Kuroko didn't bother eating breakfast the next day. The Generation of Miracles headed back to their regular Kyoto home just as the sun started to rise. Akashi tripled the defense around his prefecture, and even around their house. The number of guards were so heavy, some civilians might even detect them.
Akashi didn't say anything about Kuroko's lack of breakfast, which was strange, but it seemed no one had the appetite. Even Murasakibara, who settled for some snacks before storing them away for good. Snacks could not make him feel better this time. The giant found himself locking the pantry where his snacks were stored, but stopped, remembering his snacks were no longer in danger of Kise.
Aomine did not speak a word. He went straight to his room, and the rest could yet again hear the unmistakeable sounds of rage emitting from the room. They didn't try to stop him, or even flinch at the shattering of glass. Aomine, besides Kise, was probably the most obvious with his emotions. He needed to take it out on something, somehow.
Akashi also went to his room passively, and Murasakibara shuffled to his after. Midorima and Kuroko stayed at the dining table. Pretending to ignore the tense atmosphere, the greenhead began untaping his bloody bandages from his fingers.
"I can heal more of your injuries," he finally said, breaking the silence. "If you still have the need."
"I am fine," Kuroko said softly. "I am going to see if Aomine-kun wants to eat something."
Midorima threw his bandages away and grabbed out a new roll. "I doubt it."
"It's still nice to offer something." Kuroko served a bowl of miso soup and a small portion of rice. Then poured leftover hot tea. Normally, he would have served more for Aomine, considering his monstrous, insatiable hunger, but he didn't think Aomine would be up to eating at all.
He knocked on Aomine's door, then opened it quietly when he received no answer. Kuroko didn't blink at the unsightly mess of Aomine's room, from broken glass to scattered books, CDs, and pens. The whole drawer in his room was flipped upside-down on the other side of the room, and his table was turned on its side. A lamp sat sideways near the corner, its lightbulb shattered. Torn pillow-cases fluttered around the room with stuffing drifting softly from the light breeze of the broken window.
When a member of the Generation of Miracles went into uncontrolled rage, the outcome was appalling.
Aomine sat against a wall, his back hunched with one leg bent while the other lied straight. An arm was draped across his bent leg; his head was bowed. Blood slid down his arms and knuckles, most likely from the glass.
"You have to eat something, Aomine-kun," Kuroko said, monotone. "And your cuts will get infected."
Aomine didn't answer.
With an unhappy sound with his tongue, Kuroko tried to evade the glass on the floor and safely made it by Aomine's side. He slid down next to him, setting the tray of food aside. The tea sloshed a bit, but stilled as time passed by. Leaning his head back so that it rested on the wall, Kuroko released a small sigh, but otherwise did not make another sound.
The two sat, quiet. Time did not matter. They could have sat there for hours and be oblivious to it all. Kuroko did not make a sound. Eventually, even his breathing became silent. He made no move to console the bluehead nor try to lie and claim it would be all right. He simply stayed near Aomine.
Finally, there was movement. Aomine, his hunger getting the best of him, slowly reached over to grab the bowl of miso soup. He stared at the contents that were now warm, not hot, before drinking it slowly. Kuroko watched him carefully, a crease on his forehead made by his arched eyebrows.
Aomine sighed and took the bowl away from his lips. "Thanks, Tetsu." His voice was hoarse.
Kuroko didn't comment back. Instead, he grabbed the cup of tea and offered it to him. Aomine took it. Silence, once again, took over the room.
It wasn't until several minutes before Kuroko spoke. "I have only known Kise-kun for a little more than a month." He stared at his open hands; the image of his bloody hands kept flashing through his mind. "But it is long enough to know Kise-kun is strong. He will make it."
"Of course the idiot will make it." Aomine frowned. "And when he comes back, I'll beat the shit out of him for pulling that stupid stunt."
Kuroko stood up, brushing his jeans off with his hands. "Haizaki needs Kise-kun alive, too. Kise-kun will be guaranteed alive as long as the trade happens."
Aomine nodded absently, not registering Kuroko's words since his mind was preoccupied. Kuroko left him with advice to clean his wounds.
