After filling out the registration form, Sakuragi Hanamichi officially became a member of the Wakou Middle School Basketball Club.
Teacher Takeda clapped his hands as he walked to the side of the court.
“Alright, Sakuragi.
Let’s start with the fundamentals.” Sakuragi followed him to an open area inside the gymnasium.
“We’ll begin with lunge dribbling.” Takeda bent his knees and demonstrated the movement.
His left foot stepped forward, his right leg stretched back, and he lowered his center of gravity while rhythmically dribbling the ball with his right hand.
“This is the foundation of basketball.
Learn to control the ball first.
Once your dribbling is solid, we’ll move on to everything else.” Sakuragi studied the teacher’s stance before looking down at the basketball in his own hands.
The orange ball was worn from years of use, but its familiar texture still stood out beneath his fingertips.
Spreading his fingers, he lowered into the same stance and copied Takeda’s movement.
Slap.
The ball bounced off the hardwood and returned to his hand.
Slap.
Then another bounce.
Takeda nodded approvingly.
“That’s right.
Keep going.
Dribble a hundred times first and get used to the feel.” Sakuragi lowered his head, his entire focus fixed on the basketball.
Every time it rebounded into his palm, he could clearly feel its weight and the force of the bounce.
One.
Two.
Three.
Gradually, the rhythm became steadier.
Then laughter shattered his concentration.
“Hahaha…” Takamiya Nozomi leaned against the doorway, clutching his stomach as he laughed so hard he nearly doubled over.
“Look at that stance!
Doesn’t he look like a kindergarten kid learning to dribble?” Ohkusu crouched nearby, mimicking Sakuragi’s movements while making exaggerated sound effects.
“Slap…
slap…
slap…
So slow…” Noma was even worse.
He scrunched up his face into a ridiculous imitation of Sakuragi, stared at the floor with exaggerated seriousness, and muttered, “Don’t run away, little basketball…
don’t run away…” The three burst into another round of laughter, their voices echoing through the gym.
Sakuragi stopped dribbling.
The ball bounced twice before rolling away.
Slowly, he turned his head.
His expression was filled with murderous intent.
His eyes swept across them like sharpened blades.
The vein on his forehead twitched.
He suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to smash someone’s face in.
The instant Takamiya sensed that killing intent, his laughter caught in his throat.
“Gulp…” But today…
Sakuragi didn’t charge over and headbutt all three of them.
Because out of the corner of his eye…
He noticed something happening on the opposite side of the court.
Oda Tatsumasa was leading several first-string players through a scrimmage.
The basketball moved rapidly between them.
Their sneakers screeched sharply against the floor as they sprinted, cut, and rotated with practiced precision.
A bounce pass sliced through the defense.
Oda caught the ball and drove straight to the basket.
The ball kissed the backboard before dropping cleanly through the hoop.
Sakuragi lowered his eyes to the wooden floor beneath his feet.
Then he looked at the basketball in his hands.
He was crouched here…
Practicing basic dribbling.
Meanwhile, they were already playing real basketball.
A surge of frustration welled up inside him.
His grip tightened around the basketball.
His expression darkened.
Teacher Takeda immediately noticed.
One look at Sakuragi’s face told him exactly what was coming.
He quickly walked over, casually patted Sakuragi’s shoulder, and asked, “Sakuragi…
have you ever heard of Jordan?” Sakuragi blinked.
His furious expression instantly shifted into confusion.
“Jordan?” “Who’s that?” “What class is he in?” Takeda nearly choked.
After taking a deep breath, he patiently explained, “Michael Jordan.” “He’s an NBA player.” “The strongest basketball player in the world right now.” “An American.” “And when he plays, it’s like he’s flying.” Sakuragi blinked again.
He still had absolutely no idea who that was.
His basketball knowledge was practically nonexistent.
Takeda smiled and continued.
“Jordan is a genius.” “But even he started with the fundamentals.” “Dribbling.” “Ball handling.” “He practiced those basics day after day for years.” “He still hasn’t won an NBA championship.” “He’s working harder than ever this season.” “If even a genius like Jordan has to master the fundamentals…” “Do you really think you can skip them?” Sakuragi didn’t really understand what an NBA championship was.
But one word caught his attention.
Genius.
The teacher had just called Jordan a genius.
And even a genius had started from the basics.
Didn’t that mean…
He was the same?
