In the first spring of Kuroko's junior high school life, he held hands with Aisaka and they began their journey together.

In the second spring of Kuroko's junior high school life, he steps into the gates with Aomine and Momoi, and there they began to rise.

Something will always feel like it's missing, but maybe eventually, everything will come together again, like they were supposed to be.

"Because we're miracles, huh," Kuroko whispers to himself. He's lightheaded, leaning seated against the wall and catching his breath beside the bench.

"Hm? Oh, Saka-chin always said that, didn't he?"

It's rare that Kuroko is the one to get surprised by someone beside him. Murasakibara may be big, but he's quiet. And Kuroko, in all his exhausted glory, really doesn't register every person aside from 'huge person', 'huge person', and 'huge dark person, probably Aomine-kun'.

Murasakibara has his hair down and sweaty as usual, and Kuroko wonders if Aisaka's usual ponytail would look good on him.

"Did he ever tell us what it meant?" Murasakibara wonders for a moment, then hums in an almost annoyed way, like he's too tired to solve his homework, "on second thought, it sounds like a pain, so nevermind."

Kuroko couldn't help but smile at that. Aomine and Midorima always brushed the phrase off as Aisaka's quirk, while Akashi and Kuroko always tried to find out more of it. Murasakibara, though, simply thought that Aisaka could say whatever he wanted and he couldn't care less about it. It was evident which one Aisaka preferred.

"But Saka-chin's like an esper," Murasakibara's tone slur in exhaustion, and he opens a bag of potato chips to munch on for energy, "he always knows when I need snacks, he always knows what I don't know... and I wonder how he knew that we were going to be called miracles, too."

Something in Kuroko opens up. Something like a sudden, drastic realization.

"Like, he's been using that phrase way before we even met, right?" Murasakibara mumbles, "ah, Kuro-chin, want some?"

Kuroko accepts the miserable potato chip, because he really doesn't compute right now. Because wait one unholy second, did he just find out a clue to the mysteries of the universe?

"Hold on a second, Murasakibara-kun, I need to tell Akashi-kun about this."

"Huh? About the potato chip?"

-

"Akashi-kun, I think Hiroto-kun is a time traveller."

Akashi stares back, blankly.

They're eating lunch, and the entire table freezes dramatically, spoons in the air. Haizaki was about to reach for Kuroko's meatball but even he stops right there because hold up, what?

Akashi swallows his mouthful of noodles.

"Calm down, Kuroko," he says first, chuckling awkwardly at the utter incredulous situation upon him, "what brought this on?"

"Hiroto-kun always called us miracles," Kuroko says, fiddling with his lunch nervously, "and now we're called the Generation of Miracles. Don't you think he already knew that was going to happen? He's been saying that from the first time I met him, and that's... that's before I was even qualified to be called one."

Eating had resumed across the table while he was speaking, but Midorima hums at that.

"Time travelling is not scientifically possible," he simply gives his rather dishonest input, "it might simply be a coincidence."

"Your dumb Oha-asa thing isn't science either but you follow it anyways," Aomine grumbles under his breath, ignoring Midorima's follow--up of 'it's not dumb!', he says, "and heck, it might be. You think he went back to the future, then?"

"That's not funny, Mine-chin," Murasakibara whines, "I wouldn't be able to eat Saka-chin's snacks anymore!"

"I think you're reading too many books, Tetsuya, you're going crazy or something," Haizaki growls out without heat, grabbing at a meatball and eating it before Aomine could stop him.

"But imagine if that was true!" Momoi's eyes sparkled, like some fantasy. "My job here is done. I shall go back to where I came from!" she declared in a deep, masculine tone, sobbing dramatically.

"My job here is done?" Aomine repeats, stupified, "but you didn't do anything."

"If I didn't know any better, Aomine-kun, I'd have thought you were quoting sailor moon," Momoi retorts with a pout, "you're not romantic at all. Read a book!"

"No fucking way."

And through the whole thing, Akashi is silent. Kuroko knows that only he and Akashi would take that consideration seriously, so Kuroko waits.

They share a smile at the sight of the others, joking around and arguing about the new topic.

So we can talk about him with a smile, now? Kuroko thinks, very fondly. Aisaka is, and would always be, a sore topic for all of them-- but if moments like these could happen, maybe it was fine.

If they could think about him without hurting, maybe one day they'd be able to welcome him back wholeheartedly, arms spread and smiles wide.