Akashi appeared from his room just as Kuroko closed the door of Aomine's. The redhead was dressed formally, wearing a long-sleeved, black button-up with its collar stiff and proper. He was tying his red tie as he walked briskly down the hall, failing to spare a glance at Kuroko.
"Are you going somewhere, Akashi-kun?"
Akashi faltered in his steps for a moment, but then continued his quick pace. Kuroko followed him. "Yes." He tightened his tie and went for the shoe rack for his dress shoes. It was obvious he wouldn't talk more about it unless asked.
"If Akashi-kun doesn't mind me asking, where?"
"I have a meeting with the head of the secret government."
Midorima visibly stiffened.
Akashi grabbed his coat and hat. Kuroko noticed scissors sticking out from his coat pocket. "The latest I will return will be tomorrow morning. Tetsuya, if Daiki happens to fail his duties, take over the rest of Tokyo temporarily." He left without another word.
Kuroko stared at the closed, front door with discontent. His mind was reeling at how much Akashi had reverted back to his cold, cruel self in a day. This was not the person he had trained with at one in the morning, nor the person that could not deal with children. This was the Akashi Seijuro from the beginning, who treated him with nothing more than interest, as if Kuroko was just his scientific experiment.
No, even with his cool and shielded self, there was something different in Akashi's eyes, and Kuroko could not interpret it, but he knew he did not like it. There was something brewing under his heterochromatic eyes—failure? Regret?
Everybody was more than upset at Kise's capture, but it seemed everybody had their way of dealing with it.
Kuroko certainly knew how he would deal with it. Grabbing his coat as well, the tealhead set out for the woods. All the while, Midorima eyed him with a subtle frown.
Kuroko leaned back against the tree with a thud. The large tree he chose covered the sun, but he could see the its rays peak through the yellow leaves. Unlike most, this tree still had not lost its leaves in Kyoto's harsh winter.
Kise. Kise, the one who was captured by Haizaki because of him. He didn't understand it. Why didn't Haizaki pursue him during the battle? Why go through the trouble of a trade when he could have captured Kuroko himself? Even with the extra defense around him, Haizaki could have separated him from the Miracles.
To break the Miracles apart, a fleeting thought crossed his mind. To have them blame you for their teammate's capture. To have you willingly submit to him . . . leverage on you . . .
He shook his head, clenching his fist. Haizaki was a coward. Kuroko knew he would be going along with Haizaki's plans if he were to turn himself in, but—
"You're an idiot if you plan to go through with what you're thinking."
"Yikes." Kuroko hid a flinch. "Please don't sneak up on me like that."
Midorima cast him a wry glance, but he kept his distance from Kuroko. "I believe you are the one whom causes grief upon people with your . . . invisibility tactics." He turned his head when Kuroko did not answer. "Get rid of those disgusting, heroic thoughts. They won't help."
"I don't know what Midorima-kun is talking about."
The greenhead made a displeased sound and pushed up his glasses. "Oha Asa warned me Aquarius would be most stubborn today," he muttered. "Turning yourself in to Haizaki won't do a thing. Haizaki is one of those cowards who don't follow their word. In the end, he would have both Kise and you. Akashi will also obviously stop you before you even step out of the house."
Kuroko went rigid, but did not deny Midorima's accusation. "It is my fault Kise-kun is with Haizaki."
"It's everybody's fault," Midorima suddenly snapped. His green eyes flared angrily. "It would have happened sooner or later, even if you didn't exist. We failed to protect Kise, and that's something we all have to carry. And if you heroically think complying to the trade would help anything, you're more troublesome and stupid than I thought."
A sudden, howling wind filled in Kuroko's swallowed reply. The leaves rustled loudly. Annoyance boiled within him.
Midorima brought his jacket closer within his body and looked up to the sky, his eyes squinted and narrowed from the blinding sun. The glare of the sun reflected off his glasses. "Of course, I blame myself the most for Kise's capture." Before Kuroko could protest, Midorima went on, "Kise and Aomine were the last ones trapped in the warehouse due to their injuries and exhaustion. Had I been there and was strong enough, their injuries would be healed so they would have not been hindered."
