After the lights in the Ryonan gym went out, Sakuragi Hanamichi was the last one to step through the doors.
When he returned home and pushed open the door, he flipped on the light. A dim yellow glow spilled across the narrow entryway.
The living room—also his bedroom—was barely ten square meters. A low table, a single wardrobe, a secondhand refrigerator, and a futon laid over the tatami mat. The walls had yellowed with age, and thin cracks ran along the corners.
His parents had passed away early, leaving behind only this old apartment and a small amount of savings. For three years of middle school, he had survived on part-time jobs and whatever meals he could scavenge from the Sakuragi Gang.
Honestly… it was pretty miserable.
He walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Cold air rushed out.
Inside, there was almost nothing—just a few condiment packets, two eggs, and a carton of milk nearing its expiration date.
He ate something simple to fill his stomach.
The clock on the wall pointed to 7:30 p.m.
"Time for work."
Sakuragi changed into his convenience store uniform and headed toward the station.
Meanwhile, at the Aida household—
"Sis! Sis! You won't believe this!!"
Aida Hikoichi burst through the front door. He hadn't even dropped his schoolbag before shouting into the living room. His cheeks were flushed, eyes glowing with excitement, one hand gripping the small notebook he never parted with.
"What happened, Hikoichi?"
Aida Yayoi leaned out from the kitchen. In her early twenties, she had short, sharp-cut hair and still held a kitchen knife.
"A new guy joined the basketball team today! A super rookie!"
His voice nearly lifted the roof.
"Red hair, 188 centimeters tall—his name is Sakuragi Hanamichi! And guess what? In the intrasquad scrimmage, he led Fukuda-senpai's team and beat the team with Sendoh-senpai and Uozumi-senpai!"
Yayoi raised a brow, setting the knife down as she walked out.
"They beat Sendoh and Uozumi's team? A rookie did that?"
"Yes! And the craziest part—"
Hikoichi flipped open his notebook, stabbing at the notes with trembling fingers.
"He played point guard! But he completely shut Sendoh down on defense! None of Sendoh's fakes worked! On offense he bullied Sendoh with his body—and he made tons of beautiful assists!"
Yayoi took the notebook and skimmed quickly.
Her expression shifted—from casual, to focused, to stunned.
"24 points. 10 assists. 4 rebounds… in a 20-minute scrimmage?"
She looked up.
"Hikoichi. Are you sure this is right?"
"Absolutely! I saw it myself!"
He nodded hard.
"You should've seen it, sis! His defense was like sticky gum—he clung to Sendoh-senpai until he couldn't breathe!"
Yayoi's eyes lit up.
As a basketball reporter, she could already smell a headline.
Sendoh Akira—
One of Kanagawa's top prodigies. A player recognized even on the national level.
And now a rookie had suppressed him in his first official practice?
"Did he play basketball before?" she asked.
"They said not officially. Just practiced on his own."
Hikoichi scratched his head.
"But I don't buy it… his movements are way too polished. He doesn't look like a beginner at all."
Yayoi thought for a moment, then handed back the notebook.
"I'll go check Ryonan when I get the chance. If he's really as good as you say… Kanagawa's power structure might be about to change."
She returned to the kitchen—but her mind was already far from dinner.
Defense that shuts down Sendoh.
A point guard.
A red-haired monster rookie…
Interesting.
9:40 p.m.
Sakuragi stood behind the register and yawned. His eyelids were heavy—today's training had drained him.
Twenty minutes left until his shift ended.
The store was quiet. Two salarymen were picking out bentos. The air-conditioning hummed, mixing with the aroma of oden and cold air from the refrigerator cases.
Ding-dong.
A tall silhouette entered.
Sakuragi looked up—and froze.
The girl was wearing Ryonan's female school uniform: a deep navy sailor top, a white scarf, and a pleated skirt revealing long legs.
But it wasn't the uniform—or even her height, which had to be at least 175 cm—that stunned him.
It was her face.
That face…
Too familiar.
Oval-shaped. Clear eyes. A straight nose. A gentle, slightly upturned smile.
Delicately sculpted, yet naturally pure—untouched by makeup.
Her black hair was tied in a simple ponytail, revealing a smooth forehead.
Izumi Sakai.
The name surfaced in his mind.
Before he crossed over, he always had ZARD CDs in his car.
The legendary singer of the 1990s—the "sister" who had accompanied a generation with her voice.
After arriving in this Slam Dunk world, Sakuragi had searched.
No Izumi Sakai.
No ZARD.
And yet here she was—
a girl who looked exactly like her—standing before him.
She picked up a carton of milk and a small bread roll, then walked to the counter. When she looked up, her eyes widened slightly—clearly surprised by his red hair and height.
"320 yen. Thank you for shopping with us."
Sakuragi forced his voice to stay calm.
He scanned the items, his hands moving mechanically—yet his gaze lingered on her face for one extra second.
She really was identical.
Especially that aura—clear, gentle, with a faint sense of distance.
He took the money, bagged the items, and handed them over.
The bell rang again.
Her figure vanished into the night.
Sakuragi stood there for a long moment before snapping back to reality.
They were both Ryonan students.
He'd probably see her again.
10:00 p.m.
He clocked out and left the store.
The night had deepened. Most shops were closed—only izakayas and karaoke bars still glowed.
He took a shortcut through a narrow alley. One streetlamp was broken; shadows pooled in the darkness.
Halfway through, Sakuragi stopped.
Someone was ahead.
In the dim light, he could make out three or four figures huddled together, cigarette embers flickering like dying stars.
Sakuragi narrowed his eyes. His vision was sharp even in low light.
Delinquent clothing. Dyed hair.
And the one surrounded by them—
A boy in Shohoku's uniform.
Tall and thin. Long hair.
His profile flickered in the smoke.
Mitsui Hisashi.
Sakuragi's mind raced.
In the original story, Mitsui should have already injured his knee and fallen into delinquency at this point. Later, he would storm Shohoku's gym, be awakened by Coach Anzai, and return to basketball.
And now—
he was still with Tetsuo, Hotta, and their gang.
Then Tetsuo turned.
Their eyes met.
Tetsuo's gaze was feral, wary like a beast. He looked Sakuragi up and down, pausing on the red hair and broad frame—then smirked.
Sakuragi's heart sank.
Trouble.
Hotta noticed him too. In the original story, he was vicious—the one who later smashed Rukawa with a broom.
"What're you staring at?"
Hotta strode over, cigarette dangling from his lips.
"Redhead, you looking for a beating?"
Mitsui turned as well.
In the dim light, Sakuragi saw his face—more gaunt than in the manga. Hollow eyes. A self-mocking smile. His uniform hung open, cigarette between his fingers.
Completely fallen.
Sakuragi sighed.
Hotta reached out to shove his shoulder.
In that instant—
Sakuragi moved.
His left foot stepped forward. His body twisted slightly.
His right leg snapped out like a spring.
A brutal front kick—
straight into Hotta's chest.
Thud!
Hotta flew backward, crashing into Tetsuo. Both staggered, nearly falling.
Before anyone could react, Sakuragi turned and ran.
Mad Dog Fist Secret Technique:
When you're outnumbered and unarmed—run as fast as you can!
"FUCK!!!"
Tetsuo's roar exploded behind him.
"GET HIM!! KILL HIM!!!"
Hotta's screams and curses echoed through the alley.