and a full-time chaos enthusiast.
"Yo!" he called out, grinning wide. "Elise!"
I choked on my drink. "What?"
Akito raised his brows. "You and Josh, huh? We heard there was a hug."
"A... hug?" I replied.
He laughed. "C'mon, it was practically front-page material. You two were center court. There's even a blurry photo going around. Some of the other clubs were joking about whether we finally became co-ed and no one told them."
"Wait wait wait," James cut in. "There's a photo?"
"I mean, it's blurry," Akito said, waving his hands dramatically. "But the silhouette chemistry? Chef's kiss."
Twan snorted into his milk carton.
Akito leaned in slightly. "So... should I mark this as 'campus couple' in our next appearance or...?"
"We're not dating," I said quickly.
Akito winked. "Sure-sure. Totally unrelated moment, full of context no one else saw. Got it. Journalism integrity intact." With that, he disappeared back into the lunch crowd.
Then Travis muttered, "He's annoying."
"He's accurate though," James said, smirking at me. "That hug was kinda long."
Ryan tapped his chopsticks against his bowl. "It was after a game. There were emotions."
"I've seen teammates hug," Twan said. "That was not a teammate hug."
"It was adrenaline," I argued. "You know, victory. Human stuff."
Minho rolled his eyes scoff-smirking.
James added. "We're not trying to start anything. We just... look out for each other."
"You're making a big deal out of nothing," I muttered.
"Maybe," Ryan said gently, "but better we say it than stay quiet and regret it."
I stared at my food, cheeks heating. I didn't even know how to feel. Embarrassed? Irritated? Guilty?
The bell rang, cutting through my thoughts like a dull knife. Everyone began packing up their bento boxes and crumpling napkins, lunch break ending with the usual shuffle of trays and half-finished jokes. I kept my expression flat as we grabbed our things and headed back to class.
By the time we slid into our seats, the rumors had already reached our corridor.
I heard it as soon as we entered: low murmurs from the row in front, followed by a sharp whisper—"Our classmate, Elise. The one with Josh."
James flopped into Travis' chair beside me, dramatically stretching his arms behind his head like he had no idea what was going on. "Y'know," he said casually, "You'd definitely be the reason fights broke out in the hallways."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I replied.
"It means," Travis drawled from behind me, "next time you wanna have a moment in the middle of the court, maybe do it when the camera guys are on break."
Twan chimed in from his seat seat. "Honestly? Kinda iconic. Victory, spotlight, hug. It's giving final scene of a sports anime."
"Oh my god," I muttered, dropping my bag onto my desk.
Ryan, sitting diagonally in front of me, just tilted his head back slightly. "They're just being immature."
"But not wrong," James added, smug.
I groaned. "There was nothing going on. It was a hug. Post-win. It's called being human."
Travis raised an eyebrow. "Didn't look like 'just human'."
I turned around in my seat. "Are you guys seriously doing this right now?"
Ryan exhaled. "Okay, listen. We're not saying you did anything wrong."
"But," Twan interjected, "we're just saying, Josh isn't exactly... predictable."
"He's a good player," James said, "but off-court? Kind of a wild card."
Travis's gaze was unreadable. "Just be careful."
I crossed my arms. "Do you guys warn every person I talk to about potential danger, or is this just a special service?"
Minho gave me a level look. "You live with us. That makes you our business. Like it or not."
I didn't have a reply to that. Because part of me knew they weren't just being protective, they were being territorial. Low-key, sure. But real. I dropped into my seat and stared out the window.
A few rows over, someone whispered again. I caught the words "her" and "Josh" and something about "dating." I gritted my teeth and focused on my notebook. The board was still empty, our teacher hadn't even arrived yet—but my pen tapped restlessly against the page.
A minute later, Mr. Hanajima walked in with his usual stack of textbooks and a coffee that looked criminally undercaffeinated for a Monday.
"Seats," he said curtly. "We're picking up from last meeting's lesson - linear equations and system solving. Let's get into it."
Groans filled the room. Mine might've been the loudest. Thirty minutes in, I was barely keeping up. My brain felt like mashed potatoes as formulas piled on the whiteboard. Somewhere between the substitution method and slope-intercept confusion, my focus wavered.
I blinked down at my notebook, half of my notes already smudged by my own stressed-out handwriting. And then— My phone buzzed in my lap. I froze, subtly lifting my bag to shield the screen as I glanced down. It was Josh.
("You okay?")
"Define okay." I texted back.
("Surviving the rumors? You hugged me like you meant it, just saying.")
"I was emotional. Also, surrounded by sweaty jerseys. It was a crisis."
("So it meant nothing?")
I stared at the screen, lips parting slightly. Why was he asking like that? Why now?
"I didn't say that."
There was a long pause. I caught the tail end of Mr. Hanajima scribbling another nightmare of an equation across the board. My phone buzzed again.
("You know... if it helps to let them think something's going on, I don't mind.")
I frowned.
"Helps who? You? Me?"
("Maybe both of us.")
I stared at those words. My fingers hovered above the keyboard, heart thudding a little too loud in my ears. There was something about the way he said it, not playful, not unserious. Like he meant it. Or wanted me to. I didn't know how to respond.
"Miss Jung?"
The voice sliced through the classroom like a thrown chalk. My head snapped up. Everyone turned. Mr. Hanajima was standing at the front, one hand on his hip, the other holding a whiteboard marker like a sword of doom.
He raised a brow. "Since you seem so invested in your phone, maybe you'd like to come solve this problem on the board?"
Shit.
The equation behind him looked like it had been pulled straight out of a PhD thesis. Even the numbers were sweating. I slowly stood up, my phone still in my hand, Josh's message glowing like a cursed omen on the screen.
"Maybe both of us."
I tucked it into my pocket, and walked to the front like I was heading for the guillotine.
Game on...