After-school practice ended a little later than usual.
Coach Takeda kept Sakuragi behind for an extra twenty minutes, drilling him on low-post footwork.
Again and again, he had to repeat the same sequence: left pivot, pump fake, right pivot, jump, layup.
By the tenth repetition, Sakuragi was already losing his patience.
Yet Takeda said nothing.
He simply passed the ball back each time, leaving Sakuragi with no choice but to continue.
By the time he got home, dusk had already settled over the neighborhood.
He wolfed down dinner in a few bites before hurrying off to his part-time job at the convenience store.
When he arrived, the owner was behind the counter organizing the cigarette display.
Seeing Sakuragi enter, he nodded toward the television.
“There’s an NBA replay on tonight.” “Thanks, Boss.” Sakuragi quickly tied on his apron and stepped behind the register, though his eyes had already drifted toward the small TV.
An NBA game was playing.
NBA Finals.
The words in the upper-right corner immediately caught his attention.
Resting his elbows on the counter, he cupped his chin in both hands and stared at the screen without blinking.
Jordan caught the ball beyond the three-point line.
A defender stayed glued to him, one hand almost covering his face.
Jordan feinted left.
The defender instinctively shifted his weight.
In the next instant, Jordan pulled the ball back to his right, leaned into a fadeaway, rose into the air, and released.
The basketball traced a high, elegant arc over the defender’s fingertips.
Swish.
Nothing but net.
Sakuragi’s mouth slowly fell open.
He had never seen anything like it.
With a defender practically in his face, Jordan still managed to rise, fade away, and release a perfectly balanced shot while his body tilted backward.
Sakuragi had practiced shooting himself.
He knew that without proper balance in midair, your body would wobble, your arms would shake, and your shooting touch would disappear.
But Jordan didn’t wobble.
He didn’t shake.
He wasn’t off balance.
The moment the ball left his fingertips, it was unbelievably precise.
The scoreboard kept changing.
Jordan carried almost the entire offense himself.
Scoring.
Passing.
Stealing.
Rebounding.
He did everything.
And he did everything brilliantly.
Yet the Chicago Bulls remained behind.
The deficit hovered around ten points, stubbornly refusing to disappear.
Finally…
The buzzer sounded.
The Bulls lost to the Los Angeles Lakers by two points.
Jordan finished with 36 points, the highest total of the game.
But his team still lost.
Sakuragi frowned.
Turning his head, he realized the store owner had been watching beside him all along.
An opened pack of cigarettes rested in his hand, one cigarette hanging unlit from the corner of his mouth.
“Boss.” Sakuragi pointed at the television.
“Jordan’s already this incredible.
So…
how did they still lose?” The owner smiled.
“Because basketball is a five-man game.” Seeing Sakuragi listening attentively, he continued.
“No matter how great one player is, without teammates helping and working together, he can’t win by himself.” Sakuragi blinked.
The owner gestured toward the TV with the cigarette between his fingers.
“Look at Jordan.
Thirty-six points.
But what about everyone else?” “No one else stepped up.” “The Lakers were different.
Nobody scored as much as Jordan, but several players reached double figures.
One scored here, another scored there, and by the end, all those points added up to more than Chicago’s.” Sakuragi quietly watched Jordan’s back as he walked toward the locker room.
It wasn’t the image he had imagined.
He had always thought the greatest player in the NBA would walk proudly, head held high.
Instead…
Jordan’s back looked tired.
His shoulders drooped slightly.
His pace was neither hurried nor slow, as though he were walking down an endless road.
“Oh, right.” The owner tucked the cigarette back into his mouth without lighting it.
“I heard from my son that you played in the Prefectural Tournament yesterday.” Sakuragi looked over.
“Your son?” “Yeah.
He’s a first-year at Wakou Middle School.” “He came home yesterday talking about this red-haired upperclassman named Sakuragi who could dunk like crazy.” The owner chuckled.
“I figured it had to be you.” “I never expected you to have that kind of talent.
You can actually play basketball—and you can even dunk.” Sakuragi immediately broke into a huge grin.
His chin unconsciously lifted.
“It’s…
not bad, I guess.” The owner laughed and gave his shoulder a firm pat.
“I’ll be there next weekend too.” “Play well.” “Good luck, Sakuragi.” Sakuragi nodded enthusiastically.
A warm feeling spread through his chest.
When he turned back toward the television, Jordan had already disappeared from the screen, replaced by two American commentators discussing the game.
Not far from the convenience store…
Yanai Yuri walked beneath the streetlights, her shadow stretching long across the pavement.
She was still wearing Koyo Junior High’s sailor uniform.
The dark-blue blouse and skirt looked almost black beneath the night sky.
Her neckerchief was tied neatly.
White socks.
Black leather shoes.
Her long hair rested over her shoulders, its slightly curled ends swaying gently with every step.
Earlier that day at school…
Kato Reina had asked, “Why did you go watch the game again yesterday?” Yanai had answered casually, “I had nothing better to do.” Kato had rolled her eyes.
She really had been bored.
