The alarm buzzed sharply, dragging Tetsuo from his sleep.
He groaned, reached out, and silenced it. A quick glance at the clock confirmed what he already knew.
"Three o'clock," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "Time for my morning jog."
Still drowsy, he staggered to the kitchen. The faint hum of the refrigerator filled the quiet. He drank some cold water—the chill slid down his throat and jolted him slightly awake—then brushed his teeth.
The cool linoleum floor pressed against the soles of his feet as he pulled on his joggers and a dark hoodie.
As he tied his laces, he muttered, "Now, where's that basketball…?"
He rummaged through the hallway closet, pushing aside an old umbrella and some crumpled bags. Eventually, he found the ball tucked in a dusty corner. The rubber felt dry and slightly cracked beneath his fingers, but it still held air.
"Haven't used this in a while," he said, spinning it on his fingertip. The familiar weight settled into his palm. "I saw a court nearby yesterday. Should be a decent place to warm up."
Before heading out, Tetsuo peeked into his younger sister's room. The door creaked faintly as he opened it.
Usagi was curled up beneath her blanket, one arm dangling off the side of the bed, her steady breathing soft in the dark room.
Still asleep.
He scribbled a quick note and stuck it on the fridge: Went out for a jog. Be back before school. — Tetsuo
Then he locked the apartment door behind him and stepped into the cool, quiet morning.
The sky was still dark, painted in deep navy with faint hints of silver on the horizon. The air was crisp, brushing against his face with each movement. His breath left faint clouds in front of him as he stretched beside the sidewalk. The fabric of his hoodie rustled lightly with each motion.
After a few minutes of warming up, he began jogging.
The streets were nearly empty, save for the distant hum of a delivery truck and the occasional flicker of a tired streetlight. The soles of his shoes made soft, rhythmic taps against the pavement.
He rounded a familiar corner and spotted the court.
"There it is—"
He slowed to a stop.
Someone was already there.
A girl stood near the free-throw line, bouncing a ball slowly. The echoing thump of rubber on concrete filled the otherwise silent court. Her form was stiff, her movements strained. She launched a mid-range shot, but the ball clanked off the rim and bounced away, skidding unevenly across the rough surface.
She bent forward, hands on her knees, gasping. Sweat ran down her face and clung to her shorts, the fabric sticking visibly to her back.
The ball rolled toward Tetsuo and stopped at his feet. He picked it up—the warmth of her last shot still faint on the surface—and gently passed it back to her.
"Thanks," she said, brushing damp strands of hair behind her ears. Her voice was breathy but polite.
Tetsuo tilted his head. "How long have you been out here?"
"Since one," she replied, catching her breath. "I couldn't sleep. Too anxious, I guess."
He nodded. "So you came out to practice?"
"Yeah. Thought it might help clear my head before school."
"You play basketball, then?" he asked.
"Well, I try to," she said with a sheepish smile. Her lips trembled slightly from the cold. "Do you?"
"A bit."
"Say, can you shoot?"
"You could say that."
"Then… could you show me how to shoot properly?" Her eyes met his, wide and expectant, and she clenched the ball slightly in both hands.
Tetsuo hesitated for a second, then gave a short nod. "Alright. Watch closely."
He stepped back to the three-point line, the court slightly damp beneath his soles. He bounced the ball a couple of times—the thuds echoing off the chain-link fence—then rose into a smooth, balanced shot.
The ball arced high, cutting cleanly through the early morning air, and dropped cleanly through the net with a satisfying swish.
Her eyes widened, and she stepped back slightly. Her hands gripped the ball, feeling its familiar weight, and a small shiver ran through her from the morning chill.
Whoa… that was amazing. Her chest lifted with a quick, uneven breath, and her fingers flexed around the ball as she tried to steady herself. The flow of his power on the basketball… it's so authentic.
"Nice shot! That was an impressive display," she added, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Her shoulders lifted nervously, and a faint flush crept across her cheeks.
"So… can you watch me and tell me what I'm doing wrong, please?"
"Okay, I guess. Show me."
Tetsuo adjusted his stance, fingers brushing the seams of the ball as he bent his knees slightly, the cold morning air biting at his exposed skin.
The girl dribbled the basketball, the sound hollow and erratic, and took a deep breath before shooting a mid-range shot. The ball bounced off the backboard with a dull thunk and dropped to the ground.
"I just don't know what I'm doing wrong. The ball just won't go in!" she said in a frustrated tone, her voice sharp and tight.
"You're relying too much on your arms," Tetsuo said, stepping beside her. His footsteps scraped faintly across the pavement. "That's why your shot feels forced."
She blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Your legs are the foundation. That's where the power should come from. Your arms just guide the ball, not launch it. Right now, your upper body is doing all the work."
Haruko nodded slowly, trying to follow along. The corners of her mouth twitched as she processed it.
"When you shoot," he continued, "bend your knees a bit first. As you jump, push off with your legs—that energy travels up through your body. Think of it like a wave: from your legs, through your core, into your arms."
He mimicked the motion with his hands, the sleeves of his hoodie shifting slightly with the gesture.
"And your shooting hand—keep it straight and aligned with the rim. Don't twist your wrist or push with your guide hand. Just use it for balance."
"Okay…"
"When you release," he added, "do it at the peak of your jump. That's when you've got the most control. Too early, and the shot's weak. Too late, and it's off-balance."
