Kogure woke before dawn, his internal clock already adjusting to the new routine.
He moved quietly through the dark house, careful not to wake his parents.
Outside, the pre-dawn air was cool and fresh, carrying the faint scent of morning dew.
Mountains in the distance were wreathed in mist, looking like something from an ink painting.
He started jogging the familiar neighborhood route, footsteps steady and rhythmic against the pavement.
Not fast—this was about consistency, building the foundation.
Each step firm, each breath controlled.
The sun climbed gradually, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.
By the time Kogure completed his circuit and returned home, golden light slanted through the streets.
7:00 AM.
His parents had already left for work.
But on the kitchen table sat breakfast under a protective cover, still warm.
Next to it, a bento box—both noticeably larger than his usual portions.
His mother had clearly decided that intensive training required extra fuel.
Kogure smiled despite himself.
Some things transcended transmigration: parental love expressed through food.
After eating, he grabbed the oversized bento and headed out, this time toward a basketball court on the far edge of the neighborhood.
The place was half-forgotten, tucked behind an abandoned lot—rusty hoops, cracked asphalt, one backboard tilted at a concerning angle.
Perfect.
Since he’d taken sick leave, showing up at school during class hours would raise questions he couldn’t answer.
This remote court would work until school let out and he could use Shohoku’s gym properly.
The first hour was pure fundamentals.
Right-hand dribbling.
One hundred repetitions, focus on control.
Left-hand dribbling.
Another hundred, fighting the natural awkwardness.
Between-the-legs.
Behind-the-back.
Eyes closed dribbling to develop feel.
Boring?
Absolutely.
Necessary?
Critical.
Flashy moves meant nothing without fundamental ball security.
Every great player had spent thousands of hours on basics—the muscle memory that let them execute under pressure without thinking.
After warming up, Kogure shifted to his only real skill: the Crossover.
The move required total body coordination—upper and lower body working in sync, hips and waist flowing smoothly, balance maintained through the change of direction.
One wrong weight shift and the defender could steal it.
One moment of imbalance and the advantage disappeared.
Kogure executed the move slowly at first, feeling each component.
Plant the inside foot, shift weight, cross the outside foot over, explode into the new direction.
The ball stayed low, protected by his body.
[Crossover: Proficiency +1]
The notification appeared as he completed a particularly clean rep.
Simultaneously, his Ball Handling, Speed, and Stamina progress bars all ticked upward—Ball Handling showing the largest gain.
Kogure paused, processing the implications.
Skill training affects multiple related stats.
More efficient than isolated drills.
Excitement surged through him.
If practicing Crossover improved ball handling faster than pure dribbling drills, then learning more skills would create a multiplicative growth effect.
Each skill would boost several stats simultaneously.
He tried speeding up the move, eager to maximize proficiency gains.
The rhythm broke immediately.
His footwork got choppy, the crossover less smooth.
The proficiency notification didn’t appear.
[Crossover: Proficiency +0]
Quality over quantity, Kogure reminded himself.
Every rep has to be clean or it doesn’t count.
He slowed back down, focusing on smoothness and continuity.
Plant, shift, cross, explode.
Let the movement flow naturally rather than forcing it.
[Crossover: Proficiency +1]
Better.
Kogure settled into a meditative rhythm, the repetition almost hypnotic.
Sweat started dripping onto the cracked asphalt, creating dark splotches that evaporated in the morning sun.
His legs burned.
His handling arm ached.
But the proficiency counter kept climbing.
After ninety minutes of focused practice:
[Ball Handling: 60 → 61]
The familiar tingling spread through his hands and forearms.
When it faded, the ball felt different—lighter somehow, more responsive to his touch.
The improvement was subtle but real.
Kogure took a water break, pulling out the large thermos he’d brought.
Inside, a dozen goji berries floated in water, slowly turning it a reddish-amber color.
Traditional medicine for stamina and eye health, he thought, taking a long drink.
If I’m going to train like an athlete, might as well embrace the full health regimen.
The sight of a fifteen-year-old drinking wolfberry tea like a middle-aged health nut would’ve been comedic in any other context.
But Kogure was playing the long game—every small advantage mattered.
He capped the thermos and returned to training.
Thirty minutes later:
[Crossover: LV1 → LV2]
[Ball Handling: 61 → 62]
The double notification hit like a dopamine rush.
Kogure immediately tested the upgraded skill—the movement felt fundamentally different now.
Smoother transitions, better weight transfer, the whole sequence more integrated into his body mechanics.
What had required conscious thought at LV1 now felt almost instinctive at LV2.
And the ball handling bonus was just icing.
This is the path, Kogure thought, mind already racing ahead.
Skills are the key to rapid growth.
The next level would require 200 proficiency points instead of 100, diminishing returns kicking in.
At his current rate, maybe three hours of focused practice per level.
Still efficient, but the grind would get longer with each tier.
More importantly, he needed to learn new skills.
Crossover was useful, but one move wouldn’t carry him through a tournament.
He needed a full offensive arsenal.
Which meant finding teachers.
Most of Shohoku’s current players were…
limited.
Nice guys, hard workers, but not exactly skill masters.
Ikeda might know a few moves.
Akagi probably had some post techniques.
Mitsui definitely had advanced scoring skills, but he was hospitalized.
Then there was Coach Anzai.
Former national team player.
University coach for years.
He has to know multiple advanced techniques.
The problem was timing.
Club activities ran from 3:00 to 5:00 PM, after school let out.
It was only mid-morning now—hours to go.
Kogure checked the Crossover proficiency: 0/200 for LV3.
Based on his improved execution at LV2, he could probably hit that in three hours instead of four.
The higher skill level meant cleaner reps, which meant faster proficiency gains—a positive feedback loop.
He got back to work.
The sun climbed higher.
The temperature rose.
Sweat soaked through his shirt, dripped from his jaw, left salt stains on the cracked court.
Kogure paused periodically to drink from his wolfberry-infused thermos and let his heart rate settle.
Plant, shift, cross, explode.
[Crossover: Proficiency +1]
Plant, shift, cross, explode.
[Crossover: Proficiency +1]
The movement became meditation.
The basketball an extension of his body.
The rusted hoop and tilted backboard his whole world.
By 11:30 AM, two and a half hours after starting the skill grind, Kogure finally stopped.
He doubled over, hands on knees, breathing hard but smiling.
The proficiency counter read 87/200.
Not enough for another level-up, but solid progress.
More importantly, he’d found his rhythm.
The training system’s mechanics were becoming clear:
Skills boosted multiple related stats simultaneouslyQuality mattered more than quantity for proficiencyHigher skill levels improved efficiencyStat increases provided recovery benefits
One month to transform, Kogure thought, wiping sweat from his face with his equally sweat-soaked shirt.
It’s actually possible.
He checked the time.
Still three and a half hours until club activities.
Enough time for lunch, rest, maybe some film study if he could find old game footage.
Then this afternoon, he’d approach Coach Anzai about learning more skills.
The real training was just beginning.