"If you were there, you would be left behind with Kise-kun, too. You wouldn't have enough time to heal all their injuries before the wall closed."
"That may be so, but mending a small part of their injuries would have helped tremendously in their escape." Midorima took a moment to raise his left hand so that it was in front of his face. He studied his fingers and palm with scrutiny. Then he sighed. Seconds passed. Finally:
"I believe I am losing my way, Kuroko."
The tealhead followed blankly to Midorima's hand before studying Midorima's hardened face.
"Healing is an ability I was born with. Anything that had to do with broken bones, bullet wounds, cuts, or bruises were within my power to mend. I used to see it as something useful, and something that has helped the Miracles many times."
That was true. The Generation of Miracles couldn't afford to go to hospitals on almost a daily basis. That would only raise suspicions, concerns, and questions. Blood samples could suggest the Miracles were different from humans—which they were—and their fast healing could cause alarm. In addition, hospitals took too long. Without Midorima's ability, the Generation of Miracles would have many scars on their bodies, and they would have to move several times to cool down suspicions.
"I don't see it like that anymore," Midorima said flatly. He dropped his hand. "I see my ability as simply another job to do."
Kuroko was startled at the confession. "Midorima-kun, that's—"
"Repulsive? Disgusting? False? However you see it, it is the truth." He shook his head. "My ability does not save lives. It only heals the injured. Whether they live or not is entirely up to them. Healing is now just a job. I should focus more on killing the enemy."
"That is not true, Midorima-kun." Kuroko now felt anger in his veins. "And it irritates me when you say that. You save lives; I have seen it when we first encountered Haizaki's army."
Midorima scoffed. "And yet the deaths are so high?" his tone was harsh. "I mend their bodies, only to have them dead in the end. Some of them die as I heal them! I do not see the need to embrace my ability when I look at it as another worthless chore."
Kuroko's mind was reeling. How had they gotten from Kise's capture to this? Was this how Midorima truly felt every time he was more or less 'forced' to tend to their injuries? How he felt when he was on the battlefield? Was the burden of life and death too much for Midorima's shoulders?
Their failure of Kise was making everybody snap.
"My ability used to be controlled," he informed Kuroko. "I did not have control of when I should use it or not. I was the government's puppet. Everybody was, even Akashi."
"Even . . . Akashi-kun?"
"The government controlled everything. This was when I started to think nothing of my ability."
Young Midorima shuffled back several steps of the grey, ten by ten room. The room was lit very dimly, almost resembling an interrogation room, except there were no chairs or tables. And instead of people to be interrogated, there were victims.
Three, begging men were pressed up against the opposite wall of Midorima. They were much larger than Midorima, but they knew better than to underestimate the small greenhead. Even at six years-old, Midorima Shintarou excelled at many advanced courses the government set up for him. He had yet, however, to kill anybody.
The heavy, metal door—his only hope of escape—slid open automatically, and a short blond boy stumbled through. Midorima instantly recognized him. The boy was covered in various bruises, and his lip was split open. He was in obvious pain, but he still gave a cheerful grin when he saw Midorima.
He was known as Kise Ryouta, a trial member to be trained for the new Japanese group representation of the four life energies. Judging from his new injuries, he must have just gotten back from sparring with Haizaki. Midorima's lip curled in distaste. While he wanted nothing to do with Kise, he hated Haizaki even more. If he had to pick whom he would work with better, it would be Kise.
"Midorimacchi!" Kise greeted and waved. His small body sauntered over to Midorima. "Who are those guys? Why are we here?"
From the day they could speak, the government pounded the complicated Japanese language into them. The future Generation of Miracles, after all, would have to survive as diplomats to lead and take charge. At age six, they all knew complex Japanese and more kanji than an average adult learned.
The Generation of Miracles did not have one, regular childhood moment in their life.
"I know as much as you do," he said stiffly. "But their begging is starting to become annoying."
