One and a half years prior, the start of Tento Tunishi's freshman year
The day had just begun and it was completely bright and sunny, the already golden sunbeams coming through the window and performing on the walls of Tento Tunishi's bedroom. The birds were singing outside, probably, the most beautiful day ever, melodiously, and perhaps, celebrating it. He was still in bed covered with a light, sky-blue, soft blanket, his eyes slowly opening and his little excitement growing. He was wearing a big smile when he finally got up; the sun was already making his face warm. His outfit—the white shirt, blue-black trousers, and His dearest sneakers—was all neatly stacked and sorted by color. They appeared to be faithful friends resting next to the bedside table. Simultaneously, Tento, fueled by a sudden rush of power, ran to the toilet, and the cold bathroom floor was clicking under his feet. He flossed and brushed his teeth in a very rhythmic manner and pleasant minty taste kept going nice and fresh on his tongue. The bathroom was soon like a sauna as he took a quick shower, the hot water soaking him like a shower in a tropical forest. Ten minutes later, he grabbed his towel, light grey, soft and fluffy, like a cloud, and wrapped himself with it. He picked out clothes and dressed as the scent of citrus from the shampoo lingered around him. His fingers wafted easily in regular motion. In his chest he had an invigorating hustle reminiscent of hummingbird wings for everything the day would bring. Tento couldn't contain his excitement and thus, ran down the stairs. His heavy feet created a noise that bounced around the whole house. He picked a stunning red apple from the kitchen that looked as if its skin was glimmering in the morning sun, "Mom! I'm going!" The moment the door was opened, they were met by a fresh air wave and the scent of a wet meadow. His mom, standing by the sink with a warm smile and flour-dusted hands, replied gently, "Take care." Her voice was soft, like a lullaby, and her eyes sparkled with pride as she watched her son disappear into the brilliance of the day.
Tunishi dashes toward school, pumped about what's ahead. Grinning wide, he gives a quick wave to folks nearby. Sunlight heats his skin while a fresh wind zips by. From the branches above, birds sing out - lifting his rhythm down the road. He gets to school, then moves from one class to another - paying attention, jotting things down, while cracking jokes with buddies. Thoughts wander now and again, wondering what's waiting once the bell rings. Time drags more than it normally does, every lesson crawling past the previous. Pencil tapping starts, eyes flick toward the clock, body squirms a little; just itching for the day to end. The last bell sounded yet Tento Tunishi had nearly vanished through the doorway. His shoes screeched on the shiny tiles while he dashed for the gym, heart pumping hard. Inside, the atmosphere clung close - polished timber scent mixed with distant dribbles of balls hitting floors. Over by the far wall loomed Coach Hanamichi Akagi, wide-built and stern, gripping a clipboard.
"I came to give it a shot," Tunishi said - calm words, even as his pulse raced hard under his skin."That's great," Akagi replied with a grin. "We'll begin in ten minutes. Today is all about physical tests. Tomorrow, we'll see your skills." Tunishi picked a place close to the stands, hands damp while he stood there. Inside the hall, people were tense - sneakers scraped, low talks floated around, and the ceiling lights buzzed quietly above.Ten minutes passed when Akagi's shrill whistle sliced the air. With a loud clap, he grabbed everyone's attention. "Form a line!" he shouted, standing tall near the net posts. Height first, then how heavy you are, followed by arm span measurements." Tunishi moved ahead with the group, belly knotted with nerves. As his name was called, he kicked off his shoes - bare soles meeting smooth wood floor. A ruler dropped slowly, settling right on top of his scalp."177 centimeters," Akagi said quietly while writing it fast. Then it was wingspan time. With arms flung out, Tunishi wobbled a bit at the tips while the measuring tape crept sideways. "177 centimeters," said Akagi again, one brow climbing higher. Lastly, the weighing machine. Tunishi hopped on - it blinked a few times then held steady. "Sixty kilos," it said. The whistle blew loud once more. "Test position - now!" snapped Akagi. Tunishi went first. Tall and still, he let them measure how high he could stretch while standing. Then he stepped back, gaze fixed on the spot overhead. Legs tensing tight, ready to snap - he shot up fast, hands cutting the space above. A sharp smack came when his fingers hit the mark. Gasps spread across the room. Teammates glanced at each other, stunned. Akagi clenched his teeth - then smirked. "Seems we found an outlier," he muttered, jotting the figure: 122 centimeters. The trials kept going - short bursts, quick turns, stamina pushes. Not long after, Tunishi zipped forward, his frame slicing the air with sharp control. What stunned everyone happened mid-court dash. He dropped into position; then the signal sounded - he shot off, a rushing streak, shoes hammering hard. As he hit the mark, the timer blinked: 2.94 seconds. For a second, no one said anything - then came quiet voices full of shock. Akagi seemed surprised too. Moving closer, he placed his thick palm solidly on Tunishi's shoulder. "You surprised me," the coach said, his voice carrying both respect and excitement. "I think it's safe to say you'll be on the team unless you do horrendous on the skills test tomorrow."
The next day, sunlight poured into the gym from high up, painting everything warm. Tunishi stepped inside, backpack hanging loose, his shoes making tiny noises on the floor. Quiet filled the room except for those soft squeaks. Smells of old effort and wooden polish hung around - leftover traces from the tough session before.
Coach Akagi stood at center court, clipboard in hand, his presence commanding as always. "Today we test skill. Yesterday you shocked us with your numbers. Now we see if you can play." The first drill focused on ball control. Cones lined up in a slanted line across the court, so players moved fast while bouncing the ball. As soon as the whistle sounded, Tunishi shot ahead, staying close to the ground with focus in his gaze. His dribble matched each step - clean, steady, like a beat. Moving around the markers, he flowed without jerking or slowing, keeping the ball glued to his hand. Then it was time for shooting. One by one, players stepped to the free throw line. Tunishi tapped the ball twice on the floor, took a slow breath, then let the shot go. It flew upward, spinning smooth, falling straight into the hoop with a clean swish. Over and over he did it - each release sharp, full of calm focus - the net snapping softly after every make.
Next up was the practice game. The gym cracked open with noise - feet sliding, people yelling, bodies darting everywhere. Tunishi slipped past guards like smoke, head on a swivel, taking it all in fast. A pass found him at the arc; he spun quick, then let the shot fly. It shot up, tapped the edge, then dropped through. Players stood frozen - some cheered, a few just stared blankly. On defense, Tunishi didn't let up. Bending down low, with arms stretched out, eyes fixed right on the guy across from him. As soon as the player dribbled sideways, he shifted quick - blocking the path clean. You could hear his shoes squeak through the whole room while he copied each step sharp. Once the practice match finished, sweat ran off his forehead, breathing hard, yet his gaze stayed locked with grit. The coach whistled sharply - time to wrap up. Akagi came close, boots thudding on the ground, then gripped Tunishi's shoulder tight. "You proved it," Akagi said, his voice steady but filled with pride. "Yesterday you showed freakish athleticism. Today you showed skill. Welcome to the team."
Tunishi let out a breath, muscles shaky from the rush. Harsh light spilled from the ceiling - yet his eyes were fixed on what's ahead, sharp and clear. A rhythmic thud echoed nearby, syncing with his pulse, steady yet wild.