Still, I'd do it.
And inflict that cruelty.
It was too late to turn back now—I'd already set my course.
If, as a result, I was able to liberate this wandering ghost, trapped in a cycle of unproductive behavior, this ghost with her two pathological collections—then in a certain sense, it might almost be an act of mercy.
But I couldn't let that make me feel better about it.
That would be unacceptable.
A benevolent end in no way justifies the means—Numachi's activities happened to help people too, and this was no different.
Benevolence and justice need to be willed, it mustn't ever be any other way—I wasn't trying to save her.
Simply put, I could very well have ended up like her—so yeah.
Since I couldn't stand it.
I wanted to put her down. No more, no less.
“As her former archrival, I want to put an end to her.”
If I didn't, someone else would.
Time would take care of it, just as it did the problems that high schoolers brought to Numachi. If I left it alone, Mister Oshino—or maybe Kaiki—at any rate, someone would take care of her.
But I was going to be the one to do it.
I wanted to.
I won't say it felt like my duty, like I had to do it—no, when we really get down to it, it's probably much simpler than that.
I just wanted to—properly beat the woman.
I wanted to beat Numachi.
I wanted to be sure—that she wasn't me.
I had to make sure.
“Sorry that took so long. Ready to get started?”
Numachi came back from the locker room wearing a different basketball shoe on each foot—one of the shoes appeared to belong to a boy. She had to find something that fit her devil's foot, so it was hardly surprising.
It wasn't just her borrowed basketball shoes, though.
She was unbalanced across the board.
Unnatural.
Unstable.
And so, while I felt like I could find all sorts of reasons why I couldn't leave her be—more would present themselves the more I thought about it—I only needed one.
Yes.
I wanted a showdown with her.
Despite the fact that I'm not much of a fighter, that's what I wanted.
That and nothing more.
To settle, once and for all, the winner, the loser.
Either way, I didn't have the right words to convince Numachi to pass on—I had no message for her.
No words to send her on her way.
All I could do was let my game speak for me.
I gently bounced the ball as I walked at a deliberate pace towards Numachi, who stood on the free-throw line once again.
Every step felt like it took me further and further past the point of no return, but I couldn't turn back now.
I crouched down in the ready position facing Numachi and held the ball in front of my chest.
“You know, it's funny, Kanbaru. Back in middle school, people always said we were archrivals. But this is the first time we've played a real game against each other.”
“Is it? I feel like I remember playing against each other a million times.
“We had scrimmages and joint practices, but we never faced off in a regular season game. I played against Higasa's team—any number of times in fact... But fate is really something, isn't it. Even playing in the same tournaments, our teams never faced off.”
“I can't believe it... I somehow felt like we'd spent all of middle school competing... We must have sensed something in each other, and not just because our playing styles were diametrically opposed.”
“But once you graduated, you forgot all about me, didn't you? You only had eyes for Senjogahara.”
“I definitely forgot. All about you,” I said firmly.
As harshly as I could.
Yet I added firmly, so as to stamp out my massive reservations, to do away with any last hesitation:
“But then I remembered.”
“…”
“I'll forget all about today as well, and then remember it again somewhere down the line—hey, Numachi. What do you think about the saying, 'It's better to regret doing something than to regret not doing it'?”
“That's just the whining of a whipped dog,” she declared. “Regretting not doing something is obviously better.”
“Right. I think so too. Only some irresponsible third party who hasn't tasted the remorse of 'having gone and done it' would suggest otherwise.
And yet, I said, my eyes locked on Numachi's.
“And yet—what's best is to do something and not regret it.”
Tup.
And with those words—I sprang into action.
To be precise, I tried to spring into action.
Because Numachi was all over me in an instant, covering me with more than enough pressure to keep me hemmed in—I'd barely twitched, but she recognized instantly that play had begun.
I was facing Numachi, no mistake.
At the same time, I felt keenly what a joke our one-on-one the other day had been—it had been child's play, nothing but an extension of our old scrimmages and joint practices.
This was the big game.
No, it was more than that.
She was giving her devilish power free rein—this was Roka Numachi's real-deal Quagmire Defense.
A diabolical defense.
“Ugk...”
I hadn't been taking her lightly, by any means, but this was so overwhelming that all I could do was groan.
Yes.
Numachi wasn't going to let me get away with anything.
I became keenly aware that the nickname Can't-Jump Swamp only captured half the truth—it wasn't just about jumping, she wasn't going to let me do anything but groan.
She wasn't going to let me dribble, or shoot.
She was covering me closer than a faceguard, stuck to me so tightly that she reminded me of nothing so much as a sticker.
A particularly sticky sticker stuck onto my bare skin—that might take a piece of me with it, if I could peel it off at all.
Numachi didn't say a word.
Which was only natural. Nothing to say in the middle of a game—she was playing for keeps, too. With all the tenacity of someone who's come back from the dead.
Everything she was, everything she had was riding on that defense, while I had nothing to lose, just an itch to scratch—no, scratch that!
I did have something to lose.
If I didn't beat her, I'd lose—lose sight of what it truly meant to be me.
I refuse—to let you or anyone else manipulate my life.
Besides my momentary groan, we didn't say a word to each other, but nevertheless we were deep in conversation.
When all is said and done, I guess Numachi and I were both athletes to the core—God, how I do love basketball.
To be able to engage so deeply—with literally anyone.
With someone I can't stand, with someone I can't understand, even with someone who's dead.
“Fhh...”
Exhaling the oxygen from my body, I took two steps away from the basket—however immobilized I may have been, it was only in terms of forward motion. No one can mount a perfect 360-degree defense all by themselves, and in retreating I gave Numachi the slip.
Though it's probably more accurate to say that she let it slide—and simply didn't dog me.
At that distance, a basket was no sure thing. I wasn't a complete novice when it came to three-pointers, but my chances of sinking the shot were drastically reduced.
And I wasn't about to win on some desperate gamble.
That would be like winning a coin toss—who the hell could be proud of that?!
This was a showdown!
With my old archrival—no!
My current archrival!
And her eyes were asking me—what have you got up your sleeve?
Having taken two steps with the ball, I couldn't move any further. It's the first rule that anyone learns in basketball—traveling.
My opponent was an aberration who'd been roving the highways and byways of the entire nation, but traveling would be an unbearable way for our contest to be decided.
In other words, if I wanted to settle things with Numachi once and for all, I had no choice but to break through her defense and drive to the basket.
Yet I'd experienced firsthand the fearsome difficulty level of doing so. To put it plainly, it wasn't humanly possible to get past Numachi with the ball in your hands. That said, I had no intention of praying to God—much less imploring the Devil—for help.
Forget relying on them.
I have someone else I can rely on right here.
Numachi.
You're strong.
I've never been exposed to such a fierce defense, even at the nationals when I was a freshman.
Sure, you're borrowing the power of a devil right now—but even without that, you'd probably be among the greatest players in Japan.
The despair you must have felt when you broke your leg—your despair at the enormity of your loss. But I bet it wasn't the injury itself that you were so broken up about.