About thirteen years ago was the first time I met him. We were both just kids then—restless, wide-eyed, and eager to learn the game our fathers loved: basketball, Kogure thought to himself.
Back in those days, Miyazato Kobayashi—my father—and Hisashi would hit the street courts together. Most weekends it was three-on-three, the kind of rough, sweaty games that stretched long into the afternoon.
The scorching summer sun pressed down on the cracked concrete court, heat waves rising off its faded paint. Long shadows stretched across the pavement as the game unfolded. A warm breeze drifted through, carrying with it the sharp squeak of sneakers and the steady thump of the ball hitting the ground.
"Hisashi, over here!" Miyazato called, weaving free as his defender struggled to keep up. He cut toward the top of the key, every step kicking up tiny puffs of dust. His T-shirt clung to his back, soaked through with sweat.
Hisashi sent the ball flying with a crisp chest pass, and it landed squarely in Miyazato's palms with a satisfying thud. Without missing a beat, Hisashi darted through the key, his sneakers skimming the concrete with quick, deliberate steps.
Miyazato bounced the ball back, and Hisashi caught it in stride, coming to a stop just behind the arc. He planted his feet, bent his knees, and flicked his wrist. The ball spun cleanly into the air, slicing through the net with a sharp, satisfying swish.
"Nice assist, Miyazato." Hisashi's chest rose and fell quickly as he wiped sweat from his forehead with the hem of his shirt.
"Nice shot, Hisashi." Miyazato smirked, and the two of them bumped fists, the sharp clap of their palms echoing lightly on the concrete.
The opposing team checked the ball and restarted play. Hisashi slipped past his defender with quick, precise steps, forcing a switch. He passed to a teammate and hustled over to set a screen, his broad shoulders colliding solidly with the defender.
Miyazato took the opening and slid past, sneakers scrubbing against the concrete. When the ball came back to him, he didn't hesitate. One hard dribble, two long strides, and he launched toward the hoop. His sneakers squeaked sharply against the court as he pushed off.
For a moment, the world narrowed to air and motion—then his body slammed the ball through the hoop with a deep thunk, the backboard shivering slightly on impact.
"We're really cooking today—eighteen to zero. Game point," Hisashi smirked, chest rising and falling as he bent over, hands resting on his knees.
Miyazato spun the ball to him, and Hisashi dribbled low, snapping it sharply between his legs. He stepped back behind the three-point line, shoes scraping slightly on the dusty pavement.
A defender lunged, but Hisashi's high release and unusual grip sent the ball over the outstretched arm. It arced slowly through the air, spinning cleanly, before dropping through the net with a satisfying swish.
"And that's game. Better luck next time, guys." He grinned, rolling his shoulders as he straightened up.
"Hisashi, you didn't have to put in that much effort. Those guys didn't even get a chance to score." Miyazato chuckled, brushing sweat from his forehead.
"You're one to talk. There was no need to dunk the ball back there." Hisashi shook his head, grinning. "And yeah, I know, but my son's here today. Can't let these old geezers show me up."
"Hey! Who the hell are you calling a geezer?" one of the opposing players barked, still gasping for air.
Hisashi raised his hands, laughing. "Hahaha, sorry, my bad."
"Your dad is truly amazing, Tetsuo." Kogure's eyes widened with awe as he perched on the edge of the court, legs bouncing and spinning a basketball between them.
"Yeah, he is. I'm so glad he's my father. But your dad isn't half bad either—he can dunk! That's so cool." Tetsuo's hands dribbled the ball lightly on his lap, eyes bright with excitement.
"Man, I can't believe you're retired already. You still play like you never left." Miyazato bent over to stretch, chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.
"You think so? I guess I still have some juice left from my prime." Hisashi laughed, running a hand through his hair.
"Yes, you definitely do."
After a shared laugh, Hisashi glanced at Tetsuo, who was beaming. He strode over and scooped his son into the air, spinning him lightly.
"How was that, Tetsuo? Your old man's the best, huh?" Hisashi held him high, the boy's legs kicking slightly.
"Yeah, Dad, you're the best! I'll train hard until the day I become number one in Japan, just like you did!"
"And I'll be there to support your dreams all the way."
"Well, I have bad news for both of you. I'm going to be number one in Japan. There's no way I'll let anyone beat me—not even you, Tetsuo." Kogure narrowed his eyes, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
"We'll see about that. There's no way I'll lose to you." Tetsuo clenched his fists, jaw set.
"And why is that?" Kogure arched an eyebrow, stepping closer.
"Because my father is way better than yours at basketball." Tetsuo crossed his arms, confident.
"You may be right, but I'm a way better teacher than this numbskull." Miyazato smirked, shaking his head.
"Uncle Miyazato, is that true?" Tetsuo glanced between the two of them, curiosity in his eyes.
"Well, he isn't wrong. I'm not the greatest teacher." Hisashi rubbed the back of his neck, scratching lightly.
