The Monday afternoon sunlight streamed through the spotless windows of Ryonan High's classroom building, slicing bright, warm patches of light across the corridor floor.
Inside Class 1–2, by the window, Kamochi Izumi rested her chin on her hand while listening to her deskmate—and best friend—Nagano Anka, who was animatedly recounting the weekend basketball game.
"…And then that red-haired freshman—right in the middle of a three-man trap—whoosh, he kicked the ball to the corner. Koshino-senpai caught it and shot—three points! Clean swish!"
Anka flailed her arms, mimicking the shooting motion, her short hair bouncing as she spoke.
"Izumi, it's such a shame you didn't go! The whole place exploded! That redhead's name is… Sakuragi Hanamichi! Yeah, that's it! He's insanely good!"
Izumi tilted her head slightly. A flicker of recognition and curiosity passed through her clear eyes.
"Is he… really tall, with hair as red as flames?"
She lifted her hand far above her own head.
"About… this tall?"
"Yes, yes, exactly! You've seen him?" Anka's eyes lit up.
"Mm… I ran into someone like that at the convenience store. I'm not sure if it was him."
Izumi spoke softly, her mind filling with the image of a boy who looked a little sleepy, yet whose eyes were strangely bright—along with that unforgettable red hair.
"Wow, what a coincidence! Then it has to be him—there aren't many people that tall! You have to come next time and confirm it!"
Anka leaned in excitedly.
"They say he's only been playing basketball for half a month! A total genius! He was specially recruited by the coach—and his tuition is waived!"
"Half a month?" Izumi blinked in surprise.
She didn't know much about basketball, but she did know that any sport required years of training to reach competitive level. Half a month… that really was talent.
"Yeah! And the way he plays…"
Anka clasped her cheeks, eyes sparkling.
"He's so imposing! Especially on defense—like a wall! That really, really handsome guy from Shohoku, Rukawa Kaede, was completely shut down by him!"
Listening to her friend, Izumi felt a sudden spark of interest.
If it truly was that slightly lazy-looking boy from the convenience store—the one who had secretly glanced at her—could he really look like that on the court?
It felt… hard to imagine.
"The prefectural tournament starts in just over a month,"
Anka grabbed Izumi's hand and shook it.
"Let's go watch Ryonan together! Cheer for the team—and see if Sakuragi Hanamichi is really that part-timer you mentioned!"
Izumi met her hopeful gaze and nodded gently.
"Okay."
Meanwhile, in Class 1–7, the atmosphere was completely different.
Sakuragi Hanamichi was sprawled in his chair, patting his stomach in satisfaction.
He had just returned from the cafeteria—his belly full of steaming pork cutlet rice and miso soup, his whole body wrapped in that drowsy comfort that followed a good meal.
Coming to Ryonan was truly great.
Private school meant lunch was provided—and it was unlimited, too. At Shohoku, lunch would probably have been a serious problem.
The sunlight outside made him sleepy.
Across from him, Mito Yohei stirred a boxed milk from the cafeteria shop with a straw, studying Sakuragi with a thoughtful look.
"I gotta say, Hanamichi," Yohei teased, though there was genuine emotion beneath it.
"You've changed a lot. Before, you could barely wake up for training—getting to school on time was a miracle.
Now you're the basketball team's ace… no, wait—Hikoichi said you're the core, right? What was that term… 'the team's engine'?"
Sakuragi yawned, tears welling at the corners of his eyes.
"People grow, you know."
"Grow?"
Yohei raised an eyebrow, leaning in and lowering his voice.
"Don't tell me… fifty confession rejections finally crushed you, gave you an epiphany about life, and now you're channeling all that heartbreak into basketball?"
"Pfft!"
Sakuragi nearly choked.
He glared at Yohei, face twisted in agony.
"Hey! Can we not bring up that dark history?!"
"How can we not?" Yohei grinned wickedly.
"That's legendary at Mitsui Middle, Hanamichi. Fifty times—unyielding, relentless! If you'd used that perseverance elsewhere…"
"Stop! Cut it out!"
Sakuragi raised both hands in surrender, veins throbbing at his temples.
Fifty failed confessions…
This 'glorious legacy' left by the original owner of his body was clearly going to haunt him forever.
What was he supposed to do—slam the table and say, I'm not the real Sakuragi Hanamichi, I'm an NBA champion from the future?
He'd be dragged straight to a psychiatric ward.
Watching Sakuragi's miserable expression, Yohei laughed even harder—but his eyes were gentle.
He truly was happy for his friend.
The old Sakuragi had been loyal, yes—but there had always been a hollow space inside him. Constant fighting, chasing girls… as if he were just trying to fill that emptiness.
But now, that restless, angry light in his eyes had changed.
It had become something clear.
The light of someone who had finally found what he wanted to do—and was willing to fight for it.
"No matter what," Yohei said seriously, setting the jokes aside,
"we're all glad to see you like this. Play your basketball, Hanamichi. The Sakuragi Army will always be your number one fan club—though we'll still roast you when you deserve it."
Warmth flooded Sakuragi's chest.
The moment the dismissal bell rang, Sakuragi sprang from his seat like a loaded spring, grabbed his already-packed bag, and dashed for the gym.
His eagerness drew sideways glances from classmates.
"Hasn't Sakuragi been working really hard lately…?"
"I heard the coach values him a lot."
"He was specially recruited, after all…"
"Did you see that game? He was amazing…"
Inside the gym, Taoka Moichi stood at the sideline, arms crossed, his expression as severe as a general inspecting his troops.
"Line up!" he barked, blowing the whistle.
"Today's scrimmage.
Team A: Sakuragi, Yuradaira, Aida Hikoichi, Bench Player A, Ikegami.
Team B: Sendoh, Uozumi, Koshino, Uekusa, Bench Player B."
The reactions were immediate.
Team A—aside from Sakuragi and Ikegami—was filled with freshmen benchwarmers.
Team B was Ryonan's had a theoretical strongest lineup with two ace's and three role players.
"Coach, this—" Ikegami started.
Taoka glared. "Silence. Sakuragi, you lead Team A. I want to see how you play from a disadvantage. Remember—you are the point guard. The brain. Twenty minutes. Start!"
The whistle shrilled.
As expected, Team B dominated early through the raw talent of Sendoh and Uozumi.
Sendoh danced past Hikoichi like he was strolling through his own backyard—fakes, pull-ups, drives.
Inside, Uozumi was a raging storm.
Team A relied entirely on Sakuragi. He tried to organize, but his teammates' movement was stiff, their passing lanes easily read. Often, he had to do it himself.
And once again, the Ryonan players—including the aces—witnessed the terror of the red-haired monster.
On defense, Sakuragi singlehandedly built Team A's wall. He was everywhere—plugging every leak.
Sendoh drove—he rotated.
Uozumi posted—he helped.
Koshino cut—he chased.
His lateral speed, anticipation, and tireless sprinting made him omnipresent.
On offense, he pushed his body to the limit.
He bullied through Sendoh.
Twisted midair past Uozumi's help defense to pass.
And when his teammates missed, he crashed the offensive boards for second chances.
Sneakers screeched.
Players panted.
Sakuragi's red hair was soaked with sweat, strands clinging to his forehead as he ran and leapt. His eyes locked onto the ball, calculating every position on the court.
Bang!
Once more, he soared over both Uozumi and Sendoh to grab the offensive rebound—only to be swarmed by three defenders.
No passing angle.
He forced a jump, twisted through the block, and flung the ball toward the rim.
Clang! Missed.
"Get back!" Sakuragi roared.
The instant he landed, he spun and sprinted for defense—without a trace of hesitation.