Archive of Our Own

Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroko no Basket nor do I profit from writing this fanfiction. Please be aware that the story contains spoilers for Kuroko no Basket. Additionally, there are quotes from the manga, anime, wiki, and other sources included. This fanfiction has not been beta-read yet. As I am not a native English speaker, please excuse any language errors.

Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day

Chapter I

Akashi Seijuurou, the formidable captain of Teikou's Generation of Miracles, was about to enroll at Rakuzan High. The news spread like wildfire among the basketball team members at Rakuzan, igniting excitement and speculation.

For months, ever since Teikou secured their final Nationals victory and middle school graduation loomed on the horizon, one question dominated conversations: Where would the Generation of Miracles go next? The most obvious answer seemed to be Rakuzan. As a basketball powerhouse, it was the natural choice. Surely, they would stick together, continuing their reign of dominance into high school. Perhaps one or two might take a different path, but most assumed that Teikou's elite would seamlessly transition into Rakuzan's elite.

Then, the unexpected happened.

News arrived that they had split up, each player going to a different school. Akashi Seijuurou was indeed heading to Rakuzan, but Aomine Daiki had opted for Touou Academy. Kise Ryouta was set to attend Kaijou High, Midorima Shintarou chose Shuutoku High, and Murasakibara Atsushi went to Yosen High. It was a complete dispersal. Speculation intensified. Why had they done that? Why would they split up when staying together would guarantee them victory for the next three years? And now, with their choices, they would go from teammates to rivals on the court.

Naturally, within Rakuzan's basketball team—the ones directly affected by this turn of events—the topic was unavoidable.

"Hey, Reo-nee, do you think Akashi will become our captain?" Hayama Kotarou asked as they wrapped up their basketball training for the day. His voice carried across the gym, instantly drawing everyone's attention.

It wasn't surprising—curiosity had been buzzing among them for weeks. Kotarou had merely been the first to say it out loud.

Mibuchi Reo turned to his teammate, considering the question. "He probably will," he replied. It only made sense. Their previous captain had graduated, leaving the position open.

"But he's only a first-year," someone murmured, frowning.

"Yeah, when have we ever heard of a first-year becoming captain?" another chimed in.

Reo simply smiled, crossing his arms. "A first-year who was once the captain of Teikou," he reminded them.

That single statement was enough to silence the room.

No one had a rebuttal.

Because when it came to Akashi Seijuurou—rules, norms, and expectations didn't apply.

After all, everyone here was a basketball player in Japanese schools who had heard of the Generation of Miracles. Some had even played against them in competitions, including Reo himself. But Reo had been a year ahead of them. When he played against Teikou, they had only been second-years, while he was in his final year of middle school. Back then, they were undeniably talented—impressive, even—but not yet extraordinary.

And then, everything changed.

The following year, their level skyrocketed to something almost terrifying. They became faster, stronger, and sharper—so overwhelmingly superior that the gap between them and everyone else became insurmountable.

No one could touch them. No one could even come close.

At one point, Akashi even implemented a 20-point quota for each team member, which caused the score gaps to balloon to extreme levels. There was no unbreakable wall in the world. With over 100 members in Teikou's basketball team, each with connections here and there, the policy spread at lightning speed.

"You know, I really thought they'd all come here," someone murmured from the gathered crowd.

"Me too."

"Yeah, same."

A quiet chorus of agreement followed.

"Then what's the point of even playing?" another voice muttered.

Nebuya Eikichi scowled, crossing his arms. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?" he grumbled, clearly irritated by the implication that he—one of Rakuzan's strongest—was nothing compared to the Generation of Miracles.

"Isn't it obvious?" the player replied. "My cousin goes to Hiramine Junior High. They played Teikou in the Nationals last year."

"And?"

"They lost 198 to 8."

Silence fell over the group.

"Wait… That's a 190-point gap," someone finally said, almost disbelieving.

"Have you ever even heard of a gap like that?"

The weight of the number settled over them like a heavy shadow.

Because no matter how talented they were, no matter how strong, what Teikou had done wasn't normal—it was monstrous.

Whatever the reason, Reo thought that their split had been a wise decision to prevent one school from achieving complete dominance in the competition.

Reo knew that not everyone admired Teikou's overwhelming dominance. To some, their reign in middle school basketball had felt less like a golden era and more like a reign of terror. Teams didn't just lose to Teikou—they were crushed, left in utter despair after facing an opponent so untouchable that victory was never even a possibility.

Most players had long since accepted their fate. The question wasn't "Who will win?" anymore—it had shifted to "Who will be the runner-up?" Because Teikou wasn't just strong. They were unbeatable.

A voice broke through Reo's thoughts.