Haruko squinted at the hoop. Her breath came in shallow bursts as she muttered, "So… legs for power, arm straight, release at the top."
"Right. And one more thing—don't look at the whole hoop. Focus on a single point. Front of the rim, or center of the net. Your brain's good at targeting when it has something specific to aim at."
Haruko rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand, wiping away sweat. "You explained it well, but… I still feel a little lost."
"Then watch again."
Tetsuo took the ball, squared up. His shoes scraped lightly against the court as he set his stance. He bent his knees, then rose with a smooth jump, flicking his wrist in a clean, practiced motion.
Swish.
"The motion should feel like one flow," he said, shifting his weight slightly as he bounced the ball once, feeling the rubber thud against his palm. His hoodie rustled as he lifted it, adjusting his stance. "Simple and smooth."
Haruko inhaled sharply, her chest rising and falling quickly. She bent her knees, fingers gripping the ball tightly, and gave a small nod to herself.
"Alright… Here goes."
She bounced the ball once—the sound sharper this time—then hesitated. Her fingers flexed slightly around the rubber. She looked at the hoop, then down at her feet, then at Tetsuo, as if silently asking for one last bit of confidence.
He's not saying anything… just nods.
She turned back and squared up again. Her knees bent. She lifted into her jump, arms trembling—
—and released.
Tetsuo watched the shot, eyes narrowing.
"This seems familiar somehow…" he muttered, the words slipping out before he could even stop them.
Her form was shaky, knees trembling slightly, but her eyes stayed fixed on the center of the hoop. She released the ball, fingers flexing as it left her hands—
Swish.
The ball thudded softly on the ground as it bounced once and settled. Her eyes widened, and her mouth fell open.
"Wait… it went in?!" Her hands tightened slightly, still hovering near the ball, and her chest lifted in a quick, uneven breath.
Tetsuo gave a small nod, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "See? It's not impossible."
"That's… that's the first shot I've made all morning!" she cried, beaming. "I can't believe it!"
Without thinking, she lunged forward and hugged him. Her arms pressed tightly against his torso, and the warmth of her exertion radiated through his hoodie.
Tetsuo froze, shoulders stiff, hands dropping to his sides. He felt the unexpected pressure against him and the slight sway of her movement. Confusion…
"I didn't do much," he said in a flat tone, his voice steady but low. "So could you… let go now?"
"Oh! Sorry—sorry!" She jumped back, stepping onto the damp pavement with a soft scrape of her sneakers. Her cheeks burned bright red, and she ran a hand through her sweat-damp hair.
"I didn't mean to. It's just—some of the girls on my team do that when they make a shot, and I guess I picked up the habit…"
Tetsuo blinked. "Alright."
She laughed nervously, the sound shaky, and her shoulders lifted slightly as she rubbed the back of her neck. She held out her hand, fingers brushing lightly against his.
"I'm Haruko Takahashi. I probably should've started with that."
Tetsuo extended his hand briefly, keeping his expression neutral. "Tetsuo Kawaguchi."
"You play for your school?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, the early morning chill making her shoulders tense.
"Not really. Just a hobby." He let go of her hand and adjusted his hoodie, feeling the fabric shift against his skin.
"I play for Hachioji Academy," she said. "I'm the power forward—though I'm short for the position. Still, I'm the best defender we have."
She sat down on the court, her legs stretched out across the cool pavement, arms resting behind her to support herself. A small pebble pressed against her palm, and she shifted slightly, brushing it away. The surface was rough, biting faintly through her damp clothes.
"The only problem is… I can't score. Not a layup, not a free throw. Nothing." She drew her knees slightly toward her chest, squeezing the ball lightly as if it could steady her. "Every year we lose in the early rounds, and I know I'm part of the reason why." Her shoulders tensed, and she gave a small, nervous glance at the hoop. "My teammates say they're fine with it, but… I hear the whispers."
Her voice softened, almost dropping to a whisper. She tilted her head down, eyes flicking toward the cracks in the pavement, as the cool breeze lifted damp strands of her hair against her forehead. Her fingers flexed lightly, gripping the seams of the ball.
"This is my last year in junior high. I want to change that. I want to prove I'm not just dead weight. Not just to my team—but to myself. And my parents, too. They don't really see the point in all this."
Tetsuo sat beside her, the ground cold beneath them, listening quietly. His fingers brushed against a crack in the pavement as he leaned back slightly. The faint squeak of Haruko adjusting her shoes filled the silence.
"I don't know why I'm telling you all this," she muttered, hugging her knees tightly, her arms pressing lightly against her chest. Her shoulders lifted and fell with quick, uneven breaths. "Sorry. That was a lot."
"It's fine," he said, shifting his weight slightly and adjusting the sleeves of his hoodie. "I don't mind listening." His voice was calm, even, but his eyes briefly flicked to her face, noting the tension in her jaw and the slight tremor in her fingers.
Haruko glanced up at him, her expression softening. She let out a small exhale, the tightness in her shoulders easing just a fraction. "Thanks… really. For everything."
"Keep practicing," Tetsuo said as he stood. "Use what I showed you. You'll get there."
Haruko nodded, her determination reignited.
She picked up the ball again, its grip familiar now in her hands. She took a breath and squared up to shoot—this time with purpose in her form, and just a hint of belief in her eyes.