[Pull-Up Jump Shot: Proficiency +2]
[Pull-Up Jump Shot: LV1→LV2]
The notification blazed across Kogure’s vision, followed immediately by two more:
[Explosive Power: 52→53]
[New Attribute Unlocked: Bounce]
[Your bounce attribute has reached panel threshold and will now be displayed!]
Warmth flooded Kogure’s legs—a tingling sensation in his calves and thighs as the system integrated the improvements.
He flexed experimentally, feeling the difference.
More spring in his step.
Higher vertical reach.
Leveling up the pull-up jumper improved three connected attributes: mid-range shooting, explosive power, and bounce.
The system rewarded skill mastery with tangible physical gains.
Progress.
Real, measurable progress.
Tweeeeet!
Captain Ikeda’s whistle cut through the gym.
Players jogged over, forming a loose line.
Ikeda surveyed them, satisfaction evident.
“Much better today.
You all stayed focused—I barely saw anyone slacking off.” He paused.
“Practice is over.
Before dismissal, let’s clean up!”
The team scattered into organized chaos.
Some gathered stray basketballs, wiping them down before storing them in the rack.
Others grabbed mops, attacking sweat spots on the hardwood.
Working together, they restored the gym in minutes.
“Good work.
Dismissed!”
Most players bolted for the exit—enthusiasm for hard work didn’t yet extend to voluntary extra training.
Soon only three remained: Ikeda, Kogure, and Akagi.
“You two staying?” Ikeda asked.
“We’re putting in extra work,” Kogure said.
The captain’s smile widened.
“That’s what I like to hear.
Kogure—” He dug into his pocket, produced a key ring.
“Gym keys.
You’re responsible for them now.
Lock up when you’re done.”
Ikeda had zero interest in extra practice himself.
He tossed the keys to Kogure with visible relief and headed for the exit, steps light with newfound freedom.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Silence settled over the gym.
Just Kogure and Akagi under the fluorescent lights.
“How long are you planning to stay?” Akagi asked.
Kogure checked the wall clock.
Five PM.
“Until I can’t anymore.
You?”
“Same.” Akagi cracked his knuckles.
“What should I work on?”
“What do you think you need?”
“To be a real center, I need post moves.
Not just strength.”
Perfect.
Kogure wanted to see if he could learn from Akagi—trigger the system’s skill acquisition mechanism.
In the original timeline, post-up play had been Akagi’s signature offense.
“Then let’s work on your post game.”
They took positions on the court.
Akagi backed Kogure down from the elbow.
Ball secure in both hands, Akagi lowered his center of gravity.
Back muscles tensed.
Every ounce of force coiled, ready to explode.
Kogure pressed close—left hand on Akagi’s hip, right hand harassing the ball.
Fighting for position.
Akagi surged backward.
Thud.
The impact drove the air from Kogure’s lungs.
Even braced and low, he skidded backward.
Thirty-pound weight difference, pure physics.
Akagi prepared to surge again—
Kogure pulled the chair.
Stepped aside completely.
Akagi’s eyes widened, but momentum carried him.
He stumbled, arms windmilling, and crashed to the floor.
“Akagi.” Kogure extended a hand, pulled him up.
“Don’t commit all your strength.
Regulate your power, stay balanced.
One counter-move and you’re on the ground.”
Disappointment settled in Kogure’s gut, not at Akagi’s mistake, but at the absence.
No system notification.
No skill learning prompt.
Which meant Akagi’s post technique hadn’t reached the threshold for acquisition.
Made sense.
Akagi was still raw, all power and no polish.
Even in the canon timeline, Akagi only had three reliable post moves—the main reason Yamato had shut him down so effectively.
According to Aota’s flashbacks, Akagi had played since childhood but reached high school with crude fundamentals.
No coach.
No proper training.
Just self-taught grit.
And Coach Anzai couldn’t be counted on.
Not yet.
Even in the future, Anzai would focus on Sakuragi and Rukawa, rarely giving technical guidance to Akagi, Mitsui, or Miyagi.
“Got it.” Akagi’s face flushed, though his dark complexion hid it.
“I’ll be more careful.”
“The core of post play isn’t just bulldozing,” Kogure continued.
“It’s using your body advantage to create space.