The one intercom in the room abruptly came to life, and a deep, male voice entered the room. "Shintarou. Ryouta." Kise and Midorima tried to hide their shivers. They knew that voice all too well. "The others, including Shougo, have already passed this test. We have decided from your progress you are now ready for this test."
I was not ready for this before? The six year-old greenhead could feel a swell of indignation.
"The three men you see before you are spies from America. They leaked information about our program for the past several months to our number one rival. To stop this leak, and to end the problem about their knowledge, death is the only option."
Kise was not liking the sound of this. He started to slowly back away from the fearful men.
"You are to kill these three men in any fashion you want. Keep in mind we did not disarm these men, and death is highly probable in your case. Should you die, a replacement will be taken care of immediately. We realize you two are the only ones that lack in the offensive ability field. Physical combat is crucial at this point. You may begin."
Silence filled the tense and fearful room. Their begging stopped, and the men stared at the two kids before them. Six-years-old children were supposed to kill them? They certainly knew the children's skills—they watched over their training themselves—but to ask the two to kill them? Wasn't this too much?
"What are you waiting for, Shintarou? Ryouta?" The silky, male voice boomed again, and Midorima now knew they were being watched. "Kill them."
Midorima started fidgeting with his left, bandaged hand. "Is death really the only option? We can't try to beat them into amnesia or—a-a-gh!" He collapsed onto the ground with excruciating pain. The cause of it was his wrist and ankle bracelets. Intense shocks emitted from the bracelets and into the body. Because the six children could potentially turn against the government with their abilities, and they couldn't handle this level of pain yet, it was the perfect way to control the future Generation of Miracles. They were literally slaves of the government.
Midorima lied still on the floor until the pain finally subsided.
"Don't presume you can question me, Shintarou. Do as you are told. Ryouta, do you want the same?"
Kise shook his head vigorously.
"I will not repeat myself again. Kill them."
This time, the chains that bounded the prisoners released, giving them more movement to defend themselves against Midorima and Kise. Midorima stood up the best he could and grinded his teeth. His first kill would be today.
Kise, barely wincing at his injuries, stalked forward reluctantly. Every lesson, training courses, physical combat tips ran through his head to find out what was the fastest and cleanest way in killing a man. Midorima was also analyzing the same thoughts.
The middle man snarled at the children. "I don't give a damn if they're going to be this 'Generation of Miracles'. I'm not going down without a fight. They're just children that knows a bit of fighting, anyway." He was speaking English, a foreign language to Midorima and Kise. A switchblade appeared at the man's hands. Similar weapons fell into his partners'.
Midorima decided snapping the neck would be the cleanest death. He signalled for Kise to take the left while he took the right. Whomever the middle man picked to attack, Kise or Midorima would be responsible for him.
"I'll take you down with me! America will be the one who captures the four energies!"
It ended quickly. Soon there were three, lifeless bodies sprawled across the floor. Midorima sagged down next to the last man he killed. His hands were only stained by splatters of blood from defending himself when the man went to stab him. A small cut on his cheek, but other than that, he did not sustain any new wounds.
Kise, on the otherhand, was the opposite. His old injuries slowed him down, and he managed to have the blade cut deep into his stomach before killing off the men. He slowly sat down on the floor, pushed his hand against the cut, waited. Midorima gazed at the large wound. Should he heal him? They hadn't ordered for him too, yet.
"The others put much more of a show, but you completed the job. Shintarou, heal him." The intercom went off again, this time surprising both children.
Midorima, like a robot, stumbled over to Kise, placed both hands over Kise's, and the healing process commenced.
If their leader had not ordered Midorima to heal Kise, he knew he would have left Kise to die.
"Amuse yourselves until dinner. Jingo-sama's orders." The guards pushed the two kids none too gently—but not too roughly—into their rooms.
The six children shared one, large, elegant room. Three bunk beds fit their most comfort needs. Six, colorful beanbags that matched their hair colors lined up against the wall. There were some large desks, a telephone to order food, and a refrigerator for drinks. A small bookshelf carried a few books.