"What do you think it'll be like to have Akashi as our captain?" someone asked hesitantly.

Reo exhaled, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips.

"Well," he said, "we'll find out soon enough."

And something told him that Rakuzan was about to experience a whole new kind of dominance.

XXXXXXXX

The day arrived sooner than expected.

From the moment Reo stepped into the gym that afternoon—the first official day of club activities in the new academic year—he could feel it. A shift in the atmosphere. Tension, thick and unmistakable, hung in the air like a storm waiting to break.

Rakuzan, as the most prestigious basketball powerhouses in the country, naturally boasted an enormous club membership. Even after the upperclassmen graduated, the number still exceeded a hundred. And, as always, Rakuzan's legendary reputation had drawn a fresh wave of hopeful new students eager to earn a spot on the team.

To separate the truly skilled from the merely ambitious, Coach Shirogane Eiji conducted his usual three-step evaluation for the newcomers.

The first test focused on conditioning—grueling endurance drills to gauge stamina, followed by agility exercises to test quickness and reaction speed.

The second assessed fundamental skills: dribbling, shooting, passing. Precision mattered just as much as technique.

And finally, the third test—the real trial—a game simulation. This was where true talent revealed itself. It wasn't just about skill but mental sharpness, decision-making, and the ability to perform under pressure.

While the new recruits sweated through the tests, the regular team members continued their own training. Or at least, they were supposed to.

Reo quickly realized that wasn't the case.

Though players dribbled, passed, and shot on their own, their focus wasn't on their drills. Instead, all eyes had unconsciously gravitated toward a single figure on the court.

And Reo didn't even have to turn his head to know who it was.

Akashi Seijuurou had arrived.

Kotarou, who had already arrived, practically bounced over, his excitement barely contained. Nebuya followed close behind, arms crossed but clearly interested.

"Look, look, Reo-nee! That's Akashi Seijuurou," Kotarou exclaimed, eyes gleaming.

Reo didn't need to be told. He could see it for himself.

Everyone—whether returning members or fresh-faced first-years—had their attention fixed on Akashi. Their curiosity was written all over their faces, whispers rippling through the gym like a quiet tide.

For someone with such a fearsome reputation, Akashi was surprisingly small for a basketball player. Yet, that hardly mattered. His presence alone commanded attention. With sharp, well-defined features and an air of effortless confidence, he stood out without even trying.

And, of course, there was the most striking thing of all.

Akashi had just finished his tests—every drill, every exercise—without so much as breaking a sweat. While others were panting, wiping at their brows, or shaking out their sore limbs, he remained perfectly composed, his expression calm, unreadable. The intensity of the stares locked onto him didn't faze him in the slightest.

Reo's gaze flickered across the gym. The first-years varied—some were in excellent shape, clearly well-trained, while others were still rough around the edges. But overall, many of them looked experienced.

Still, none of them had that.

That effortless control. That unwavering presence. That quiet, absolute dominance.

Reo exhaled.

This year was going to be interesting.

The next day would bring the third and final test: a mini-game among the players, once again under Coach Shirogane's watchful eye. This was the true evaluation—the moment where skill, teamwork, and adaptability would be put to the test.

Afterward, Coach would divide them into three separate teams: first, second, and third strings. Placement wasn't permanent. Every three months, players would have the chance to rise or fall based on their performance. No one was safe from demotion, and no one was locked out of a promotion. It was a system designed to keep them sharp, to ensure no one slacked off.

"Do you think we'll play against him?" Kotarou asked, his excitement barely contained.

"Most likely," Reo replied, watching Akashi from across the gym. If Coach wanted to truly assess Akashi's abilities, there were only a handful of players in Rakuzan who could keep up with him. And they were among them.

By the end of practice, the list for the mini-game teams was finalized. Coach Shirogane announced the matchups, and their manager, Higuchi Shouta, posted them on the wall.

Immediately, the first-years scrambled toward the notice, eager to find out their teams and opponents. Some gathered in hushed groups, whispering about tactics and strategies for the upcoming match.

Akashi, however, didn't even glance at the board. With a black towel draped around his neck and his eyes half-hidden beneath his fringe, he walked straight out of the gym without a single word. Without sparing anyone a glance.

As if it didn't matter.

As if the outcome was already decided.

Higuchi approached them soon after. "Coach has arranged for the three of you to play against Akashi tomorrow," he informed them. "First match."

Reo, Kotarou, and Nebuya exchanged glances. No surprises there. It was exactly as they had expected. And yet—there was an undeniable thrill in the air. Tomorrow, they would step onto the court alongside Akashi Seijuurou. Tomorrow, they would see for themselves just what kind of player he truly was.

