The mornings had become routine—wake at four, run until my lungs burned, ball drills until my arms trembled, sweat pouring before the sun even peeked over the rooftops. Discipline had reshaped my body, and every day I felt sharper. But today, instead of training, my mind chased questions.
The more I lived in this world, the more I realized something strange: it was almost identical to the one I had left behind… and yet, not quite.
Discoveries
The newspapers were the first clue. On the sports pages, I saw names that made my heart jolt—Michael Jordan, Magic Johnson, Larry Bird. They existed here, their stats and photos nearly identical to what I remembered. The Chicago Bulls were still chasing greatness, the Detroit Pistons were still kings of the East. It was 1990, and the "Bad Boys" were preparing to defend their throne.
But at the same time, there were gaps. Certain role players, certain coaches, even some international stars I knew from memory simply didn't exist here. The names on rosters shifted, as if history had been rewritten with a pen that occasionally skipped.
It wasn't just basketball.
American companies filled the business section. IBM, Ford, McDonald's—they all stood strong. But then I noticed things like YamatoSoft, which mirrored Microsoft in almost every way but name, or NextWave Electronics, a clear stand-in for Apple. Even Japan's entertainment sector was eerily familiar, yet off by a detail or two.
The realization struck deep: this world wasn't a copy, but a reflection. A mirror tilted just slightly differently.
The Thought
That difference sparked an idea.
If the patterns of my old world were mostly intact, then history was already written—I knew who would rise, who would fall, which companies would explode in value, which technologies would reshape society.
Back then, I wasn't just a player. I was a student of business. I negotiated contracts, read market shifts, built ventures. People underestimated me because I smiled on the court, but behind the scenes, I was sharp.
Here, I had a chance to be sharper.
Basketball was still my first love, but business? Business could fuel my path.
The Goal
I sat in my room that night, the basketball rolling between my palms, the calendar on the wall reminding me that it was the spring of 1990.
1991. That's when Jordan wins his first ring.
1990. The Pistons are about to take their second straight title.
The timeline aligned almost perfectly. I could test my theory with small wagers. If my predictions were right—and I was certain they were—I could build capital. With capital came freedom. With freedom came opportunity.
And opportunity meant one thing: the United States.
If I wanted to be the best, I needed to step into the heart of basketball itself. High school hoops in America. Senior year. Exposure to scouts. From there, the NBA draft. It was a long road, but I could already see the map.
The only question was how to start.
The First Step
I couldn't do it alone. At fourteen, with no income and no legal standing, I had no way to place serious bets or manage investments. But my friends—Yohei, Noma, Yuji, Nozomi—they had families, connections, people who might take a risk if the reward looked real.
They trusted me. That was my edge.
If I proved myself once—just once—with a sure prediction, they would believe. From there, doors would open.
I gripped the ball tighter, my reflection in the window catching my own determined stare.
This life had given me a gift far greater than just a strong body. It had given me foresight. And if I combined that foresight with the Mamba mentality, nothing could stop me—not on the court, not in life.
Resolve
Tomorrow, I'd speak to Yohei first. He was the smartest, the one who understood me best. If anyone would listen, it would be him. I'd show him what I saw, give him the details of the upcoming NBA finals before they even happened. If we played it right, we'd win money, real money. Enough to start something bigger.
Basketball and business. Two sides of the same coin.
This time, I wouldn't waste either.
I leaned back, eyes sharp, heart steady. The path was dangerous, but so was life itself. And if I had been given this second chance, I wasn't about to let it slip away.
"Alright," I whispered to the night. "We start with the Pistons."
The ball spun in my hands, catching the faint glow of the lamp, as if it already knew this wasn't just a game anymore.