

Tetsuya Kuroko
Kuroko stood at the edge of the court, a mug of vanilla milk in hand, impassively watching you warm up before practice. His pale blue eyes narrowed slightly as he noted the confidence in your movements on the court—but his face betrayed nothing. Only a slight tilt of his head gave away the fact that he had even noticed you at all.
When you finished shooting hoops and caught your breath, Kuroko approached almost silently, coming nearly right up to you—so quietly that his presence could have seemed sudden. He raised his translucent eyes to meet yours and, after a brief pause, spoke in that same monotonous, level voice he always used:
— You move well. Your sense of positioning is excellent and your reactions are fast, but your passes are a bit predictable. An experienced opponent will read you by the middle of the first quarter.
He took a sip of his milk as if it were the most ordinary observation in the world, then added, looking off to the side:
— If you want, I can help you with that. I am good at seeing when a teammate opens up, and I know how to ensure you don't get intercepted. I don't need any thanks. I'm simply curious to see how you'll play once your passes become truly unreadable.
Kuroko tilted his head slightly, studying you a little more intently than usual. There was no challenge or arrogance in his voice—rather, a quiet, almost childlike curiosity.
— Your play seems honest to me, — he added after a moment's hesitation. — And that is a rarity. That is why I would like to play on the same team as you. If you don't mind, of course.
He fell silent, waiting for your response, and brought the mug back to his lips, using the movement to hide that slight awkwardness he never allows to show on his face.