The Next Morning - Kuzuryu High, Class 1-B
"Kurumatani-kun? Kurumatani-kun!"
Sora's head snapped up from his desk, drool on his cheek, his eyes unfocused. The teacher—a stern-looking woman in her forties—was glaring at him from the front of the class.
"This is the third time you've fallen asleep in my class this week, and it's only Tuesday!"
Snickers rippled through the classroom. Sora wiped his mouth, trying to look alert despite the exhaustion weighing down every cell in his body.
"S-sorry, sensei. I was up late studying—"
"Studying basketball, maybe," someone muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.
More laughter.
The teacher sighed. "If you're sick, go to the nurse's office. Otherwise, stay awake or leave my classroom."
"Yes, sensei. Sorry, sensei."
As the lesson resumed, Sora tried to focus, but his eyelids felt like they weighed a thousand kilograms each. He'd made it home around 3:00 AM after his practice session. His arms had been burning, his legs shaking, but he'd learned so much about his new abilities.
The system interface was still visible if he focused on it, transparent and unobtrusive. His stats were ridiculous now compared to yesterday. He was essentially a completely different player.
But none of that mattered if he couldn't stay awake.
His head dropped forward again, consciousness slipping away.
"Kurumatani!"
He jerked awake again, several classmates now openly laughing.
"That's it. Sakamoto, Tanaka—escort Kurumatani to the nurse's office. He clearly needs rest more than he needs my class."
Two boys stood up, looking annoyed but resigned. They helped Sora to his feet—he really was exhausted—and walked him out of the classroom.
As they left, Sora caught sight of someone through the window. On the outdoor court visible from the second floor, Momoharu and his gang were lounging around, not practicing, just smoking and talking.
They're wasting their talent, Sora thought drowsily. But not for much longer.
The nurse's office was empty. The two students deposited Sora on one of the beds and left without a word. Sora lay there, staring at the ceiling.
His body needed rest, but his mind was racing with possibilities. With the skills he'd gained, he could show Momoharu what real basketball looked like. He could prove that Kuzuryu High could be great.
But first, he needed to sleep.
His eyes closed.
This time, he didn't fight it.
------
Sora woke to the sound of the lunch bell, feeling marginally better. The nap had helped, and his enhanced stamina meant he recovered faster than before.
He made his way to the rooftop, seeking fresh air and solitude.
Instead, he found Madoka and her friends.
"Kurumatani-kun!" Madoka looked surprised but pleased. "I didn't expect to see you up here."
Her friends—three girls from the basketball team—waved cheerfully. They were eating lunch together, enjoying the spring sunshine.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude—" Sora started to leave.
"No, wait!" Madoka gestured to an empty spot. "Join us. Have you eaten?"
Sora's stomach growled, answering for him. He'd been so exhausted this morning he'd forgotten to bring lunch.
Madoka smiled and pulled out an extra bento box. "Here. I made too much this morning."
"I can't—"
"It's a thank you," she said firmly, "for yesterday. You showed us something important. So please, eat."
Sora accepted the bento gratefully, sitting down with the group. The food was simple but delicious—rice, grilled fish, vegetables. He ate quickly, realizing how hungry he actually was.
"So," Madoka said after a moment, "have you decided? Are you going to officially join the boys' basketball team?"
Sora paused mid-bite. In truth, he hadn't even thought about the formalities. He'd just assumed...
"I... I'm not sure yet," he admitted. "I mean, after yesterday, I thought maybe things would change, but..."
"But Momoharu and the others are still being stubborn," Madoka finished. "I understand. They're complicated." She looked out over the school grounds. "The girls' team isn't exactly great either, you know. We barely have enough members to field a full team. But..."
She turned back to him, her eyes serious.
"But I'm going to place my hope in you, Kurumatani-kun. I think you might be the one who can change things here. Who can remind everyone what basketball is really about."
Sora felt warmth spread through his chest—and this time, it wasn't just the system.
"Thank you, Yabuchi-senpai. I won't let you down."
As lunch ended and the girls headed back to class, Madoka handed Sora the empty bento box. "Bring it back tomorrow, okay? And maybe... maybe think about making it official. I know the boys' team doesn't practice, but your presence alone might start changing things."
