Cory Grant inbounded the ball to Mr. Russo, the mustached store manager. The middle-aged man wasted no time, dribbling forward with surprising speed.
Across from him, Greg Matthews, Crestwood's captain, squared up. Greg was young and strong, but Russo carried something different—experience.
His dribbling rhythm shifted effortlessly—hesitation, stop, go. The movements were smooth, polished. Years of muscle memory surfaced as he hunted for the slightest misstep.
When Greg leaned forward, Russo exploded off his right foot, bursting past like a fired arrow.
Greg spun and caught up quickly, throwing his chest into Russo to force contact and disrupt his rhythm.
SCREECH—
Shoes screeched on the blacktop. Russo slammed on the brakes. Greg stumbled forward helplessly as the space instantly opened—two full body lengths.
Without hesitation, Russo rose into the air. The ball flicked from his fingertips with fluid grace.
Swish. Net snapped clean.
Russo smiled, confidence glowing in his eyes. "How's that? My pull-up jump shot isn't bad, right? Won me the scoring title back in the county tournament."
What he didn't say: in the fateful game against Harbor High years ago, this very shot had betrayed him. A miss that cost his team the championship. Ever since, he had drilled it relentlessly until it became his signature.
Cory's system chimed in his head:
[Learnable Skill Detected – Pull-Up Jump Shot. Progress: 3%]
His eyes widened. I picked the right mentor. If Russo had this, what else was buried in his arsenal?
"Manager," Cory asked, feigning casual admiration. "That was incredible back then. Could you… teach me sometime?"
Russo chuckled. "Of course. After the game."
Vanity flickered in his eyes, satisfied by Cory's respect.
Even Greg Matthews's expression softened into one of respect. "So you were a county scoring champ… I didn't expect that from you." Crestwood's players whispered among themselves, impressed. They all knew how fierce Kanagawa's tournament was. To be top scorer was no small feat.
Russo only smiled faintly. "That was fifteen years ago. I'm not young anymore."
"Even so, sir," Greg said earnestly, "your elegance is intact. Please consider guiding us younger players sometime."
Russo gave a small nod. But for now—"Let's finish this game."
Back on the court, Crestwood adjusted. Henry Kimura tried to shake off Ken Matsen's brute force defense, but this time Matsen used his experience to body him up without giving open space.
Seeing Kimura contained, Greg Matthews decided to take matters into his own hands.
He squared against Russo, attacking hard. But Russo's defense was tight—hands quick, feet disciplined. Years may have slowed his body, but his fundamentals had lost nothing.
Every attempt Greg made was smothered. Russo even nearly poked the ball away twice, muttering with a grin, "I was steals champion too, you know."
Under pressure, Greg was forced to pick up his dribble. "Captain, here!" Tommy Godwin sprinted over to relieve him.
Greg whipped the ball out—but Cory's reflexes came alive.
SNATCH!
In an instant, Cory read the pass and stole it clean. Moving like a cat, he cut between the two defenders, dribbling forward in a blur.
Henry Kimura and Tommy gave chase, closing down. Cory crossed sharply—speed and rhythm perfect. Before they could recover, he whipped the ball high toward the rim.
BANG!
Ken Matsen stormed in, caught it with both hands, and hammered down a thunderous dunk.
"Great pass, kid!" Matsen roared, adrenaline rushing. He hadn't felt that lift in years.
From the sideline, Russo narrowed his eyes, thoughtful.
Cory's crossover… that was clean. Fluid. Natural. He had underestimated this Shohoku boy at first, but now? His perspective was shifting.
Across the court, Tommy Godwin froze in disbelief, staring at Cory.
"Impossible…" he muttered. Just two months ago at Kitamura Junior High, Cory hadn't been this good. He knew his old teammate's limits—and this wasn't it.
"Could he have gotten this much stronger in such a short time? No… it has to be luck." Tommy shook his head. "Just a fluke."
But deep down, doubt gnawed at him.
The game resumed. This time, Crestwood ran a pick-and-roll. Henry Kimura set a solid screen on Russo, giving Greg Matthews the opening he needed. Slipping free, Greg pulled up confidently and knocked down a jumper.
Shohoku's side ball.
Russo grabbed the ball and tossed it back to Cory. His eyes gleamed. "Your turn, Cory. Show me what you've got."
Cory exhaled, palms tingling as he dribbled forward. Across from him, Tommy Godwin crouched low, eyes sharp.
He thought he knew everything about Cory Grant.
And Cory was determined to prove him wrong.