Sunday Night – Kagawa Residence, Tokyo
The clock on Ryota's wall ticked past 10:00 PM.
The quiet house was lit only by the pale glow of his computer monitor.
Ryota leaned back in his chair, headset snug over his messy black hair. His friend's voice came through the mic, bright and teasing.
Tetsuya (Laughing): Bro, you missed that headshot again! You falling asleep already, Kagawa?
Ryota (Yawning): Says the guy who's been carried for three games straight.
Tetsuya: Excuse me? The great Yoneda Tetsuya doesn't get carried! You just got lucky, that's all.
Ryota chuckled, taking a sip from his half-empty energy drink. Empty ramen cups and snack wrappers littered his desk — proof that another all-nighter was in progress.
Despite the fatigue creeping in, gaming with Tetsuya always made the night lighter. They had been friends since middle school — total opposites but inseparable.
Match after match went by, their laughter mixing with the sound of digital gunfire and victory jingles.
Outside, the moon drifted higher, and the world slipped into silence.
Ryota (Murmuring): 4:30 already... great.
He rubbed his eyes, stretched, and sighed.
Ryota: Maybe a quick nap won't hurt.
He collapsed onto his bed before even removing his headset. Within seconds, the quiet hum of his PC fan lulled him to sleep.
Monday Morning – 7:00 AM
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Ryota's alarm blared like a siren. He jolted awake, nearly falling off his bed.
Ryota (Groaning): Ugh... I really gotta stop doing this.
He stared at the clock.
7:05.
Panic set in. He had twenty-five minutes to get to school.
Throwing on his uniform shirt, dark blue blazer, and black shoes, he quickly tied his necktie in the mirror. He grabbed his bag and bolted out the door.
His car keys sat temptingly by the door, but he ignored them.
Ryota (Thinking): Traffic's gonna kill me. Bike's faster.
He jumped on his black bicycle and pedaled hard through the Tokyo streets. The cool morning air hit his face, washing away the last traces of sleep.
Monday Morning – Tokyo Metropolitan High
Ryota rolled up to the school gate just as the warning bell rang. He parked his bike, sprinted up the stairs, and slid into his seat seconds before the teacher arrived.
Teacher (From the hallway): Right on time, Kagawa. That's new.
Ryota smirked, catching his breath. Beside him sat his best friend — tall, broad-shouldered, and annoyingly perfect in every way.
Yoneda Tetsuya.
Six-foot-three. Red hair that seemed to catch every ray of sunlight. The basketball team captain, popular, confident, and the kind of guy who drew attention wherever he went.
Ryota: You look way too awake for someone who stayed up all night.
Tetsuya (Grinning): I'm built different. You, on the other hand, look like a zombie that forgot to respawn.
Ryota: Funny. I carried you last night, remember?
Tetsuya: Dream on. Anyway, I saved your grades last week, so you owe me. I convinced Sensei not to call your parents about your missing assignment.
Ryota looked away.
Ryota: My dad wouldn't answer even if he did.
Tetsuya's smile softened.
Tetsuya: Still... you're doing good, man. Your old man trained me once, remember? I still owe him — and you — for that.
Ryota smiled faintly.
Ryota: Yeah. You couldn't even dribble straight back then.
Tetsuya: Hey! That was years ago. Now I'm captain — living proof of your dad's genius coaching.
The teacher entered, ending their banter.
Late Morning – Lunchtime
When the bell rang, students flooded the cafeteria. Ryota and Tetsuya found a quiet table by the window, trays clattering softly as they sat.
Tetsuya: What's your plan after class?
Ryota: Sleep. Or game. Depends on which one kills me slower.
Tetsuya (Smiling): How about something healthier? Let's shoot some hoops. It's been years since you touched a ball.
Ryota blinked.
Ryota: Nah, I'll just embarrass myself.
Tetsuya: You won't. The court's empty today. No one to see you miss.
After a moment's hesitation, Ryota sighed.
Ryota: Fine. One game. Then I'm done.
Tetsuya: Deal.
After School – School Court
The afternoon sun burned golden across the quiet court.
Tetsuya dribbled the basketball, the sound echoing against the metal fences.
He passed it to Ryota.
Tetsuya: Your turn. Let's see that form.
Ryota positioned himself at the free throw line. He bent his knees, focused... and shot.
The ball hit the rim and bounced off.
Ryota (Muttering): Damn it.
Tetsuya: Don't stop. Keep going.
Ryota tried again. Miss. Again. Short. Again. Too far.
Out of fifteen shots, only one went in.
His arms burned, his shoulders ached. Sweat clung to his forehead.
Ryota: One out of fifteen. Not bad... if we were counting failures.
He dropped to sit on the court floor, catching his breath.
Tetsuya: You're thinking too hard. Basketball isn't about logic — it's rhythm, instinct. You've got the brain for it, but your body doesn't trust it yet.
Ryota (Smirking): Easy for you to say, Mr. Highlight Reel.
Tetsuya: Hey, I started like you too. Your dad didn't let me quit, remember? He said, "Even a weak shot matters if you believe it can go in."
Ryota paused. For a second, his father's voice echoed faintly in his mind — calm, firm, proud.
He exhaled slowly.
Ryota: Maybe I should've trained with you guys back then.
Tetsuya (Grinning): Never too late. Come on, juice break. My treat.
Evening – Vending Area
The two sat on a bench near the vending machines, sipping cold juice cans.
Tetsuya: You've still got potential, Ryota. You just don't see it.
Ryota: Potential doesn't mean much when your arms feel like noodles.
Tetsuya (Laughing): Then eat more noodles. The good kind.
Ryota laughed, shaking his head.
Ryota: You really should be a motivational speaker instead of a captain.
Tetsuya: Maybe after I win nationals.
The sun dipped lower, painting the court orange and gold. The world felt calm again — simple, grounded.
Evening – The Road Home
Tetsuya grabbed his car keys.
Tetsuya: I can give you a ride if you want.
Ryota: Nah, I'll take my bike. Need the wind.
Tetsuya: Suit yourself, zombie. See you tomorrow.
They parted ways. Ryota pedaled slowly through the suburban roads, the breeze brushing against his face.
By the time he reached home, the sky had turned a soft purple. He parked his bicycle by the gate — then stopped.
A small cardboard box sat neatly on his doorstep.
There was no delivery truck in sight, no mail carrier nearby.
Ryota (Thinking): Huh? I didn't order anything...
He crouched and picked it up. The box was plain brown, a bit heavy. A shipping label was taped neatly on top.
He read the sender's name — and froze.
From: Kagawa Yori
His father.
Ryota's heart skipped a beat.
He stood there for a moment, unsure what to feel. Confusion, curiosity, maybe a touch of unease.
Ryota (Whispering): Dad...?
He carried the box inside, setting it on the living room table. The soft rustle of the cardboard echoed faintly in the quiet room.
He didn't open it. Not yet.
He just stood there, staring at the name on the label — wondering why his father, who had just visited yesterday, would send him something without saying a word.
Outside, the streetlights flickered on. The clock ticked softly in the background.
Ryota exhaled, sitting on the couch.
The unopened package sat across from him, silent and still.
To be continued...