XXXXXXXX

Reo was already feeling irritated by Kotarou's relentless excitement.

It wasn't that he wasn't looking forward to the match—he was. But did Kotarou really have to talk about it nonstop? The endless chatter had been grating on his nerves all morning, and by the time they arrived at the training gym, he was almost relieved. At least now, Kotarou had something else to focus on.

Coach Shirogane was already there, standing alongside Assistant Coach Sato Takuo. Higuchi, clipboard in hand, stood nearby, ready to read out the matchups.

Coach Shirogane cleared his throat, his calm voice commanding instant attention.

"We had our first assessment yesterday. Today, we continue with the second—a 3-on-3 mini-game between the new members and the first string."

He paused briefly, his gaze flickering toward Akashi.

Reo caught the glance.

It was subtle, but telling. Even Coach was paying special attention.

Higuchi scanned his list and began reading. "The first match will be—Akashi Seijuurou, Kuroko Tetsuya, and Matsuda Kenji against Mibuchi Reo, Nebuya Eikichi, and Hayama Kotarou."

A ripple of murmurs passed through the gym.

As Akashi stepped onto the court, a first-year hesitantly followed—a nervous-looking boy who appeared absolutely shaken by the reality of his situation. Stuck between Akashi and Rakuzan's top players, he looked like he was reconsidering all of his life choices.

Reo didn't blame him.

Now that they were face-to-face, Reo felt it.

An oppressive aura radiated from Akashi, something heavy, something commanding. It wasn't loud or flashy—it was quiet, suffocating, inescapable.

And the game hadn't even started yet.

But—where was the other first-year?

"Kuroko Tetsuya?" Higuchi repeated, glancing around.

Silence.

"Matsuda Kenji?"

"I-I'm here!" The nervous first-year hastily raised his hand.

"Kuroko Tetsuya?"

"I'm here."

"Ehhh?!" Kotarou screeched, practically jumping out of his skin.

Reo blinked.

Standing before them was a teenager with an expression so blank it was almost unsettling.

"How long have you been here?" Nebuya demanded, his voice laced with shock.

"I've been here the whole time," Kuroko replied flatly.

Reo frowned. He hadn't noticed him either. That was unusual. He studied the boy carefully. There was something oddly familiar about him—as if he'd seen him before, but the memory lingered just out of reach.

Kotarou, however, had completely shifted his attention to the two first-years. "I've been waiting to play against Akashi, you know," he said. His gaze flickered to Matsuda. "Try not to slow him down, alright?"

Matsuda looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. His nervousness visibly worsened, his grip tightening on his jersey. Kuroko, on the other hand, remained utterly unfazed. His blank expression hadn't changed in the slightest.

Reo sighed. "Really," he muttered, unimpressed.

"But Reo-nee! I'm telling the truth!" Kotarou protested. His earlier excitement now twisted into mild frustration as he glanced at the matchups. He had to mark Kuroko, while Nebuya was assigned to Matsuda, and Reo had the honour of facing Akashi. Not exactly the matchup he'd been hoping for.

Annoying. He wanted the real challenge.

Reo, however, barely heard Kotarou's complaints. His focus was elsewhere.

For the briefest moment, Akashi's lips curled into a smirk.

It was gone in an instant—so fast that Reo almost questioned whether he had imagined it.

"Alright, are you guys ready?" Higuchi called out, clipboard still in hand.

"Yes!" came the unanimous response.

The match was about to begin.

Akashi seized the ball. He was fast—faster than Reo had anticipated. Before Reo could react, Akashi slipped past him with effortless precision. Nebuya and Kotarou, realising the threat, abandoned their marks and lunged to block him. It didn't matter. They barely even slowed him down. With a fluid motion, Akashi glided past them, as if they weren't even there. By the time they registered what had happened, the ball was already swishing through the hoop.

The gym fell silent.

Even the onlookers—Rakuzan's elite basketball team—were momentarily stunned.

Surely both Kotarou and Nebuya should have been able to put up some resistance? And that move—what was it? The way Akashi had bypassed them felt almost unnatural. Kotarou and Nebuya, now back on their feet, exchanged wary glances. This time, they were taking him seriously.

The next possession started with Kotarou, who maneuvered swiftly before passing the ball to Reo.

Just as Reo prepared to move—

It was gone.

Reo barely registered the blur of motion before Kuroko stole the ball. He swore the kid hadn't even been there a second ago. And then—without hesitation—Kuroko launched the ball across the entire court, a laser-sharp pass that shot straight into Akashi's hands. Akashi moved without missing a beat, weaving through the defence like it was nothing before leaping and slamming the ball through the hoop.

The force of the dunk sent a shockwave through the gym.

Reo froze.

