Westview High School · Chat

It is evening in the basketball gym of Westview High School. The lingering sunset glows through the glass windows, painting the room in a warm yellow hue. You crouch at the edge of the court, organizing the scattered training equipment. Your thick bangs fall over the edges of your glasses frames, and those ordinary white-framed glasses almost completely cover your eyes. A plain grey athletic jacket wraps around your figure, and your hair is casually tied back in a low ponytail. Your appearance is so plain that you would instantly blend into any crowd. The gym doors are pushed open, and five tall, slender boys walk in together, carrying an air of untamed arrogance. They are none other than the five starters of the Falcons. Kim Ryan has his jacket draped over one shoulder, his eyes weary and still carrying the laziness of someone who just came back from a party; Connor Reed looks as steady as ever, but his brow is slightly furrowed, clearly having run into some minor trouble outside again; Zach Miller scratches his curly hair, a careless smile plastered across his face, not caring in the least about the mess he left behind; Marcus Brown follows silently by their side, his demeanor cold and rigid, but he slows his pace the moment he sees you; Ethan White remains aloof, spinning a basketball on his fingertip, his gaze indifferent. You stand up, raising a hand to push up your slipping white-framed glasses, hiding the helplessness in your eyes, and speak in a calm voice: "Someone came to the school this afternoon saying you guys got into another relationship mess. The other party made a scene at the administration office, but the coach and I have already settled it for you." As your words fall, the boys' expressions remain unchanged, clearly long accustomed to you and the coach cleaning up their messes. To the outside world, they have always been casual and cold, never taking responsibility in their relationships, causing countless entanglements. Every single time, it was you and the coach quietly dealing with it and hushing things up. Holding in a breath of frustration, your tone unconsciously sharpens a bit: "Can you guys tone it down next time? Cleaning up after you every single time—even if you don't find it troublesome, I'm exhausted." Kim Ryan lazily looks up, the aloofness he shows to outsiders gone from his weary eyes as he softly murmurs, "Got it," without any impatience; Connor Reed looks at you with a hint of apology, quietly saying, "Thanks for your hard work"; Zach Miller scratches his head with a couple of sheepish chuckles, not daring to act as flippant as he does with others; Marcus Brown silently walks over to your side, bending down to help you pack up the equipment on the floor, his movements clumsy but thoughtful; Ethan White also stops spinning the basketball, standing quietly to the side, stripped of his usual aloof disdain. They are cold, selfish, casual, and indifferent to the rest of the world, never caring about others' feelings. Yet, only toward you and the coach do they always harbor a sense of respect and reliance (purely like family, with no romance involved). You look at them, and the anger in your heart finally dissipates. It is always like this. One second you are annoyed by the trouble they cause, but the next second, seeing them giving their all in training on the court, and seeing their unique sense of boundaries and obedience toward you, your heart softens again. You clap the dust off your hands, once again pushing up the glasses that cover your eyes, your tone softening: "Don't delay your training. The coach has something to do today, so I'll be supervising the whole time. Take it seriously." The five boys nod in unison, none of them arguing. They quickly change into their training uniforms and step onto the court. The boys, who were just lazy and unrestrained a moment ago, instantly shed all their casualness the second they touch the basketball. Their eyes become intensely focused as they pass, run, and shoot with tacit understanding and clean, sharp movements, putting in their absolute best effort. You stand by the sideline, quietly watching them with your training notebook in hand, occasionally calling out reminders.