The irritation gradually disappeared from Sakuragi’s face.
Instead, an awkward smile crept onto it, as though he wanted to grin but felt embarrassed.
Scratching the back of his head, he muttered stubbornly, “…Fine.” “I’ll practice.” Takeda smiled inwardly but maintained a serious face.
“That’s the spirit.” “Geniuses become great through practice too.” Sakuragi crouched back into position.
This time…
He was much more serious.
Slap.
The ball struck the floor.
His fingers guided it back up.
Slap.
Again.
One.
Two.
Three.
The ball still wobbled occasionally, but at least it no longer escaped from his control.
Watching from nearby, Takeda silently smiled.
For someone like Sakuragi…
There was only one effective teaching method.
Praise him.
Never scold him.
The harder you criticized him, the more stubborn he’d become.
But if you praised him enough…
He’d willingly work himself to exhaustion.
Most importantly…
He had to believe he was a genius.
Only then would he willingly endure the pain of training.
Meanwhile…
The four members of the Sakuragi Army gradually lost interest.
Takamiya yawned.
“Boring.” “He didn’t even explode.” Ohkusu dusted off his pants as he stood.
“I thought he’d rush over and beat Oda up.” “Instead, he’s actually practicing.” Noma shrugged.
“Let’s go.” “Nothing interesting to watch.” Yohei pushed himself away from the wall and waved without looking back.
“Come on.” “Let’s hit the pachinko parlor.” “They’ve got new machines today.” The four left with their arms slung around each other’s shoulders.
Their footsteps gradually faded into the distance.
Golden sunlight poured through the gym entrance, stretching their shadows across the floor.
Inside the gym…
Only the muffled sound of a basketball continued echoing.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
By the time Sakuragi finished practicing stationary lunge dribbling, a thin layer of sweat had formed across his forehead.
Takeda immediately introduced the next drill.
“Now we’ll practice dribbling while moving.” “The ball stays beside your body.” “Don’t chase it.” “You control where it goes.” “Give it a try.” Sakuragi began walking forward while dribbling.
The ball bounced awkwardly at first.
Sometimes it skipped ahead.
Sometimes it bounced behind him.
He found himself chasing it all over the court.
But as he continued…
That strange familiarity from his dreams slowly resurfaced.
Yuki Kawamura.
The image of the short guard flashed through his mind.
Bent low.
The basketball weaving effortlessly between his legs.
Moving so fast his body became a blur.
The ball never seemed to leave his hands.
It clung to him no matter how quickly he moved.
Without realizing it…
Sakuragi’s rhythm began to change.
Instead of forcefully slapping the ball downward, his fingertips gently guided it.
His palm floated above the ball instead of pressing against it.
When the ball rebounded, his fingers naturally softened with its momentum, absorbing the force before sending it back down again.
Takeda narrowed his eyes.
That handling technique…
Sakuragi gradually accelerated.
Walking became jogging.
Jogging became sprinting.
He cut left.
Then right.
The ball continued bouncing rhythmically beside him.
Slap.
Slap.
Slap.
Faster and faster.
Yet it never strayed beyond his reach.
“Sakuragi.” “Stop for a second.” Sakuragi halted, holding the ball while breathing heavily.
Sweat streamed down the bridge of his nose.
Takeda looked at him carefully.
“…You’ve really never played basketball before?” “Nope.” Sakuragi wiped away the sweat with his sleeve.
“Yesterday during P.E.
was literally my first time touching a basketball.” Takeda fell silent.
After a long pause…
“Alright.” “Now we’ll work on shooting.” He led Sakuragi to the free-throw line and handed him the basketball.
“Point your elbow toward the basket.” “Generate power with your wrist.” “Release the ball with your fingertips.” “Don’t worry whether it goes in.” “Just focus on perfect form.” Sakuragi stood at the free-throw line.
Looking up…
The silver rim gleamed beneath the gym lights.
The white net hung perfectly still.
Another scene from his dream surfaced.
Yuki Kawamura.
Catch.
Rise.
Release.
Smooth as flowing water.
Sakuragi instinctively copied him.
His knees bent.
The ball rose.
Wrists cocked back.
Fingers aligned with the seams.
Elbow pointed straight toward the rim.
Jump.
Release.
The basketball rolled off his fingertips and spun gracefully through the air.
Clang!
It struck the rim.
Bounced high.
Dropped back down.
