The Joker (Kuroko no Basket insert)

The morning streets were eerily still, blanketed in a quiet only the pre-dawn hours could provide. Taro moved through them with a steady rhythm, the sound of his feet pounding against the pavement the only break in the silence. His breath misted in the cold air, every exhale visible as he pushed himself forward, his muscles burning with the familiar ache of effort.

Running. The word used to terrify him. It had loomed during his old basketball practices, a punishment for mistakes, a torment for the unfit. Back then, just the thought of running had sent a shiver down his spine. But now? Now it was part of his life. No longer punishment, now it was something else.

Therapeutic.

Taro hadn't meant for it to become this way. Running had started as a necessity before tryouts, something he'd forced himself to do to improve his endurance. He'd convinced himself it was temporary, just another hurdle to overcome. But when tryouts ended and he'd made the first string, Coach Hurley had crushed any illusions he had about stopping.

"This is a good habit," Coach had said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Good habits win games. Keep it up."

And so here he was, another morning, another run. The routine coach gave him was crazy: a combination of sprint intervals and grueling long-distance runs. Sprint intervals left his lungs searing and his legs trembling, every burst feeling like a battle between willpower and exhaustion. The long-distance runs, though less immediate in their intensity, were no less punishing. A steady, unyielding grind that tested his endurance with each step, the kind of pain that crept up slowly but left him utterly drained by the end.

At first, Taro had hated it. He'd cursed himself for mentioning it, cursed coach for making him continue and making it even harder, cursed the unrelenting ache in his legs. But now… he'd started to like it. There was something about the solitude of the streets, the world still asleep while he worked, that made it worth it.

Out here, no one stared at him.

Taro was well aware of the attention he drew wherever he went. Standing at 196 centimeters now, with bright orange hair and striking mixed features, he was impossible to ignore. He'd always been noticed in some way, but it still felt surreal to think back to before. At that time, he'd convinced himself his growth spurt was over, especially after hitting 193 centimeters before the school year even began. But apparently, his body hadn't received the memo to stop growing. Every extra centimeter only seemed to magnify the stares and whispers that trailed him wherever he went.

People stared at him for his size, for his supposed murder of a classmate, for his appearance, and now, as one of only three first-years to make the first string, for his skill. The whispers and side-eyes didn't bother him much on the court; the game was an easy distraction. But outside, in the hallways, in class, in the cafeteria, it was suffocating it was hell. He felt like a walking spotlight, every movement dissected and scrutinized.

That's why running had become something more than a workout. It was his therapy. The streets didn't care about his size or his skill. They didn't judge him. They just were. Out here, he could finally breathe.

He pushed harder, picking up speed as he neared the end of his route. His strides were long and powerful, his muscles working in perfect coordination. The air stung his lungs, but he felt lighter than he had in weeks, maybe months. It hit him suddenly—a feeling he'd heard about but never quite understood until now. The pain and exhaustion melted away, replaced by a wave of calmness.

His pace quickened, his strides longer, smoother, almost unnatural. The surrounding air seemed to still as he darted forward, his body moving with an ease and precision that seemed unusual. His eyes seemed to start glowing an orange light as he pushed himself further, faster.

Taro's movements were getting sharper and his hearing was started to become filtered out. His only focus was reaching home. His feet barely seemed to touch the ground as he surged forward, the world around him blurring slightly at the edges. By the time he reached the final stretch of his route, he wasn't slowing down—he was accelerating.

Taro reached the door, his hand gripping the handle as he shoved it open and stepped inside. The second his foot crossed the threshold, his legs gave out completely. He dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, his back against the door as his chest heaved. His breath came in sharp, shallow gasps, his entire body drenched in sweat.

His legs felt like jelly, completely spent. He tried to push himself upright, but the effort was laughable. His arms trembled, and he let himself sink back down, staring at the ceiling. The silence of the house felt heavier now, filled only with the sound of his labored breathing.

Taro wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand, barely making a dent in the sweat pouring down his face. His legs weren't moving anytime soon, and he knew it. This was the price of pushing his limits, he'd emptied the tank completely.

Taro leaned back in his chair, the cool air of the house a stark contrast to the heat of the gym that had defined his week. Practices with Coach Hurley had been. Hurley's philosophy was clear: preparation wasn't just about skill; it was about discipline and understanding every aspect of the game.

Every drill had a purpose, every scrimmage a lesson. Hurley ran them through scenarios, pausing only to bark corrections or reset plays. The team had practiced everything from defensive rotations to late-game offensive sets, and Hurley's voice had been a constant in their ears.

"You're not here to play basketball," Hurley had said during one particularly harsh session. "You're here to learn how to win basketball games."

On rest days, most of the team headed home, but for Taro and Shin, the work didn't stop. The two of them had started hitting the gym together, a brutal routine that left no room for excuses. Shin was the driving force behind it, his attitude setting the tone.