Unlike most children's rooms, there were no toys. Instead, there were weight-lifting tools and weapons. Two, worn dummies sat in the way back of the room. Their use was obvious.
A grumpy, bluehead sat on his bottom bunk, swinging his legs. When he saw Kise, he jumped off and ran over.
"Kise! Are you okay? Did that stupid Haizaki do anything to you?" Aomine demanded of his close friend. He was a little taller than Kise, with a strange, dark tan.
"Oh, calm the fuck down, Daiki," a lazy boy drawled from his top bunk. "I told you I didn't hurt Ryouta that much."
The abnormally tall six-year-old on the purple beanbag stopped eating his cracker stick. He looked up at his vulgar teammate. "Jingo-san said 'fuck' was one of the words we couldn't say. It would ruin our image, right, Aka-chin?"
'Aka-chin' was directed to the shortest boy there. The redhead was seated in one of the desks with a thick book in front of him. He was studying in advanced combat he would try later. Out of the six, Akashi was the smartest six-year-old, and the strongest. Nobody in the six dared to defy him; it was obvious he would be the leader when they grow older.
"You just said it, Atsushi," Akashi replied without looking up. The redhead would have looked grown-up, if it weren't for the fact that he had to have three books stacked together on the chair so that he could reach the desk.
Kise managed to fend off Aomine. "I'm fine, Aominecchi," he whined when Aomine followed him. He flopped onto Aomine's bed since he was too lazy to climb the ladder to his own.
"I don't think so," Aomine said, sitting next to him. He started to swing his legs again. "You . . . you and Midorima took that test, huh?"
Kise's muscles tensed. He was trying to rid the images of the men's fearful yet hating expressions before he killed them. "I'm tired," he mumbled. "Lemme use your bed for awhile."
"What? No, go to your own—Kise!" Aomine tried shaking the blonde, but he was already in a deep sleep.
Kise awoke in the middle of the night at the sound of his stomach growling loudly. Apparently, he missed dinner, and someone had carried him all the way to his top bunk.
Flashes of his test appeared in his mind. The men's faces were prominent, but also Midorima's cold, yet confused face directed at him when he was injured. Did that mean Midorima would not have healed him if their leader didn't order him to?
He sighed and flipped over onto his belly. The nightlight Aomine insisted he still needed because of ghosts highlighted the tuffs of Akashi's red hair and parts of Murasakibara's purple strands. It seemed like they were truly normal children, sleeping in bunk beds with a nightlight. Though Kise knew they were anything but. He sometimes imagined their different lives; the freedom he could have.
"Neh, Midorimacchi?" he whispered. Their bunk beds were set in a way he could talk to the greenhead without raising his voice. Midorima was also on a top bunk. "Midorimacchi?"
Midorima moved for a bit before mumbling, "Mm, go to sleep, Kise."
"Would you do anything Jingo-san asks you to?"
The question woke up the sleepy six-year-old. "Of course."
"Anything? You would kill me if Jingo-san asked?" Kise seemed distraught.
"We were born to kill and be pawns for the government, Kise," Midorima murmured without answering his question directly. "Our abilities are in their control. We don't have a say in anything. That's what Akashi said anyway." The six-year-old was still too young to know much about the government.
Kise mulled over Midorima's statements carefully. "But doesn't Midorimacchi want to do what normal kids do? I want to know what it's like to play on a playground."
"And get dirty and act immaturely?" Midorima rubbed his eyes with a small hand. "Jingo-san says it won't help us if we keep wishing. We can't do anything. I'm sleepy. 'Night."
"This is your last chance, Ryouta."
Years have passed, and the voice still could make Kise and Midorima flinch. They were now in a ring, much older and mature. Kise's strength has developed more, and Midorima's ability to heal bigger wounds increased. However, the blond still had not activated his ability. Despite this, the government was willing to let him have a few more chances to join the Generation of Miracles. They too were not fond of Haizaki.
"Defeat Shintarou. Shintarou, show no mercy until he collapses."
