Six weeks. That was all it had been since I woke up in this new body.
Six weeks of sweat before dawn, of dribbles echoing against cracked pavement, of jump shots until my arms begged for mercy. Six weeks of patience and hunger.
Transformation
The first change didn't come on the court. It started in the kitchen.
Hanamichi's old habits had been terrible: instant noodles, soda, cheap bread, greasy croquettes from the convenience store. Fuel that filled his stomach but left his body weak. I cut it all out.
Now, every meal had a purpose. Eggs, milk, rice, grilled fish, vegetables. Snacks turned into fruit or nuts. Timing was precise—fuel before training, recovery after.
The results were undeniable.
Three kilograms heavier on the scale, but my body fat dropped. My muscles carved themselves sharper each week. Shoulders broader, chest fuller, legs stronger. My vertical leap higher, my speed faster. Even my height had changed—1.85 to 1.87 meters in just six weeks.
I was growing into a weapon.
Progress with the Ball
Basketball had stopped humiliating me.
My dribbling was still rough, but no longer clumsy. The ball obeyed better, my stance lower, my balance firmer. Shooting was the biggest leap forward—form rebuilt from scratch, the ball now whispering into the net more often than not.
Still, I was far from the Kobe who once ruled the NBA. But this path… this path felt right.
The Fight
Late afternoon, the sun setting red.
Yohei Mito, Chuichirou Noma, Yuji Ohkusu, Nozomi Takamiya, and I were walking home when we saw it—three older punks cornering a girl from our class. Their voices were vulgar, their laughter sharp.
We didn't think. We didn't plan. We acted.
Yohei, tall and slim with sharp eyes, moved first, his punch snapping out clean and fast. Noma, shorter and stocky with a barrel chest, rammed into another thug like a bull, knocking him off his feet. Yuji, the tallest with long arms and a lanky frame, hooked another in a headlock before the boy could blink. Nozomi—round-bodied, heavier than the rest but strong as an ox—stepped forward, shoving the leader with both hands and sending him stumbling.
And me? I stood between the girl and danger, my glare freezing the last thug. A single shove from me sent him reeling meters back.
The fight ended in minutes. The punks fled, humiliated. The girl thanked us through trembling words before running off.
We ended up by the river afterward, bruised but laughing, the adrenaline fading.
Dreams by the River
"What do you guys want for the future?" I asked suddenly.
The four of them froze, then laughed.
Yohei smirked. "Me? I'll open a ramen shop and be so famous the line will stretch across town."
Noma grinned. "Forget ramen. I'll marry a rich woman and live lazy for the rest of my life."
Yuji stretched his long arms. "I'll be the tallest yakuza boss in Japan. Nobody would mess with me."
Nozomi laughed loud, his round belly shaking. "I'll be a rock star! Girls screaming my name every night!"
They roared with laughter, but I didn't. I leaned forward, serious.
"You're underestimating yourselves."
The laughter died.
"Each of you has something rare. Something people would kill for. You just don't see it yet."
I looked at Yohei. "You're fast. Agile. The way you fight, you never lose your footing. You'd be unstoppable in soccer."
Yohei blinked, caught off guard.
I turned to Noma. "You're built like a wall. Short, thick, strong. You'd crush in rugby."
Noma scratched the back of his head, half grinning, half embarrassed.
Yuji next. "You're tall, with long arms and insane reflexes. Baseball, volleyball—you'd dominate. You could swing or block faster than anyone could react."
Yuji's usual lazy grin faded into thoughtfulness.
Finally, I looked at Nozomi. "You're heavy, but you're powerful. That weight is an advantage. With training, you'd be a monster in judo, or even wrestling. People wouldn't stand a chance against your strength."
Nozomi's laughter stopped. He shifted awkwardly, but I saw something spark behind his eyes.
"You're not delinquents," I said firmly. "You're athletes without direction. If you chose it—if you worked—you could stand on the world stage. Fame. Glory. All of it's possible. You just have to stop selling yourselves short."
The river hummed quietly. None of them laughed now.
Yohei finally snorted, trying to mask his reaction. "Tch. Since when did you get so damn serious, Hanamichi?"
But his eyes betrayed him—thoughtful, almost inspired.
The others muttered half-jokes again, but it wasn't the same. The words had landed. They were thinking.
I had lit a small flame inside them.
And I knew… it was only the beginning.