Twenty minutes of intrasquad scrimmage felt even more exhausting than an official game.
When Taoka blew the final whistle, the scoreboard read:
Team A 38 — Team B 43.
Team A had lost by five points.
Yet this result stunned everyone. Especially the players on Team B—because they knew very well that this victory had come far from easily.
Sendoh bent over with his hands on his knees, panting as he looked at the red-haired boy across from him. The other was just as soaked in sweat, yet his eyes were still sharp and bright.
Is this guy's stamina… endless? Sendoh thought in disbelief.
Taoka Moichi stared at the scoreboard, then at the stat sheet.
Sakuragi alone had put up 22 points, 11 rebounds—including 7 offensive boards—along with 6 assists and 3 steals.
More importantly, under his momentum, Team A's players had grown visibly more confident in the final minutes. Even Hikoichi had managed to knock down a wide-open mid-range jumper.
"If he ever develops a reliable shot…"
Taoka stroked his chin, eyes burning with anticipation.
In his mind, he could already see it—
the prefectural tournament, a two-way guard who could attack, pass, and shoot, leading Ryonan as they crushed every opponent in their path.
Just then, Sakuragi suddenly plopped down on the floor.
Unlike usual, he didn't jump back up for extra drills.
Frowning, he lowered his head and stared at his feet.
The others followed his gaze—and froze.
On Sakuragi's feet were nothing more than plain white school-issued canvas sneakers.
On the right shoe, near the little toe, a tear had split open—five or six centimeters long.
The cheap white fabric had been completely ripped apart, exposing the pale-gray edge of the flimsy insole beneath.
For a moment, the gym fell into silence.
Everyone knew Sakuragi came from a poor family.
But only now—seeing those torn shoes laid bare—did they truly feel the weight of that hardship.
This was a basketball court.
Those thin canvas soles had no cushioning, no support, barely any traction.
To play at that intensity in shoes like that—
Didn't his feet hurt?
Taoka stared at the glaring tear, his heart sinking.
He remembered what Sakuragi had said when he first enrolled:
"My parents are gone. We don't have much money."
He also remembered the past two weeks—
Sakuragi always being the first to arrive, the last to leave, going to part-time work after practice.
This child had been training and competing with everything he had—
in shoes like these.
A storm of emotions welled up in Taoka's chest:
heartache, bitterness, and above all, a coach's responsibility.
He cleared his throat, breaking the silence.
"That's enough for today. Dismissed! Sakuragi, you stay."
The team gathered their things and left. The looks they cast Sakuragi had changed—softer now, heavier.
As Sendoh passed him, he hesitated, as if wanting to say something.
In the end, he only patted Sakuragi's shoulder and walked away.
When the gym was finally empty, Taoka stepped in front of him, keeping his tone casual.
"Change your shoes. You're coming with me."
"Eh? Coach, where to?" Sakuragi looked up.
"Home. Dinner," Taoka said simply.
"My wife made beef stew. There's too much for one person."
Sakuragi froze, then waved his hands hurriedly.
"No, Coach, that's too much trouble. I'll just eat something simple—"
"Enough!" Taoka snapped, eyes sharp with authority.
"You're at a critical stage of growth—and at a critical stage of your basketball career. Nutrition is non-negotiable. From now on, after practice, you're eating dinner at my house. That's an order!"
Facing Taoka's unyielding expression, Sakuragi opened his mouth—then swallowed his refusal.
Lowering his head, he quickly changed out of the torn shoes. His face felt warm.
Not from embarrassment—
but from a long-forgotten warmth: the feeling of being cared for.
Taoka's home wasn't far from the school—a modest two-story house.
Mrs. Taoka, a gentle, plump middle-aged woman, looked surprised when she saw her husband bring home a tall red-haired boy. Then she immediately welcomed him with warm enthusiasm.
The table was already set.
Steaming potato-and-beef stew filled the air with rich aroma, alongside grilled fish, miso soup, and a fresh vegetable salad.
"This is my daughter," Taoka said, pointing to a little girl doing homework nearby.
"Taoka Maruko. She's in sixth grade."
The girl looked up—mushroom haircut, round face.
She blinked at Sakuragi, then chirped brightly:
"Hello, Big Brother Sakuragi!"
She looked exactly like a real-life Chibi Maruko-chan.
Sakuragi flushed at the word big brother and quickly greeted her back.
The meal began a little awkwardly, but Mrs. Taoka kept piling food onto his plate, and Maruko asked him curious questions about basketball. The atmosphere soon softened.
The stew was tender and rich. The fish was crispy outside, soft inside.
Simple home cooking—but to Sakuragi, it tasted better than any delicacy.
He couldn't even remember the last time he had sat at someone else's table, eating a warm family dinner like this.
The next day after school, Sakuragi arrived at the gym as usual.
He had just changed into his practice gear when Taoka walked over, carrying a paper bag with a sporting goods store logo.
"This is for you. Try it."
He handed it over as casually as if it were a bottle of water.
Sakuragi took it in confusion and opened the bag.
Inside was a shoebox.
He lifted the lid.
A brand-new pair of basketball shoes lay quietly inside—
white and blue colorway, sleek lines, thick midsoles, and that famous Jumpman logo.
Air Jordan.
Sakuragi froze.
His fingers brushed the smooth leather.
At this time, for an ordinary high school student, this was nothing short of a luxury.
"Coach… this is too expensive. I can't—"
"Stop talking," Taoka cut him off.
Hands behind his back, eyes on the warming players, his voice was low—but every word struck straight into Sakuragi's heart.
"A real basketball player can't be without proper shoes. They're tools. They're weapons. Playing in canvas sneakers isn't just disrespecting basketball—it's disrespecting your own effort."
He paused, then turned back and met Sakuragi's eyes.
"I asked Hikoichi for your size. They should fit. Go change. Let me see."
Sakuragi hugged the box to his chest, the weight heavy in his arms.
He looked at Taoka's stern face—now slightly awkward—and felt his throat tighten.
In the end, he said nothing.
He bowed deeply.
Then he ran to the sideline and carefully put on the new shoes.
The moment his feet touched the wooden floor, everything felt different.
Firm support. Clear feedback. A springy energy rising from the soles.
He stood, jumped twice, then jogged in place.
"How is it?" Taoka asked.
Sakuragi looked up, a dazzling smile bursting across his face. Even his red hair seemed brighter.
"Perfect, Coach!"
"That's good." Taoka nodded, then blew the whistle.
"Everyone, gather! Training begins!"
Sakuragi ran across the familiar court in his new shoes.
Every step was stronger. Every jump more confident.
He knew—
These weren't just shoes.
They were a promise.
And a weight of trust.