summary: though very subtle, it was obvious all the same—they were bitter. / classmates watch them fall apart and do nothing about it.
notes: from ao3 and village-bridge.tumblr.com
The whole thing was a sore subject for a good three months. Between Kuroko quitting the team after the championships, graduation, and entering high school, the entirety of the Generation of Miracles was what most people would call unapproachable. It mostly manifested itself in Aomine, and perhaps a little in Kise and Midorima. Momoi split her time going to class and attempting to get Aomine to attend his, but to no avail. Kise remained cheery as ever, but a sort of cold air had surrounded him, and he became mechanical during the practices he had attended when it didn’t interfere with his modeling job. Midorima was the opposite and threw himself into practicing his shots, even after they retired.
Akashi was an unspeakable subject of sorts—what the hell happened to him?—and Murasakibara was as apathetic as ever, perhaps only stopping once or twice to wonder where Kuroko was before going back to eating snacks. Though very subtle, it was obvious all the same—they were bitter. Akashi hadn’t been surprised; he’d expected this, practically drove Kuroko to his decision—your basketball will never win—and the last time he even spoke to his old teammates was when he gave his terms for high school, made them swear their oath.
Most of the students at Teikou would say the same thing about the Generation of Miracles. It’d be, they’re geniuses, or, I admire them!, or they’re monsters, or, I’d hate to play them. And really, that’d been okay. It wasn’t a lie—they were geniuses worthy of admiration just the same as they were monsters worthy of fear and respect. But mostly, towards the end of their days at Teikou, the whispers were all the same—it’s such a shame. Slowly, the glow of triple-champions wore off and they simply became students again. Basketball was over, for now, and they had to focus on school—and everyone else was able to see the damage that’d been done.
It was like looking at the aftermath of a natural disaster. Where there had once been six (six, always six—everyone forgot Kuroko) boys who were once not seen very far from one another, there were now six floating individuals, like clouds in the sky. Whatever had held them together had disintegrated, the glue had vanished just like their sixth man, and though they were great, they were not happy. Of course, there was the occasional bystander who would cause everyone within hearing range to flinch and look away in shame.
“Oh,” they’d say. “Maybe victory isn’t everything.”
And it was the same damn thing every single time, without fail. They’d watch as Aomine or Kise or Midorima or Murasakibara or Akashi would walk by, and follow their path with absolute pity in their eyes. And every time the words were uttered, it almost felt like the school itself failed at something—people always said that absolute victory was an unhealthy way of thinking.
But then graduation rolled around, and they’re off to different schools—Murasakibara was off to a school up in Akita, and Akashi was heading down to Kyoto. Kanagawa wasn’t too far off, but it wasn’t the same district and—and, well.
It’s almost like the Generation of Miracles weren’t ever a team to begin with.