Akashi. At only 173 cm, he was dunking.

If he hadn't just seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn't have believed it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Kotarou—standing stock-still, mouth agape, staring at Akashi in sheer disbelief.

Millions of children worldwide grew up dreaming of dunking a basketball on a ten-foot hoop. Most would never realise that dream. The average adult male had a vertical leap of around fifty centimetres. But for Akashi to dunk at his height, his minimum vertical must have been at least 104 centimetres. Reo could hardly fathom it. What kind of hellish training had Akashi endured to achieve this? How many hours of relentless strength training, sprinting, and jump drills had he gone through? The sheer dedication—the sheer obsession—required to reach that level was beyond comprehension.

The gym remained frozen in stunned silence.

Then, the game resumed. And the next ten minutes were nothing short of annihilation. Akashi dominated the court with terrifying ease, orchestrating plays with absolute precision, dictating every movement as if controlling the flow of time itself. Every pass, every steal, every shot—it all felt inevitable. Reo had faced strong opponents before. He had won against strong opponents before. But this was different. For the first time, he truly understood the crushing despair of those who had once stood against Teikou's legendary team. And this was just Akashi. Only Akashi. The other four weren't even here.

For a brief moment, a memory surfaced—whispers of rumours he'd once brushed off as exaggerations. That some teams had quit basketball entirely after facing the Generation of Miracles. Now, standing here, caught in the eye of the storm, Reo realised—

He could understand why.

Akashi and Kuroko didn't let them score a single point. Not one. Reo's breath was still uneven as he processed the sheer difference in ability. And then—it finally clicked. Kuroko. He remembered now. The phantom sixth man of Teikou. The passing specialist who had been the invisible force behind the Generation of Miracles. He had been there all along. Reo barely had time to dwell on it before—

"Game over!" Higuchi's whistle cut through the stunned silence.

Kotarou let out a frustrated groan. "Shit! We lost!" His voice carried a mix of disbelief and irritation, as if he still couldn't quite accept it. He probably thought that if it had just been Akashi alone, they might have stood a chance.

Reo wasn't so sure.

It wasn't just Akashi's raw skill that overwhelmed them—it was his control, his absolute command over the game. Every movement had been precise, every decision ruthless. And with Kuroko at his side, slipping between them like a shadow, delivering impossible passes, it had been nothing short of a massacre.

"Thank you for the game." Akashi's voice was calm—unshaken, unaffected. As if the entire match had been nothing more than a formality.

They left the court, making way for the next match. As Akashi walked past, Kuroko beside him, Reo couldn't help but notice— Everyone in the gym stiffened, backs straightening instinctively. They weren't just looking at a new teammate. They were looking at their captain. Even if it hadn't been said out loud—It was already decided.

Matsuda trailed behind Akashi and Kuroko, looking like a lost puppy. Reo couldn't blame him. The match had been two versus three, with Matsuda stranded in no-man's-land. He wasn't a bad player—far from it—but he wasn't on the same level as the Uncrowned Kings. And Akashi? He towered over them all. On top of that, Akashi and Kuroko had played together at Teikou. Their chemistry was seamless, their understanding instinctive. Matsuda's presence had done little more than disrupt their rhythm. Besides, Reo wasn't even sure Matsuda could see Kuroko's passes, let alone react to them.

"I thought I'd at least be able to steal the ball from Akashi," Kotarou grumbled, arms crossed as they stood on the sidelines, watching the next mini-game unfold.

Reo had thought so too. Apparently, he'd been wrong. His gaze flickered toward Akashi and Kuroko. They had moved to stand next to Coach Shirogane, quietly observing the match. No—studying it. Akashi's eyes were sharp, assessing every movement on the court, cataloguing strengths and weaknesses with terrifying precision. Next to him, Kuroko held a clipboard, scribbling down notes without pause. They spoke to each other in low voices, but they were too far away for Reo to hear.

Still, he felt it. The weight of Akashi's presence. The cold efficiency behind his gaze. And then, after the game—It happened. To no one's surprise, Akashi was named captain. But what followed left the entire gym stunned. Kuroko Tetsuya—vice-captain. Two first-years, holding the two highest positions in Rakuzan's basketball team. Had it been anyone else, the upperclassmen would have protested. But this was Akashi. A player whose sheer presence commanded authority. Someone who had walked onto the court and demonstrated his absolute dominance in mere minutes.

Reo exhaled, half in disbelief, half in understanding.

Akashi had played this perfectly. From the moment he stepped into Rakuzan, he had been in control—moving the pieces, setting the board, making it impossible for anyone to question his rule. Reo had to admit, even if Akashi saw them all as nothing more than stepping stones— It had been a masterful display of power.