-

A few months after that, Kuroko plays in his first official game, and the team is much better off than before. The third years begin to play less, then ultimately the third years become subs to the team as a whole.

It's all within expectations, but Nijimura can't help but feel a little shoved back.

Nothing's gone great since last year, really. He knew from day one that one day, eventually, the juniors will take their places. It's for absolute victory, so no matter how vexing it feels, no matter how high he ranks in the national rankings and no matter how hard he works, he will never surpass the juniors.

He's up against Akashi, the absolute; and Aomine, the powerhouse.

His top-five-in-Japan ranking could go to hell because it's evident that Aomine would soon take number one anyways. Adding on his chemistry with Kuroko, there's no reason the coach would use Nijimura in games instead.

(Nijimura might be strong, but he's no match for an Uncrowned King.)

(Only the Generation of Miracles were any match for that.)

But it's fine if he feels frustrated, right?

Sometimes, and it's been many sometimes, he wishes for Aisaka to be around. That kid was always the most mature, even among his peers and among the seniors. Nijimura could talk to him about anything, and Aisaka would empathize.

Aisaka would always find some dumb way to cheer him up.

It's hard to take it in, realizing that things were changing so rapidly. It's like things are finally just getting started now, because the nuisance, Aisaka is gone. He hates it.

He hates how the world has a bias, and it's obviously pointing right at the main characters, the Generation of Miracles.

Why can't Nijimura be part of the story?

It's all just so unfair.

("It's because I'm not a miracle," Aisaka's words echo in his mind, "we're not in the spotlight, you and I both. So one day, as long as we play basketball... we're fated to get hurt.")

"What do you want, Shittymura?" Haizaki growls at him, like every other day he catches the delinquent in the arcade, "I have a day left in my medic certificate for my rib so screw you, ya ain't dragging me back to--"

"Yeah," Nijimura interrupts him, and his tone is weaker than he wanted it to be.

He can't even muster up enough energy to scowl at the truant little piece of shit. He's too old to cry about something like this, but the feeling is really there and it's boiling over, a little too much.

He stares at the fighting game Haizaki is currently occupied with, and he sets himself into the seat beside the gray-haired junior.

"Wha-- what the hell, Nijimura?!"

"I'm skipping practice," he says, like it's obvious, slotting in two tokens.

"Fuck, you've gone insane."

"Shut it, you gray-haired pomeranian. Your captain feels very fucking depressed today, okay?"

-

"Didn't you guys have some sort of fairy player before?" a first-year snarks a little loudly, "but I heard he quit?"

Kise Ryouta had just made his way up to second string, and really, the first years are obnoxious. Kise takes pride in being an asshole, but suicidal, that he was not.

"Aisaka-kun, huh," a senior that had been in the basketball club for much longer decided to humour the freshman, "only people that aren't in the basketball club call him a fairy."

"Really?" the freshman chimes with interest, leaning closer, "then what do you guys call him? Was he a weak player? Is that why he left?"

"We don't talk about him anymore," the senior cuts in, sharp, cold, and firm.

If the freshman had anything more to say, Kise thinks he just didn't ask. It's rare to see someone so calm yet so furious at the same time.

Kise has only met Aisaka once, during the cultural festival, in an unfortunate little incident involving orange juice and ruined clothing. Bad rumours about Aisaka only rose after that meeting, but Kise finds it hard to believe that much changed in the time between.

In fact, if you asked around, the change had been subtle.

Aisaka was a bright child, cheerful, optimistic-- naive. Kise resounded with him the moment they met-- they were similar, very similar-- from the endearing demeanor to the ever-present snide between each gaze.

(People say that the more you see your flaws in someone, the more you hate them.)

(It was rare to find someone else whose aura didn't match their expressions.)

Aisaka was always smiling, always innocent, irritatingly naive and so very oblivious-- but to Kise, who lived in the world of outside faces and lies, there was always something so apprehensive about the boy.

Kise was a fake egoist.

Aisaka was a fake innocent.

(That much, Kise could tell with just one meeting alone.)

"I wish I'd have had the chance to play against him," Kise supplies to the conversation before him, surprising both the freshman and the senior with his steady tone and serious desire-- "I'd have been honoured to play against the strongest of the basketball club even just once in my life."

Kise hated Aisaka Hiroto with a burning passion, for reasons hard to name.

But that's exactly how and why he respected him.