Midorima slid into stance. Now at eleven years old, he knew more about the best techniques to finish an opponent quickly. He also trained himself to deal with speed after sparring with Aomine many times, and was slowly learning how to deal with long-range abilities, such as Akashi's annoying flames. He was teaching himself how to ground himself stable with the floor against Murasakibara's winds, and found out he was not to show his trump cards immediately in a fight with Haizaki as the latter would steal his moves.
But he learned nothing from Kise. Kise only showed determination. He was a copycat, but only physically. Haizaki's skill was much more advanced.
Midorima defended. Then attacked.
And just like their first-kill test many years ago, it ended quickly. This time, Kise was on the ground, unconscious. Midorima stood as the victor, panting hard and clutching his ribs where Kise managed to sneak in a monstrous kick. He, like always, did not heal himself because he was not told to.
The male voice spoke again, "Heal yourself, but leave Ryouta be. What a shame; Kise Ryouta will not be part of the Generation of Miracles' training. Seijuro, Shougo, Atsushi, Daiki, and you are now officially the Generation of Miracles."
Midorima left the ring. He did not once look back to Kise, nor regret he did not use his ability for a better use. If his leader said he could not use his ability, he would not use it.
His ability was nothing to him. If it all comes down to it, his ability belonged to Jingo Akiyama, the leader of the secret government. Midorima's only job was to use it.
Midorima stood now at thirteen. He was placed in a large room that contained several bodies. One would think the bodies were dead, but Midorima's acute senses of the human body told him differently. Their chests were still moving up and down, and their eyes were wide open in pain. The smell might as well have been death, though. Infected, bloody wounds decorated each body and spread around the room.
This is why they wanted me to wear a mask and gloves, Midorima thought, fingering his doctor mask.
"This is your final test, Shintarou. We will be releasing all of you tomorrow to obtain the four energies if you pass this test. Your ability will be tested. Save as many bodies as you can until you feel you are at your limit."
Save as many bodies . . . His leader was addressing them as if these humans were only dolls. This meant he knew Midorima could not save all these lives in the room. Midorima would have to watch these humans slowly die before his eyes.
Your ability is not meant to save lives, Midorima reminded himself. It is for Jingo-san's use. It is to preserve bodies so that they can risk their lives for us again.
So, just as his leader ordered, Midorima obediently started the process. He watched as the ones in the back choked on their last breath; watched their eyes fade into bleak emptiness; saw their bodies go slack from the lack of blood. And yet he kept going, because he was ordered to.
When Midorima was only halfway done and on the verge of passing out, his leader demanded for him to stop. Midorima did, even though there were still so many humans he could heal to keep them from death. He stopped, and he was praised for passing.
It wasn't until later did Midorima see the value of his ability.
"Why are you telling me this?" Kuroko asked softly, listening to Midorima's subdued whisperings of tales. He patiently waited as Midorima talked, displeased with this 'Jingo' person, and angry at Kise's treatment. The Generation of Miracles were basically raised like lab rats. And they had been okay with it?
Akashi mentioned meeting the head of the secret government. Did this mean meeting 'Jingo'?
"Akashi changed my views of my ability when we were released," Midorima said, ignoring his question. "He told me I was to use it when I thought fit. Now, however . . . It seems to be useless. Despite my gift, death is inevitable, so I am thinking I should not see it as anything else other than a job I must do." He fingered his glasses before sighing, now answering Kuroko's question. "I am telling you this to give you a glimpse of the history we come from. For some reason I could possibly not care about, you were not raised in this background. Your ability was and is yours; you were never controlled. You will be completely surrendering your freedom when you go to Haizaki. Haizaki will control your mind, take over any defiant thought and have you kill innocent victims with your ability.
"You will not relieving any guilt of yours by turning to Haizaki. Instead, you will live with a stronger burden of being controlled at will, of denying the lives you could have spared if you had not turned yourself in." Midorima released a strong, heavy breath. "I also tell you this because one day . . . the Generation of Miracles might truly break."
He held up a bandaged finger to silence Kuroko.
