Everything was as usual—no unexpected incidents.
After club practice ended, Hanyu Sota waved to Aomine Daiki, signaling that he had something to take care of tonight and couldn't stay for extra training.
"Wow, that's rare. You're actually leaving early?" Aomine raised a brow.
"Family stuff. See you tomorrow."
"Oh… alright."
On the way back to the Hanyu house, Sota passed a street basketball court.
Normally, the place was occupied by a group of burly street thugs.
But today, those swaggering guys were oddly well-behaved, shrinking off to the sidelines like obedient spectators.
At the center of the court, a 1-on-1 game was underway.
One had spiky hair.
The other was bald.
They looked about Sota's age. His steps slowed, and the thought of going straight home vanished into thin air.
That bald kid was insanely fast.
The instant he started, it was like a supercar slamming the accelerator to the floor—an explosive burst of power.
"Damn… that speed!"
"Who is he? Never seen him before."
"When did Tokyo produce a monster like this?"
Whispers rippled through the crowd, filled with shock.
As for the former "court kings," their faces were pale, fear lingering in their eyes.
There was only one decent court in this area.
Here, fists ruled—whoever was stronger spoke louder.
Those guys only bullied rookies. True high-level competitor didn't bother with this place.
Today, they ran into a real monster—and were crushed beyond recognition.
The spiky-haired player was named Sendoh Akira, from Kanagawa.
He'd passed by, felt the itch to play, and when he saw the bald kid destroying the locals, he challenged him on a whim.
That was how the current duel came to be.
On the court, Sendoh's pupils shrank.
The other's speed was even faster than before!
That sudden, explosive acceleration gave no time to adjust—no time to react.
Still, Sendoh wasn't weak.
He locked onto the rhythm, the two shadows tangling as they drove into the paint.
And then—
The bald boy stopped dead and spun, smooth beyond belief.
The motion flowed like water, not a trace of hesitation.
Completely outside Sendoh's expectations.
"Eh?"
From the sidelines, Hanyu Sota's eyes lit with interest.
That move… has bite.
"Want to keep going?" the bald boy asked.
Sendoh shook his head with a bitter smile, hands on his knees, panting.
"No need. I lost—plain and simple."
Among his peers, Sendoh was considered a genius.
Today, he'd sought a casual spar—only to be utterly crushed.
5 to 1.
That single point? He'd barely forced it in with everything he had.
There's always someone stronger. Always a higher sky.
Seems my training still isn't enough.
"Hey, what's your name?" Sendoh asked.
"Sawakita Eiji."
...
Sendoh murmured the name.
"Sawakita Eiji…"
Never heard of him in Tokyo's basketball scene.
With strength like that, he should've been famous long ago.
An outsider crossing the river, perhaps?
Indeed, Sawakita Eiji wasn't from Tokyo.
Though monstrously strong, he was still a nobody.
Back home, his strength made him despise weak seniors—
which earned him isolation and bullying.
Japan's senior–junior hierarchy could be brutal.
Not every school valued ability the way Teiko did.
So Sawakita had power, but nowhere to use it.
This time, he came to Tokyo with his family. Bored, he sought entertainment—testing the capital's level.
And once again, he was disappointed.
All trash.
Still, the spiky-haired boy had caught his eye.
Strong—
but only decent.
Is there really no one who can make me go all out?
Heh…
How lonely it is to be invincible.
"Hm?"
Sawakita's gaze swept the crowd—and locked onto Hanyu Sota.
Instinct.
Beastlike instinct told him: this silver-haired boy is strong. Very strong.
No evidence.
Just the magnetic pull between predators.
"Hey—you. Want to come down and play?"
"Me?"
Sota pointed at his nose.
Sawakita nodded, eyes burning.
"Hmm…"
Sota hesitated—then the battle hunger inside him roared.
"Alright. First to three, best of five. I'm on a time limit."
"No problem."
At the start, Sawakita generously gave him first possession—utterly confident.
Bang!
Sota dropped his center of gravity, pounding the ball with his right hand.
Bang!
To outsiders, it was noise.
To Sawakita, it sounded like war drums.
Such pressure!
Bang!
Though only a stationary dribble, every muscle in Sawakita's body tensed, hairs standing on end.
Bang!
The instant the ball rose from the floor—
Sota moved.
His thigh muscles exploded.
He shot forward like a cannonball.
In the blink of an eye—
Where did he go?!
Silver hair carved an afterimage through the air, a cool wind brushing Sawakita's cheek.
His eyes saw it.
His brain commanded it.
But his body rusted—unable to keep up.
"Holy—so fast!" Sendoh, who'd been about to leave, stared in disbelief.
That speed was inhuman!
Even fully focused, he doubted he could react.
Swish!
Behind him came the beautiful sound of the net.
Sawakita's previously bored eyes now shone frighteningly bright.
This guy…
Is a monster.
Can I win?
Probably… maybe… possibly?
Whatever. Win or lose—
he just wants to fight him properly!
Sendoh frowned.
What's wrong with Tokyo? Are monsters being sold wholesale now?
Guess I can't slack off in training anymore.
Sawakita's turn.
Bang!
His first step was just as explosive—
but still half a beat slower than Sota.
Sota smiled faintly, moving in the same instant.
Slide. Retreat. Adjust.
Then one step right—like an iron wall—cutting off the lane.
"Incredible reaction speed!"
Sawakita was shocked—then thrilled.
The stronger the opponent, the more excited he became!
This was the duel he'd dreamed of!