Bored enough to memorize Wakou Middle School’s next game schedule.
Bored enough to calculate Sakuragi’s work hours.
Bored enough to walk down a road she’d never taken before…
…to visit a convenience store she’d never entered.
Just to buy something.
Yes.
Just buying something.
And…
While she was at it…
She could also see that amusing big puppy.
As she approached the convenience store, movement caught her eye from the roadside shadows.
Her footsteps slowed slightly.
Someone leaned against the wall with both hands in his pockets.
One knee was bent, the sole of one shoe resting casually against the wall.
The streetlight didn’t quite reach him.
Then he stepped forward.
The light illuminated his face.
Mito Yohei.
Yanai stopped.
She recognized him.
Yesterday, he had been sitting at the edge of the Sakuragi Army.
He hadn’t spoken much…
But every time he did, his words hit the mark.
She had also seen him somewhere else before.
Not at school.
At one of her father’s business gatherings.
The Mito family wasn’t particularly wealthy, but they had business dealings with the Yanai family.
She hadn’t paid much attention then.
She simply remembered the surname…
…and the face.
Yohei pushed himself away from the wall and walked forward.
Stopping three or four steps away, he spoke first.
“Can we talk?” Yanai narrowed her eyes slightly.
Like a cat whose afternoon nap had just been interrupted.
“About what?” Her lazy voice carried an unmistakable hint of amusement.
“…Mito-dono.” She deliberately emphasized the honorific.
Using such an overly formal title on a middle-school boy maximized the teasing effect.
The corner of Yohei’s mouth twitched.
He understood the sarcasm.
But he ignored it.
He hadn’t come to argue.
Nor to exchange insults.
He had only one thing to say.
After that…
He would leave.
“Sakuragi…” Yohei spoke evenly.
“He’s simple.” “To put it bluntly…” “He’s a complete idiot.” He paused, looking directly into Yanai’s eyes.
“If you’re only interested in him because he’s amusing…” “Fine.” “But if you’re planning to hurt him for your own entertainment…” His voice hardened.
“…I won’t forgive you.” The streetlight divided them neatly between light and shadow.
Yohei stood in darkness.
Yanai stood beneath the light.
Yanai stared at him for two seconds.
Then…
She laughed.
“You’re overstepping, Mito-dono.” Crossing her arms, she leaned back slightly and lifted her chin.
Being half a head taller than Yohei, the posture naturally carried an oppressive air.
“I’m terrified.” The last two words dripped with playful sarcasm, sounding more like someone humoring a child than expressing fear.
Yohei refused to back down.
Sakuragi was his brother.
From elementary school until now…
They had fought together.
Been beaten together.
Sat together on rooftops, letting the wind wash over them.
He would never allow anyone to treat Sakuragi like a toy.
“I mean every word.” Leaving only that sentence behind, Yohei turned and walked away.
Under the streetlights, his shadow stretched longer and longer.
Until it disappeared around the corner.
Yanai remained standing where she was.
Watching the direction he had left.
The light illuminated her face as her expression gradually shifted.
From disdain…
To amusement…
Then…
To contemplation.
“What touching brotherhood…” she murmured softly.
So quietly that only she herself could hear it.
Whether it was admiration…
Or quiet laughter…
Even she wasn’t sure.
Looking down, she smoothed the neckerchief of her sailor uniform as it fluttered gently in the night breeze.
Then she lifted her gaze toward the convenience store.
Through the brightly lit glass window…
She saw the familiar red-haired figure.
Still wearing that green apron.
Yanai took a slow breath.
The corners of her lips curved upward into a smile.
Her footsteps became noticeably lighter.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Her shoes struck the pavement with a cheerful rhythm, as though she were unconsciously humming a tune.
Across the street…
Beneath a cherry tree…
Yohei hadn’t actually left.
June had long since passed cherry blossom season.
Only lush green leaves remained, casting broad shadows beneath the streetlight.
With both hands tucked into his pockets, he leaned silently against the trunk.
Through the convenience store’s brightly lit windows, he watched everything inside.
Behind the counter…
Sakuragi’s expression transformed in seconds.
From boredom…
To surprise…
Then to a grin so wide it nearly split his face.
His eyes lit up as though someone had flipped a switch inside him.
Yanai stood across the counter with a small purchase in hand.
She smiled as she spoke to him.
Sakuragi nodded enthusiastically.
Again.
And again.
Like a giant puppy wagging its tail after being praised.
Yohei let out a long, helpless sigh.
It came from the depths of his chest, carrying every ounce of worry he couldn’t put into words.
Maybe…
He really was overthinking things.
Straightening himself, he brushed the bits of bark from his back before quietly turning away.
He walked beneath one streetlight after another.
His shadow shifted from behind him…
To in front…
Then behind him again.
Growing longer…
Fainter…
Until it finally disappeared into the night.
A warm June breeze drifted through the streets, carrying the humid scent of early summer.
The roadside leaves rustled softly.
Almost as though someone, somewhere in the darkness…
…was quietly applauding.