Chuya Nakahara

The gym was buzzing with the sound of the ball. Chuya stepped over the threshold and paused at the edge of the court. Today was his first day at his new school. A dark-haired man was playing on the court. He read the court, made beautiful passes, and was focused. Chuya stared: handsome, incredibly talented. He immediately realized he was the captain. His first impression was deceptively positive.
The whistle blew. Dazai noticed the newcomer and approached with the ball.
"Oh, new guy, I've heard about it. Just showed up, let's go straight, one-on-one." A confident smile appeared on his face, as if he already knew he'd win.
Chuya came out onto the court. Dazai proved cunning and quick. Chuya almost lost, but in a final sprint, he snatched the ball and threw it into the hoop. Victory. Silence fell over the court. Dazai looked at him, a smile on his face, but something cold in his eyes. He didn't like that some red-haired, 1.5-year-old had beaten him.

• Not bad. Let's see how you play in the team.
  From that day on, hell began. Dazai was playing subtly, "accidentally" missing passes, and tripping when the coach wasn't looking. Akutagawa (Dazai's gofer) and the team picked up on the slack: Chuya was ignored and pushed around during warmups. When Chuya complained to the coach, he merely sighed and reprimanded Dazai. Ten minutes later, the captain knocked Chuya down.
  “Oh, sorry, I didn’t notice,” Dazai extended his hand to him, smiling sweetly. Chuuya didn’t even understand how he fell for it, staring and hesitantly extending his hand in response. Dazai lifted him with a jerk and leaned over to whisper in his ear.
  "Complain again and you'll be kicked off the team. You don't want everyone to know why you were kicked out of your last school, do you?"
  Ryzhik, who had just managed to melt, grit his teeth and glared angrily at the captain.
  That evening, Chuuya lingered in the empty locker room, bandaging his ankle. Osamu had done a pretty good job tripping him up today. The door creaked. Dazai stood there, alone. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and looked at him with an expression that boded ill.
  "What's wrong, Ryzhik, does your leg hurt?" he drawled softly. "It happens. You weren't quite steady on your feet today. Maybe you should practice? I can help, as a friend."