He slammed the brakes, stepped back to create space, switching hands behind his back.
Then
As his weight shifted, his body tilted right—
Second acceleration!
That unreasonable burst returned.
Did he pass him?
No.
Because standing before him was Hanyu Sota.
In flexibility, in nerve response—
Sota believed he lost to no one in this world.
"No way…"
"He caught up?!"
"What kind of monsters are these two?!"
The crowd's jaws hit the floor.
"Tch!"
Sawakita gritted his teeth.
This sticky, inescapable defense—it was his first time facing something like this.
Every fake—
anticipated.
Every lane—
sealed.
Forced, he rose for a pull-up.
But even that was within Sota's calculations.
Smack!
The ball was swatted away.
Sawakita froze, staring at his empty hands.
He… got blocked?
A clean block—right in front of him?!
An unfamiliar helplessness surged.
I can't win.
He shook his head violently, banishing the thought.
Nothing is impossible!
Isn't a rival like this the whetstone I've been searching for?
Possession changed.
Sota's eyes sharpened.
The same terrifying first step.
This time, Sawakita gritted his teeth and followed!
Sota smirked.
You think you can stop me? Too early.
The ball flashed between his legs—an impossibly smooth change of direction.
Anyone could do it.
But at this speed? Only a handful in the world.
"Don't let him through!"
Sawakita roared, forcing his body to twist.
"I stopped him! I did!"
"Stopped me? Naive. This is only the beginning."
Sota suddenly braked mid-sprint, leaping backward with the momentum.
"Step-back fadeaway!"
Watching that rising figure, Sawakita's heart sank.
Too high—can't reach.
Whoosh!
Sota flicked his wrist.
The orange ball traced a perfect arc.
Swish!
2–0.
Sendoh wiped cold sweat from his brow.
That speed, reaction, coordination—
a weapon born for basketball.
If it were me…
I'd be annihilated.
Wait—that uniform—
"Teiko Middle School Basketball Club…" Sendoh whispered.
A national powerhouse.
"Damn, so he's Teiko's starter?"
"No wonder he's insane…"
The rest was inevitable.
A one-sided massacre.
Overwhelming.
Sawakita gasped for air.
He'd never imagined losing so badly.
He had just experienced, for the first time in his life, what it meant to feel despair.
Yet he lost without resentment.
Outplayed—there was no excuse to make.
"Ha…"
Sawakita Eiji steadied his breathing, his eyes clear and sincere.
"You're strong. The strongest opponent I've ever faced among my peers."
Hanyu Sota smiled lightly. "You're not bad either."
"What's your name?"
"Hanyu Sota."
"I'll remember it."
At that moment, a seed was planted in Sawakita's heart.
One day… I will surpass the man named Hanyu Sota.
…
The Hanyu Residence.
Because he'd been too absorbed in his match with Sawakita, by the time Sota got home, night had already fallen completely.
His mom instantly went into full lion's roar mode:
"You little brat! Look at the time! Where the hell have you been fooling around?!"
"N–nothing…"
Sota's eyes darted away. He didn't dare meet her gaze.
In this house, Mom sat at the very top of the food chain—surrendering early was the only path to survival.
She launched into a nonstop scolding.
Sota treated it like background noise—in one ear, out the other—a textbook case of "a dead pig feels no boiling water."
In the end, his dad couldn't stand it anymore and stepped in to smooth things over. Only then did Mom reluctantly power down.
She wasn't usually this fiery.
The reason was simple: today, an important relative had come to visit. His uncles from the countryside had made a special trip to see him, and she had repeatedly told him to come home early.
But this reckless kid…
The moment he saw a basketball, it was like his soul was stolen.
Even the sky falling could wait.
"Alright, alright—go take a shower! You reek of sweat. Dinner's almost ready!"
"Yes, coming up!"
…
Days passed, one after another.
The All-Japan Middle School Tournament qualifiers were drawing closer—less than a month away.
Teiko Middle School, Head Coach's Office.
In front of the players, Assistant Coach Sanada was as imposing as a mountain.
But now, he sat upright like an obedient schoolboy.
Because seated across from him was the man he respected most.
Shirogane Kozo—the pillar of Teiko's basketball program.
Coach Shirogane lifted his steaming teacup and gently blew on it.
Sanada reported recent developments with meticulous detail.
The old man smiled. "Would you like some?"
"N-no, please, you go ahead."
Shirogane shook his head.
Sanada was great in every way—except he was far too stiff around him.
I'm not going to eat you, you know…
Back to business.
Sanada's report focused on the six exceptionally gifted first-years:
Hanyu Sota, Akashi Seijūrō, Aomine Daiki, Midorima Shintarō, Murasakibara Atsushi, and that troublesome one—Haizaki Shōgo.
Though Haizaki had a foul personality and loved slacking off, his raw strength was undeniable.
Talent, after all, played by no rules.
"The growth rate of this class is terrifying. The gap we were worried about… was completely unnecessary."
Tap. Tap.
Coach Shirogane's fingers tapped the desk rhythmically as his sharp gaze scanned the data.
He was very satisfied.
Talent, humility, and relentless training—
seedlings like these were rare.
But…
Murasakibara Atsushi.
He was a hidden risk.
Compared to the others, he lacked true love for basketball. He constantly tried to dodge practice, relying solely on his freakish physical gifts to dominate.
His fundamentals and experience were painfully rough.
If he reached the national stage and ran into those crafty veteran centers…
He might suffer badly.
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