"Deadlifts today," Shin had said the first time they trained together, his massive hands gripping the barbell like it weighed nothing. "Don't slack."

Shin's physique was unmatched, a force of nature on the court and in the gym. But his complete lack of coordination off the court often left Taro both amused and a little concerned. The guy had an almost supernatural ability to destroy anything fragile he touched.

Taro noticed this when another gym-goer left their AirPods case next to a machine before walking towards the treadmill. Shin, ever the helpful sort, decided to pick it up and return it. Somehow, in the span of a few steps, he managed to crush the entire case in his hands, the plastic cracking loudly. The horrified look on the owner's face was only rivaled by Shin's own chagrin as he held out the mangled remains.

Taro had barely contained his laughter. "Shin, you shouldn't be allowed near anything fragile. Ever," Taro said, shaking his head in exasperation.

Shin's expression shifted, and within moments, it looked like a thundercloud had formed over his head. As if on cue, imaginary rain seemed to pour down, soaking only him as he slumped to the ground, moping.

"It's not my fault everything feels like it's made of wet cardboard," he muttered, holding up the mangled AirPods case like it was evidence in a trial. "I didn't even mean it, it just broke in my hand. I barely touched it"

Taro shrugged, the grin still playing on his lips, and gave Shin a pat on the back. "Don't worry about it. The world just wasn't built for guys like you."

Shin groaned, letting the 'rain' pour on him a little longer for dramatic effect.

After the incident, Taro and Shin decided to do the right thing and apologize to the guy whose property had fallen victim to Shin's "cardboard world."

The teenager, maybe 165 centimeters tall and skinny enough that his oversized shirt hung awkwardly on his frame, was jogging casually on the treadmill, slightly sad that his AirPods were now destroyed was completely unaware of the two giants closing in on him.

Taro and Shin moved silently. Together, they looked like were villains out of an action movie, tall, broad, and completely unreadable. Their stoic expressions did all the talking, and to anyone watching, it looked like they were marching over to deliver an ultimatum, not an apology.

The guy on the treadmill glanced up mid-stride. His gaze landed on Shin first massive, expressionless, and radiating the kind of energy that said "you don't want to mess with me." Then his eyes shifted to Taro, who, while slightly shorter, had bulging muscles and an equally intense aura.

His foot caught awkwardly on the moving treadmill belt, and he let out a startled yelp as he tumbled backward. He hit the floor with a load thud.

Taro paused, raising an eyebrow, while Shin tilted his head slightly, as if trying to process what just happened.

The guy scrambled to his feet almost instantly, his face pale white as he stood stiffly. "S-sorry! I didn't mean to—I wasn't—uh—what do you want from me?"

Taro opened his mouth to explain, but the sheer terror in the guy's eyes made him hesitate. "Uh," he started, glancing at Shin for backup.

Shin stepped forward, his shadow engulfing the smaller teenager as he tilted his head again, inspecting him. His gaze lingered on the guy's slim arms, clearly evaluating his physique.

"I usually break small and fragile things," Shin said flatly, his deep voice cutting through the now eerily quiet gym. His eyes continued to drift over the guy's frame, internally trying to assess how he could help this guy develop.

The teenager did not seem to think that Shin was thinking of how to help him, though. The teenager's face somehow paled even further. His eyes darted between Shin's hands and his own skinny arms, his mind clearly doing some grim calculations. He clutched at his towel like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

Taro, watching the scene unfold, recognized the misunderstanding. He sighed and rubbed his temples. "Shin, stop talking."

"What?" Shin asked, genuinely confused. "I'm just explaining—"

Before he could finish, the teenager bolted, realizing they weren't focused on him, disappearing out the door faster than Taro had ever seen anyone move without a track uniform. His water bottle and towel lay forgotten by the treadmill.

Shin turned to Taro, his expression blank. "Why did he run away?"

Taro stared at him for a long moment before clapping a hand on his back. "Because you just implied you could snap him in half like a twig."

Shin frowned slightly, glancing at the door. "That wasn't my intention."

"Yeah, I got that. Pretty sure he didn't though." Taro shook his head and grabbed his bag. "Let's just get to Rin's team meeting before you accidentally terrify someone else."

The two giants walked out together, their intimidating presence leaving the remaining gym-goers wide-eyed and whispering in their wake.

As Taro and Shin stepped into the lounge area, the sound of Rin's marker against the whiteboard stopped abruptly. She turned to face them, her expression a mixture of irritation and exasperation. The rest of the team, already seated on the sofas, looked up at the late arrivals. Rukawa, sprawled across one of the sofas, had someone tape his eyes open, yet despite this, he seemed to be doing his best attempt at falling asleep, his exhaustion written all over his face. In the connected office, Coach sat quietly, listening in, his eyes flicking from the papers on his desk to the unfolding tension in the room.