Feel the defender’s position, their center of gravity.
Use precise force to guide their momentum.
Make them dance to your rhythm without realizing it.
Then attack when they’re off-balance.”
Akagi stared.
“How do you know all this?”
Kogure shrugged.
Years of watching basketball analysis videos helped.
“Read a lot.
Watch a lot.
Let’s try again.”
This time, Akagi used controlled power—three-quarter strength.
Backed Kogure down methodically, then spun for a drive to the basket.
With maxed reaction, Kogure planted and went for the gamble steal.
His hand flashed out, stripping the ball clean before Akagi could raise it.
“Don’t telegraph your moves.
Keep me guessing.”
Akagi nodded, reset, tried again.
This time he adjusted.
Used his size to gain position, spun smoother, and exploded to the rim for a thunderous dunk.
Kogure had anticipated the move—his reaction speed let him read it—but his body couldn’t match his mind.
Too light, too weak, defensive skills underdeveloped.
He got dunked on cleanly.
Which was fine.
Kogure had no intention of focusing on defense.
With Akagi anchoring the paint, Shohoku’s defense would be adequate.
What they desperately lacked was offense.
Kogure intended to become their most reliable scorer through sheer volume of work.
After thirty minutes of post-up drills, they split up for individual training.
Kogure claimed the far half court and resumed his combination: crossover into pull-up jumper.
Without a defender, proficiency only increased by one point per rep instead of two.
Every clean rep, the bar ticked upward.
That progression was addictive.
Each increment of improvement felt like a shot of adrenaline.
At this rate, he’d gladly live in this gym.
On the opposite end, Akagi grabbed dumbbells and started strength training.
Without a defender for his post drills, raw power work made sense.
Even training separately, competitive energy crackled between them.
Each pushed harder knowing the other was grinding.
Time dissolved into pure effort.
Dribble, step, gather, rise, release.
The rhythm became meditative.
Swish.
Reset.
Again.
Outside the windows, darkness deepened.
Inside, fluorescent lights blazed.
Their jerseys became soaked, clinging to skin.
Sweat pooled on the floor beneath them.
Finally, Kogure stopped.
[Crossover: LV3→LV4]
[Ball Handling: 65→67]
[Explosive Power: 53→54]
Five hundred proficiency points invested, and the crossover had evolved.
His core dribbling move now reached elite level.
Kogure pulled up his full status panel:
SYSTEM: Hard Work Pays Off (Highschool Basketball Version)
Name: Kogure Kiminobu
Age: 15
Height: 173cm | Wingspan: 178cm | Weight: 57kg
Physical Attributes:
Strength: 51 | Speed: 62 | Stamina: 67 | Flexibility: 74
Reaction: MAX | Injury Resistance: MAX
Explosive Power: 54 | Bounce: 51
Offensive Skills:
Ball Handling: 67 | Passing: 58 | Layup: 75 | Close Range: 62
Mid-Range: 61 | Three-Point: 70 | Free Throw: 72 | Driving: 63
Defensive Skills:
Steals: 55 | Perimeter Defense: 57 | Defensive Rebounding: 50
Skills:
Crossover: LV4 (0/1000)
Pull-Up Jump Shot: LV2 (110/200)
Status: Fatigued
Overall Rating: Weak Team Starter
Note: Attributes below 50 are not displayed.
Twenty points of total attribute gains in a single day.
Incredible progress, though sustainable only because his base was so low.
Once his stats climbed higher, the growth curve would flatten.
Diminishing returns were inevitable.
Kogure checked the clock and winced.
Thirty minutes past his intended stopping point.
Two and a half hours of extra training total.
“We should clean up,” he called to Akagi.
They wiped down equipment and mopped the floor again—couldn’t leave the gym a mess when the captain had entrusted him with keys.
Outside, Kogure locked the door.
The keys felt significant in his hand.
Access anytime.
No more depending on practice schedules.
“Akagi, if you get that sick leave, we can train here together tomorrow.”
“Deal.” Akagi nodded, but worry creased his features.
“Now I just need to figure out how to convince my parents.”
His tone suggested he didn’t have much confidence.
Under dim streetlights, the two teammates walked into the night, their shadows stretching long behind them before finally disappearing into darkness.