"See? You'll definitely never beat me." Kogure grinned, bouncing lightly on his heels.
"Alright, guys, save all of that for later. It's getting late, and you both have school tomorrow, so let's get going." Hisashi stretched his arms above his head, loosening his shoulders.
"Hey, Hisashi, you remember I'm going on a week-long business trip, so keep an eye on Kogure for me." Miyazato slung his bag over his shoulder.
"Yeah, I know. We already talked about this yesterday."
"Oh, okay. See you soon then." Miyazato waved as he stepped out.
"Alright, you guys rest up well. The earlier you sleep, the earlier you rise." Hisashi gently closed the bedroom door behind him, the soft click echoing through the quiet house.
Kogure and Tetsuo headed toward the small adjoining bathroom. The faint smell of toothpaste and the squeak of bristles filled the air as they brushed their teeth side by side. Water splashed lightly on the sink, and the mirror fogged slightly with steam from the warm room.
Once they finished, they returned to Tetsuo's room. Posters of basketball legends lined the walls, curling slightly at the edges, and a small shelf displayed trophies that glinted in the soft light from the night lamp. The bunk bed creaked gently as Kogure clambered onto the top bunk.
"Tetsuo, are you awake?" he whispered, bouncing slightly.
"Yeah, I'm awake," Tetsuo replied, eyes tracing the shadows on the ceiling.
"Let's work hard and become the best players in this country," Kogure murmured, voice low in the quiet room.
"Definitely. I'll work hard," Tetsuo whispered back, fists clenched lightly in determination.
The next morning, a warm sunrise bathed the quiet street in golden light, painting the rooftops and the leaves in a soft glow. Tetsuo was already running ahead, backpack bouncing with each stride, the straps thumping lightly against his shoulders. The faint smell of damp grass drifted through the air.
"Kogure, hurry up! We have to get to the court as early as possible so we can practice!" Tetsuo called back, panting slightly. His voice carried clearly in the crisp morning air, mixed with the rhythmic slap of his shoes on the pavement.
"Come on, why do you always have to run to school?" Kogure groaned, dragging his feet through the slightly wet grass edging the sidewalk, feeling the morning dew soak the soles of his sneakers.
"Because it's more thrilling that way! Plus, we get more time to train," Tetsuo replied, sidestepping a small puddle. A bird chirped nearby, and the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze followed them down the street.
Why am I even following this kid? I'm a year older… Kogure muttered, adjusting his bag on his shoulder, feeling the straps dig slightly into his sweat-slicked skin.
When they arrived at the old outdoor court, the concrete was still damp from morning dew, glinting faintly in the sunlight. Their sneakers squeaked against the wet surface, leaving dark, temporary footprints behind. The metallic clang of the nearby hoop's chain net swayed softly in the wind.
"Alright, let's start practicing. Let's do some layups," Tetsuo said, bouncing the ball with sharp taps that echoed across the quiet street, the rhythmic thumps blending with the distant hum of early traffic.
Kogure passed the ball to him. Tetsuo took two long strides, sneakers scrubbing lightly against the court, and laid it gently off the glass. The ball hit the backboard and dropped through the net with a satisfying swish. He passed it back, and Kogure followed with another.
Back and forth they went, breaths misting slightly in the cool air, the damp morning clinging to their skin, and their movements growing sharper with each repetition.
After several rounds, they moved to shooting practice. The steady thump of the ball hitting the pavement echoed across the quiet court, accompanied by the faint squeak of their sneakers sliding on dew-slick spots. The earthy scent of wet concrete mixed with the faint tang of worn leather from the basketball.
Even at that age, Tetsuo was an exceptional shooter. His form was compact and precise, and each shot came with the sharp snap of the ball leaving his fingertips. He adjusted his stance, shifting his weight on the balls of his feet, then fired—swish. Again—swish. Using his father's unique shooting grip, his fingertips guided the ball effortlessly.
Tetsuo and I had been friends ever since we were kids. Our fathers had been former high school teammates and later rivals at the international level. His father, Hisashi Kawaguchi, was famous—one of the best basketball players in the country.
We both attended Nagoya Elementary School, but since it didn't have a basketball team or court, we practiced at this old outdoor court near the school, both before and after class. The faint smell of morning dew, warm pavement, and worn rubber balls became familiar scents of our routine.
We were members of the junior under-thirteen basketball club in our district. Tetsuo and I were the youngest on the team, but we were starting members—far better than our peers. As you can imagine, the media was infatuated with Tetsuo. He was the talk of every sports channel, not only because of his skill but also because his father had once been the number one player in Japan.
Tetsuo and I dominated every kid our age, even those older than us. His signature move—the step-back three-pointer—was deadly, and he was an unstoppable scorer. Far better than I was back then.
He proved it every time we played one-on-one.
I had never won before, but I came close on multiple occasions.