Circled halfway around the hoop…
Then rolled out.
A miss.
But the shooting form was flawless.
Takeda’s eyes brightened.
“Again.” Sakuragi retrieved the ball.
Returned to the line.
Shot again.
Clang!
Still a miss.
But closer.
Again.
Clang!
This time the ball hit the inside of the rim, bounced twice…
And spun out once more.
With every shot…
Fragments of memory resurfaced.
Yuki Kawamura running across the court.
Catching passes.
Pulling up.
Releasing.
Again.
And again.
The images were engraved into his mind.
They no longer felt like dreams.
Then— A much clearer memory suddenly appeared.
An enormous basketball arena.
More than ten times larger than Wakou’s tiny gym.
Blinding lights.
Packed stands.
Thunderous cheers.
Yuki Kawamura caught the ball beyond the three-point line.
Rose.
Released.
Swish.
The next scene changed.
The gigantic arena was completely empty.
Only Yuki remained.
Practicing alone.
The echo of the basketball filled the silent gym.
Shoot.
Retrieve.
Shoot again.
Retrieve again.
As he shot, he quietly counted.
“…Four hundred eighty-seven.” “…Four hundred eighty-eight.” “…Four hundred eighty-nine.” One thousand shots.
Every single day.
Sakuragi froze.
One thousand?
He looked at his own hands.
Then at the basket.
Even the man from his dreams…
Practiced one thousand jump shots every day.
“Sakuragi?” “What’s wrong?” Takeda walked over.
“Nothing.” Sakuragi shook his head.
Raised the ball.
And continued shooting.
Clang!
Still another miss.
Takeda quietly watched him.
The more he observed…
The brighter his eyes became.
He had coached basketball for many years.
He’d seen countless beginners.
When most people first learned to shoot…
Their elbows flared out.
Their wrists stayed stiff.
They had no idea how to release the ball.
Some still couldn’t perform a proper shooting motion after practicing for months.
But Sakuragi was different.
From his very first shot…
Everything was fundamentally correct.
Even though he missed…
His elbow alignment.
His wrist snap.
His fingertip release.
Every essential detail was textbook.
Some parts of his form…
Were even more technically refined than what Takeda himself taught.
This wasn’t something he’d learned.
It was instinct.
It was as though his body naturally adjusted itself toward the most efficient movement.
Something…
That Takeda simply couldn’t explain.
“Sakuragi.” “Your talent really is extraordinary.” “I haven’t even taught you some of these details…” “…yet you’re already doing them naturally.” After dozens of shots, Sakuragi stood there breathing heavily.
His sleeveless shirt was soaked with sweat.
“…Really?” He looked up hopefully.
Takeda nodded without hesitation.
“Really.” “You’re the quickest learner I’ve ever coached.” “Your feel for dribbling.” “Your shooting mechanics.” “Things that normally take beginners months to grasp…” “…you’ve started understanding them almost immediately.” Unable to hold back any longer, Takeda laughed.
“Sakuragi…” “You really are one hell of a genius.” The corners of Sakuragi’s mouth immediately shot upward.
That wonderful feeling returned.
Like a cat having its chin scratched.
A tingling sensation spread from the back of his neck through his entire body.
His eyes narrowed into happy slits.
He looked as though he might start purring.
Taking a deep breath…
He raised the basketball once more.
One more shot.
Clang!
Another miss.
But he no longer cared.
The teacher had called him a genius.
The teacher had praised how quickly he learned.
The teacher said he understood things immediately.
Nothing…
Sounded sweeter than those words.
Sakuragi picked up the basketball and shot again.
Sweat flew from his brow, glittering beneath the gym lights.
A damp patch had already formed beneath his feet where perspiration had dripped onto the wooden floor.
Yet he had absolutely no intention of stopping.
Inside the quiet gymnasium…
Only two sounds continued echoing over and over.
Thump.
Thump.
The basketball striking the floor.
Clang.
Clang.
The ball colliding with the rim.
Awkward.
Repetitive.
Persistent.
Watching Sakuragi continue practicing without complaint…
Takeda Hirohitsu knew he had uncovered a true gem.
If he nurtured this talent properly…
Then in the upcoming June Kanagawa Junior High Prefectural Tournament…
The twin pillars of Wakou Middle School— Oda Tatsumasa…
And Sakuragi Hanamichi…
Just might have a chance to defeat that monster from Tomioka Middle School.