"There will be a time that we could simply not care anymore. This was how we were built. Victory is everything, and yet we've been facing failures for the past few weeks. Losing Kise has already pushed us further down the path, and it won't be much longer to see Aomine change. Believe it or not Kuroko, you are an important member of this team." Looking straight in the eyes of Kuroko, Midorima solemnly pushed his hands in his pockets with clenched fists. "If we lose you, we will not be relieved Kise is brought back—if Haizaki even keeps his word. We will see it as another failure, and we will be pushed further down the path. In the end, the only thing we might care for is victory."
Victory was everything. He heard of the phrase. Everybody knew of Teikou Middle School; was this Akashi's part of emphasizing this motto? Akashi believed winning was everything.
Kuroko opened his dry mouth, not quite able to form the words. "I—still don't quite understand it," he said. "Your philosophy, or your opinion of your gift, but . . ." Kuroko dropped down to grab a small, but sharp branch that came from a naked tree. He pressed the sharp end against the soft skin of his arm.
The pain was sharp, and he winced but kept going until he drew blood. Then he proceeded to slash the branch downward. This created a large gash.
Midorima retaliated by rushing forward. "What are you doing, you idiot?" he shouted, his composure slipping. He knocked the branch away from Kuroko's hand and grabbed the injured arm. Almost instantaneously, Midorima started to heal his wound. Kuroko watched in wonder as the cut closed. "Why would you do that? That must have been one of the most stupid actions I have ever seen."
"To prove a point," Kuroko said this blankly. "The way you say it's just a job to heal somehow pisses me off, Midorima-kun. The worst case scenerio would be I would have bled to death if you did not treat it. When you say it's just a job, it seems you don't care for the wellbeing of the team. But you do." He gestured to his arm.
"Kuroko, you . . ."
"It's true I considered turning myself in to Haizaki," Kuroko continued. "And Midorima-kun might have talked me out of that, but I am not going to wait long to save Kise-kun. It isn't Midorima-kun's fault because Haizaki took Kise-kun for me. But it doesn't matter because we are all going to think of a plan to stop Haizaki, right?" The tealhead tilted his head, giving a small smile toward the astonished Midorima.
Clouds now covered the bright sun, but Kuroko could still see its leftover rays. Temperature had been going down for the past hour, and it was now the appropriate temperature for Kyoto's winter. Wearing nothing but a thin coat to protect him from the harsh winds, Kuroko felt it was about time to go inside again. Midorima, dressed similarily, felt the same.
He stuck his nose up in the air and pushed up his glasses. "Hmph. Ridiculous."
"And even though Midorima-kun has an odd way of showing it, thank you for attempting to cheer me up."
His face colored a light red. "I was not trying to cheer you up!"
I am sorry for the late update. People who know I do story news on my profile expected this late update, haha. I actually wanted to discuss a little something:
Know that I write for myself. It does not matter if I had one review, or one thousand haters, I write for myself. Writing is supposed to be an escape or a fun hobby, not for popularity.
Having said that, I can't help but feel down when everything was going great until I receive multiple negative reviews (that I have deleted). One of them saying in a PM:
'ur whisper story idk why it gets lots of reviews. my story is much better. yours is all just abut fighting and theres no char development. well just wanted to say that bye!'
Agh, well, your grammar might be for one why people are not attracted by your story. Needless to say, I did not answer, nor did I have it affect my writing. Then I got some criticism reviews (which were polite, so I was very grateful), noting more on the character development and how predictable the story is. I got similar reviews on my Betrayal in its Most Simplest Form. I didn't mind the criticism, and I am seriously, seriously taking them into consideration.
But, about the Generation of Miracles' development:
Do know that in my stories, they will be side characters. Maybe a little more, but nothing else than that. Akashi and Kuroko are my main characters that are to be focused on Betrayal and Whispering Fireworks. Hence, the character tags I've put.
Anyway, I've received a few more hate, ANONYMOUS (funny how that is) reviews, and now I am seriously doubting my writing styles. I am sorry if it is that horrible, and I am sorry if I don't plan plots well. For now, I will simply stop and think. I will still write this story on my private Word document, because writing is just an escape for me, but whether I post it or not frequently will be decided later.