Kuroko no Basket: Honored One

"How did you convince them?"

"Didn't need to. They were happy to train with us."

The day after the regional qualifiers ended, Tendou brought the misfits of Kirisaki Daiichi to a seaside facility for their final training camp before Nationals.

The team they had agreed to train with?

None other than Shūtoku, who had been knocked out of the tournament early and lost their chance at the national title.

Still, Shūtoku's season wasn't over.

Their sights were now set on the Winter Cup qualifiers.

With Tokyo being as competitive as it was, they had no choice but to push harder—harder than ever. They dove straight into prep mode the moment their loss was behind them.

Tendou hadn't needed to do much persuading.

He just got Midorima's number, called Shūtoku's coach Nakatani Masaaki, and the man agreed almost instantly.

From Coach Nakatani's perspective, training with the strongest team in Tokyo could only be a good thing.

...

"We meet again, Midorima."

"Hmph."

Midorima let out a low snort, clearly annoyed.

He was one of only two members of the Generation of Miracles who hadn't made it to Nationals. The last thing he wanted was to run into his old teammates right now.

Especially this one.

"A little enthusiasm won't kill you. So what if you lost?"

"You just happened to lose less than me this time. One more round and you'll be the one sitting out."

Yep—training with this guy was absolutely a mistake.

Midorima's face turned an even deeper shade of green. He looked like he was one step away from smacking Tendou with the item he was holding.

Today's lucky item for Cancer?

A mosquito zapper racket.

"Alright, enough reminiscing," Coach Nakatani stepped forward. "You'll have plenty of time for that later."

He glanced at Tendou and continued, "I've heard about your team's… reputation. But this is a joint camp, and I hope you'll at least keep things under control."

Even though Tendou had clearly changed the vibe at Kirisaki Daiichi, Nakatani still felt the need to say something. He didn't want any of his players getting injured because of the training camp.

"Relax. What you're worried about won't happen."

Tendou waved it off and immediately had his team put their luggage away.

After everyone changed into training gear, they kicked off their joint practice with Shūtoku.

...

The training content wasn't anything out of the ordinary—pretty much the same as a regular basketball club practice.

But the benefit of joint training was clear:

Your opponent is your best motivator.

Both sides pushed each other harder, took things more seriously.

And most importantly, there was a practice game each day.

That was the real heart of the training camp.

That's where both sides could learn the most from one another.

...

"Tendou, why train with Shūtoku of all teams?"

"Why not?"

Tendou tied his shoes, getting ready to go on court.

"Among all the teams that didn't make it to Nationals, Shūtoku is by far the most intact and well-balanced."

"Besides, their tactical system is something we could definitely learn from."

Was Shūtoku the strongest team?

Of course not.

But in terms of tactical discipline, they were arguably number one—or at least tied for it.

Whereas Tōō pursued raw individual power, Shūtoku focused on perfect team coordination.

To Coach Nakatani, each player was a puzzle piece.

Only by putting them all together could you see the full, beautiful picture.

Even Midorima—the best shooter among the Generation of Miracles—was only part of that system. No one was allowed to dominate alone.

Which was exactly why, when he first recruited the Miracle Generation, Nakatani rejected unstable elements like Tendou and Aomine without hesitation.

He went straight for the hyper-disciplined Midorima Shintarō.

That, to him, was the kind of personality needed to become a top-tier player.

But after watching an entire day of camp, Nakatani had to admit:

Tendou was also incredibly disciplined.

"Looks like I misjudged him," he muttered.

"This kid's style is deceptively misleading."

He had personally watched Tendou execute every drill to perfection, then use his free time to get in extra shooting reps.

If Aomine lost to this guy…

He couldn't complain.

The harder worker deserved the win.

That was only fair.

...

Night fell.

After a long day of intense training, the players were too tired to mess around and all went to bed early.

But not Tendou and Midorima.

Even with their elite talent, they hadn't hit their limits. So the two prodigies stayed up playing chess.

It was a hot summer night, and the mosquitoes were relentless.

Fortunately, Midorima had brought his mosquito zapper.

Tendou snatched it out of his hand and began zapping bugs left and right with a buzz-buzz sound.

Midorima's face went green again. That thing was his lucky item for the day.

"Give it back."

"You're always so stiff. No wonder girls don't like you."

Tendou shrugged, handing the zapper back to a clearly irritated Midorima.

"By the way, where do you even get these ridiculous lucky items from? Why are they always so weird?"

Years had passed, but Midorima had never once abandoned his morning fortune ritual.

His lucky item changed every single day—today it was a mosquito racket, tomorrow it might be bug spray. No one could predict it.

"There's no point explaining it to you. Could you wake up at 6 a.m. every day?"

Tendou didn't reply.

Midorima knew him well. He wasn't a chronic latecomer, but back at Teikō, he always showed up just in time for practice.

Never early, never late.

If he could avoid overtime, he did. He was somehow both lazy and reliable.

"What's the point of waking up early? Still didn't stop you from losing," Tendou said as he moved his piece and used his elephant to crush Midorima's lion.

"I didn't lose because of the horoscope. I lost because I wasn't good enough."

In his mind, the image of that missed game-winning shot surfaced again.

In that moment, he felt he had let down his teammates.

But Kuroko and Kagami—they had trusted each other completely.

They gave everything. And because of that, they had won.

That was the lesson Midorima had taken from his defeat:

"The team comes before the individual."

"Tendou… no matter how good you are, there's a limit to what one person can do."

He wanted to make a bigger point, but when the words came out, that was all that was left.

Midorima wasn't like Kuroko. He didn't preach.

He was a man of action. He'd rather prove it than say it.

"The fact that you think that… just means you're still not strong enough."

Basketball wasn't a solo sport—but like games, sometimes one overpowered player could carry the match.

Basketball wasn't soccer.

If you were strong enough, you could decide the outcome alone.

And let's be honest—most NBA superstars were selfish egotists.

Jordan. Kobe. LeBron. Durant. Shaq.

All of them were driven by self-interest.

"Team-first" was just something ordinary players said to cover for their lack of talent.

When he realized he couldn't convince Tendou, Midorima didn't push the issue any further.

But deep down, he made a resolution:

"At the Winter Cup, I, Midorima Shintarō—and Shūtoku—won't lose to anyone."

If possible, he wanted to show Tendou—and all his old friends—that he was right.

"Thinking that way makes not losing… really difficult."

Because in stories like these—darkened rivals always came back stronger.

But once they reformed, they got weaker.

Kise and Midorima had been the first to "see the light"—if you could call it that.

Maybe "reformed" was the wrong word.

More like… softened?

Either way, their post-defeat treatment had been rough.

The others—Murasakibara, Aomine, Akashi—they each lost once, and that was it.

Kise and Midorima?

They lost twice.

And Kise? He had it the worst.

First to show up, and he lost to Seirin twice, to Aomine once, and to Midorima too.