[Congratulations!
New skill acquired: Pull-Up Jump Shot]
The notification hit like a victory bell, and for one perfect moment, Kogure felt nothing but pure triumph.
A second offensive skill.
Another path to improvement.
Another—
Then exhaustion crashed down like a building collapsing.
His legs went boneless.
His shooting arm hung limp.
Kogure doubled over, hands braced on his knees, dragging air into burning lungs.
Sweat dripped from his jaw onto sun-baked concrete, each drop leaving a dark circle that evaporated almost instantly.
The system had given him the skill, but his body had paid the price.
“You’ve got it down, Kogure.” The manager’s voice seemed to come from far away.
“Keep practicing to refine it.
I need to get back to the store—if you have questions later, come find me anytime.”
“Thank you, Manager-san.” Kogure forced himself upright, bowing despite the trembling in his core.
“I couldn’t have learned it this fast without your help.”
The manager waved off the gratitude, but he looked pleased.
Teaching the next generation clearly satisfied something in him—the competitor who’d come so close to a prefecture championship, now passing knowledge forward instead of letting it die.
Matsui pushed himself up from his tree with a groan, stretching his massive frame.
“Next time you organize something like this, let me know.
Haven’t had this much fun in years.”
He rattled off his home address, then shuffled off with the manager, both moving like men twice their age after hours of basketball in the afternoon heat.
Alone on the court, Kogure checked his system panel.
Stamina: 66—progress bar at 98%.
So close.
He could rest.
Head straight to Shohoku and show up for official practice like a normal person.
Or he could maximize efficiency.
Kogure grabbed his bag and started jogging toward school.
His legs protested immediately.
The accumulated fatigue from strength training, skill grinding, and the pickup games sat heavy in his muscles.
Each stride felt like pushing through mud.
But the progress bar was climbing.
98.5%.
99%.
99.5%.
Come on.
Almost there.
He was passing the school gates when it still hadn’t triggered.
His face flushed red, not from exertion, from the body overheating as it reached absolute limits.
His vision started tunneling at the edges.
Just a little more—
[Stamina: 66 → 67]
The transformation hit like lightning.
Energy flooded back through depleted reserves.
The burning in his lungs vanished.
The tunnel vision cleared instantly, the world snapping back into sharp focus.
God, that feeling never gets old.
For a brief, inappropriate moment, Kogure’s thoughts went sideways.
If I could time this during…
no.
Bad brain.
Focus.
He shook his head, dismissing the distraction.
Some applications of the system were better left unexplored.
The Shohoku basketball gym stood ahead, its doors firmly closed.
Kogure tried the handle anyway.
Locked, obviously.
I need a key to this place.
Normally, the basketball manager would have access.
But Shohoku didn’t have a manager—the team’s dismal record meant no female students volunteered for the position.
Hard to blame them for not wanting to manage a squad that got eliminated in the first round every year.
That meant the key was with Captain Ikeda.
And maybe Coach Anzai had a spare, though catching the coach outside of official practice hours was like catching smoke.
Footsteps approached from behind.
“Kogure?
You’re here early.”
Ikeda Yuho walked up, gym bag slung over one shoulder, looking mildly surprised.
Official practice didn’t start until 3:30—Kogure was almost thirty minutes early.
“Captain.” Kogure straightened.
“I wanted to get extra work in.
Need to improve as fast as possible if I’m going to contribute to the team.”
Something shifted in Ikeda’s expression—surprise giving way to approval.
“Good mindset.” He pulled out the key ring and unlocked the gym.
“That’s the kind of attitude we need.”
The door swung open, revealing Shohoku’s practice facility.
It wasn’t fancy—no climate control, no state-of-the-art equipment—but compared to outdoor courts with rusty hoops and cracked asphalt, it was paradise.
Smooth hardwood floors.
Proper baskets with actual nets.
An equipment room, locker room, even a small video room for film study.
This was where champions were supposed to be built.
Kogure grabbed a basketball from the rack and immediately started drilling.
Dribbling patterns, footwork, the fundamental repetitions that built muscle memory.
With the system tracking his progress, training never felt boring.
Every rep mattered.
Every percentage point visible.
Across the gym, Ikeda was warming up—but Kogure caught him glancing over periodically, studying his movements.
“Hey, Kogure.” Ikeda bounced a ball between his hands.
“You didn’t show everything in yesterday’s scrimmage, did you?
Want to run some one-on-one?”
Kogure’s pulse quickened.
Live defense meant double proficiency gains for his skills.
And if Ikeda had any learnable techniques…
Ikeda grinned.
“Alright, here’s the game: ones and twos.
Regular baskets worth one point, threes worth two.
First to ten wins.
Offense-defense switches every possession regardless of make or miss.
You take it first.”
He tossed Kogure the ball.
Kogure caught it at the top of the key, immediately checking his defender.
Ikeda spread his arms wide, crouched low, eyes locked on the ball.
Third-year experience.
Physical maturity.
This wouldn’t be easy.
Ikeda lunged forward suddenly, trying to steal it at the check.
Kogure’s max reaction processed the movement before it fully developed—he pulled the ball back, pivoted, went behind the back to escape the pressure.
The dribble forced Ikeda’s weight to shift.
Kogure attacked the opening with his crossover step—plant, shift, cross, explode.
Ikeda recovered fast, his superior speed and explosiveness letting him stay in front.
But Kogure had momentum now, forcing Ikeda to backpedal toward the basket.
Three dribbles from the hoop, Kogure planted hard.
SCREECH.
His new pull-up jumper.
Ikeda tried to close the gap, but he was a step too late.
By the time he jumped to contest, Kogure was already at the peak of his release.
Swish.
“One-zero,” Kogure called.
[Crossover: Proficiency +2]
[Pull-Up Jump Shot: Proficiency +2]
Double gains against live defense.
Exactly what he’d hoped for.
Ikeda’s eyebrows shot up.
“A pull-up jumper?
Didn’t know you had that in your bag!”
But he looked excited rather than concerned.
As captain of a perpetually struggling team, stronger teammates were pure upside.
“Alright, my turn.” Ikeda caught Kogure’s pass outside the arc.
“Watch yourself.”
The captain started probing immediately—smooth, controlled dribbling while reading Kogure’s stance.
Then a sharp hesitation move, followed by an explosive change of direction.
Kogure’s feet shuffled to stay in front, but his defensive fundamentals were weak.
Ikeda used the physical mismatch—stronger, faster, more experienced—to simply drive past him.
One step into the lane, Ikeda absorbed Kogure’s late contest with his body, finished the layup through contact.
“One-one.”
Kogure grimaced.
His offense was improving rapidly, but defense remained a glaring weakness.
They traded the ball.