[Pull-Up Jump Shot: Proficiency +2]
[Pull-Up Jump Shot: LV1 → LV2]
[Mid-Range Shooting: 59 → 60]
[Explosive Power: 52 → 53]
[Your Jumping attribute has reached the required standard and is now displayed on your Player Panel!]
"Upgrading the pull-up jumper boosts my mid-range accuracy… explosiveness… and even my vertical."
Feeling the change coursing through his body, Cory Grant smiled with excitement. Progress never felt so real.
BEEP!
Captain Daniel Irving blew the whistle, calling players to line up.
He ran a quick eye over the group. Today's session had been different—the focus, dedication, effort. His lips curled into a rare smile.
"That's it for today. Nice work, everyone. Before dismissal, let's clean up."
Players quickly split into chores. Some gathered stray balls, wiped them down, and stacked them neatly. Others grabbed mops, cleaning sweat and dust from the hardwood. In minutes, the gym gleamed again.
"Good work. Dismissed!" Irving announced.
Most of the squad wasted no time heading out. Though Cory's words earlier had inspired them, few had reached the point of voluntarily staying behind after practice.
Soon the gym stood nearly empty—only Daniel Irving, Charles Ackerman, and Cory Grant remained.
Daniel noticed them lingering. "Not leaving?"
Cory shook his head. "We're getting in some extra work."
Daniel's smile widened. "Good. Our team needs players like you. Here." He tossed a small key into Cory's hand. "Gym key. Keep it for now, and make sure you lock up."
Cory blinked, startled—then nodded firmly. "Yes, Captain."
The captain slung his bag over his shoulder and left, a spring in his step.
Now alone, Charles turned to Cory. "How long are we staying?"
"Two hours." Cory glanced at the clock. It was already 5 P.M.
Charles cracked his knuckles. "Then I'll work with you. Any idea what I should train?"
Cory arched a brow. "You're a center, right? Then you need post-up skills."
Charles immediately agreed. "Then let's do it."
They lined up on the block. Charles set his base, ball gripped tight, muscles tense. Cory pressed hard into his back, one arm at his waist, the other hand swiping, harassing.
With a grunt, Charles powered backward.
BANG!
The collision thundered through the boards. Cory braced hard, lowering his stance, but Charles's heavier frame bulldozed him step by step.
Then—Cory suddenly stepped aside.
Charles stumbled forward under his own momentum—too late to recover—tripping and nearly falling flat.
"Charles," Cory said with disappointment, helping him up, "when you post, don't use blind force. Control your strength. Always stay balanced—never hand your defender an opening."
Nothing buzzed in Cory's system. No pop-up skill detected. Clearly, Charles's footwork wasn't refined enough to meet the standard yet. Cory sighed—expected, really. As a first-year in high school, Charles was still raw. Even two years later, in the "main story," his offense was limited to a handful of predictable moves.
It wasn't Charles's dedication—it was his lack of professional coaching. Coach Anderson practically never guided him, focusing his limited energy on stars like Sakuragi and Rukawa.
Still, Cory shared what theoretical knowledge he knew. "Post-ups are about control, not brute force. Use your body to guide the defender, feel their balance point, then shift them. Subtle force, not all-out shoving. That draws them into your rhythm."
Charles blinked, surprised. "You… know all that?"
Cory just shrugged. Basketball theory he had in spades—from his former life of reading encyclopedic guides—even if his skill had lagged behind until now.
"Continue."
Taking the tip, Charles tried again—less raw strength, more control. He found better footing, backed Cory down with measured effort, and spun inside, dunking hard.
Cory grinned. "Better. But no predictability. Don't let your man read the next step."
Half an hour passed, the two taking turns. Gradually, Charles's footwork smoothed. Cory, meanwhile, grinded his own drills: chaining Crossover Step into Pull-Up Jumpers.
Without a defender, proficiency rose slower (+1 at a time), but the reduced strain let him train longer.
[Crossover Step: +1]
[Pull-Up Jump Shot: +1]
Every sound of the ball, every swish of the net filled the cavernous gym. Sweat plastered their jerseys, dripping onto the floor.
Outside, the sky dimmed to orange and purple. But the Shohoku gym continued to glow under harsh fluorescent light.
Finally, Cory felt his system stir.
[Crossover Step: LV3 → LV4]
[Ball Handling: 65 → 67]
[Speed: 61 → 62]
[Explosive Power: 53 → 54]
[Jumping: 51] (Newly Displayed)
Panting, Cory pulled up his Player Panel:
Name: Cory Grant
Age: 15
Height: 5'8" (173 cm)
Wingspan: 5'10" (178 cm)
Weight: 126 lbs (57 kg)
Physical Attributes:
Strength: 51
Speed: 62
Stamina: 67
Flexibility: 74
Reflexes: MAX
Injury Resistance: MAX
Explosive Power: 54
Jumping: 51
Offensive Skills:
Ball Control: 67
Passing: 58
Layups: 75
Close Shots: 62
Mid-Range: 61
Three-Point Shooting: 70
Free Throws: 72
Off-Ball Movement: 63
Defensive Skills:
Steals: 55
On-Ball Defense: 57
Defensive Rebounding: 50
Skills:
Crossover Step LV4 (0/1000)
Pull-Up Jump Shot LV2 (110/200)
Status: Fatigued
Evaluation: Weak-Team Starter
(Attributes under 50 not displayed)
Cory wiped his forehead, glancing at the clock. They'd gone longer than he planned—two and a half hours.
He and Charles packed up, returned equipment, and mopped the floor together. Finally, he locked the gym door—his new key clinking in hand.
"Charles—if you can convince your parents to let you take sick leave, we can grind here every day together."
Charles nodded slowly. "Yeah… but convincing them will be tough." His eyes clouded with worry.
The street lamps flickered on as they left, their figures swallowed into the night, determination glowing faintly in the dark.