"You're late," Rin said sharply, crossing her arms. "Care to explain why?"

Taro shrugged, his face calm as ever. "We accidentally terrified someone."

Rin raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Taro shrugged again, his tone as neutral as his expression. "Sorry, won't happen again."

Without missing a beat, he and Shin walked over to the sofas and sat down as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Rin blinked at them, her mouth slightly open, clearly at a loss for words

Rin groaned, glaring at the group. "Alright, enough. Let's focus on the meeting. Sit down and stop distracting everyone."

Taro nodded, keeping his usual calm demeanor, though the faintest grin tugged at his lips. "We are already sitting, Rin."

Her glare could have burned through steel, and for a moment, it looked like she was seriously calculating the odds of getting away with murder. But with a sharp exhale, she turned back to the whiteboard, her marker tapping against it with an audible click of frustration. "Now, as I was saying…"

Rin turned back to the whiteboard, her marker moving with brisk precision as she wrote in large, clear letters: PAPA MBAYE SIKI.

"Papa," Rin began, her tone sharp and professional, "is their new recruit. He's an exchange student from Senegal, and his primary strength is his size. At 200 centimeters, he's taller than anyone on this team and has freakishly long arms that give him an absurd wingspan."

She paused, underlining his name on the board with a heavy stroke of the marker: PAPA MBAYE SIKI. "Papa is primarily used to dominate the paint. Offensively, he's their go-to option. They throw the ball to him, and he keeps it high in the air out of reach while shooting. It's not an impressive skill, but it's effective because of his size and reach. Defensively, he's a shot-blocking threat. They've built a lot of their game plan around him."

The room was still at first, but Rin began to sense an odd tension. She glanced back at the team, frowning. Watari sat with his lips pressed tightly together, his face turning a suspicious shade of red. Hachiman was holding his breath, his shoulders trembling violently. Even Kobayashi, usually the epitome of composure, sat unnervingly still, though his body seemed to twitch erratically, betraying his internal struggle.

And then there was Tokuchi. His face was bright red, his grin stretched wide, and he looked ready to burst. Any noise he might have made was abruptly cut off by Kobayashi, who had wrapped a firm arm around his neck to keep him silent. Tokuchi squirmed, clawing at the captain's arm, but Kobayashi tightened his hold, his calm expression unshaken despite the brewing chaos.

Unaware of the ticking time bomb behind her, Rin pressed on. "Papa is tall, sure, but he's not particularly skilled. His footwork is clumsy, and his speed isn't great. We should be able to stop Papa by forcing him out of the paint—"

The dam broke.

Watari let out a loud snort that quickly turned into uncontrollable laughter. He doubled over, clutching his stomach, his face beet red. Hachiman followed, gasping for air between wheezes. Hachiman was next, his head hitting the table with a thud as he dissolved into fits of laughter. Even Kobayashi, despite his earlier attempts at control, fell off the sofa, releasing Tokuchi in the process. Tokuchi wasted no time, rolling onto the floor laughing hysterically.

"What is wrong with all of you?" Rin snapped, spinning around, her voice sharp enough to cut through the chaos.

"Papa!" Watari managed to choke out between giggles. "You keep saying 'Papa' like he's your dad!"

"Yeah!" Tokuchi added, barely able to breathe. "Rin, I don't see the resemblance? Maybe you're adopted!"

The jokes sent the room into another wave of hysteria. Players were falling out of their chairs, wheezing with laughter, while Rin's face turned an impressive shade of crimson. She slammed her hand onto the table with a loud smack.

"Enough!" she barked, glaring daggers at the entire team. "You're all acting like children!"

Her eyes scanned the room, but they quickly locked onto Taro, who wasn't laughing out loud but sat back with an infuriatingly smug grin plastered across his face. His arms were crossed, and he looked like he was thoroughly enjoying the spectacle.

"Taro," Rin said, her voice rising, "wipe that stupid look off your face, or you'll be running suicides until midnight!"

Taro nodded, though the grin didn't budge. "Yes mam! Sorry, Please, go on. This is very serious."

Rin's glare was deafening. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to turn back to the whiteboard. "As I was saying," she continued, her voice tight with irritation, "Papa Mbaye Siki is a serious presence in the paint. If we're disciplined, we can neutralize him by forcing him to guard on the perimeter. We'll give Taro the ball on offense, forcing Papa to chase him wherever he goes, opening up the court for everyone else. He's slow to rotate and lacks the agility to contest outside shots."

The team, still struggling to contain their amusement, began to settle as Rin's glare swept the room. Though the occasional chuckle broke through, they knew better than to push her any further. Rin powered through the rest of the meeting with the last shreds of her professionalism intact, though the faint blush on her cheeks betrayed her annoyance.