Sora watched her leave, her words echoing in his mind.
Change things. Remind everyone what basketball is about.
He looked at his hands, flexing his fingers. He could feel the knowledge within him—Himuro's elegant technique, Hyūga's clutch shooting. Two elite players' worth of skill, compressed into his small frame. And more than that—the physical improvements. The speed, the stamina, the enhanced court vision.
"Let's do it," he whispered.
-----
After School - Boys' Basketball Team Locker Room
"Kurumatani, you joining any clubs?"
Sora looked up to find Sakamoto—one of the guys who'd escorted him to the nurse's office earlier—standing by his desk as the final bell rang.
"Yeah, actually," Sora said, a smile spreading across his face despite his exhaustion. "I'm joining the basketball club."
"Basketball? Seriously?" Sakamoto's eyebrows rose. "You know that club is basically just a hangout for delinquents, right? They don't actually play basketball."
"They will," Sora said with surprising confidence. "Starting now."
Sakamoto shrugged. "Your funeral, man. Good luck with that."
Sora gathered his things quickly, energy surging through him despite another day of classroom napping. His enhanced stamina from the system integration meant he recovered faster, even on minimal sleep.
He made his way to the gymnasium, his heart pounding with anticipation. Today felt different. Today felt like the beginning of something real.
The locker room door was ajar when he arrived.
"Hello?" Sora called out, pushing it open. "I'm here to—WHAT THE HELL?!"
Chiaki was sitting in the basketball cart—the large metal container meant for storing basketballs—completely naked, with what appeared to be a makeshift shower rigged up above him. Water was pouring down onto his head, and he was humming contentedly.
Basketballs were scattered everywhere. The floor was soaked. Towels were strewn across benches.
"Oh, hey Mister No-Height!" Chiaki waved cheerfully, completely unbothered by his nudity or Sora's horrified expression. "Nice afternoon for a bath, don't you think?"
"A BATH?! IN THE BASKETBALL CART?!" Sora's voice cracked. "What is wrong with you?! This is a locker room, not a bathhouse! And those are basketballs, not bath toys!"
"Eh, they're waterproof." Chiaki continued his bathing routine, scrubbing his hair. "Very comfortable, actually. You should try it sometime."
"I—you—this—" Sora sputtered, then took a deep breath. "Get out. Now. And you're helping me clean this mess up!"
"Can't," Chiaki said pleasantly. "I'm busy."
"BUSY?! YOU'RE TAKING A BATH IN A BASKETBALL CART!"
"Exactly. Very busy. Important relaxation time." Chiaki closed his eyes contentedly. "You know what's interesting though? My brother called you an idiot last night."
Sora paused in his indignant rage. "What?"
"Yeah." Chiaki opened one eye. "He was watching you practice yesterday. When I got home, he was trying to throw paper into his trash can and muttering about 'that idiot practicing for two hours straight.' Coming from Momoharu, that's basically a compliment."
"He... he called me an idiot?" Sora wasn't sure whether to be offended or pleased.
"The affectionate kind of idiot," Chiaki clarified, finally standing up from the cart. Water cascaded off him. "The kind of idiot he used to be, before he gave up. The kind of idiot who works so hard it makes everyone else feel lazy."
He grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist. "He's outside right now, you know. Practicing."
Sora's eyes widened. "Practicing? Momoharu-senpai is practicing basketball?"
"Yep. Been out there since school ended. Shooting free throws, mostly." Chiaki grinned. "Terribly, I might add. But he's trying. Because of you, Mister No-Height. Because some idiot first-year showed him what dedication looks like."
Without waiting for permission, without even properly drying off, Chiaki walked toward the exit.
"Wait! The mess! You can't just—"
"You said you'd clean it!" Chiaki called over his shoulder. "Thanks, junior!"
And he was gone.
Sora stood in the soggy locker room, surrounded by wet basketballs and puddles, torn between frustration and excitement.
Momoharu-senpai is practicing.
The mess could wait.
Sora bolted for the door.
-----
Outdoor Basketball Court - 4:30 PM
Momoharu stood at the free-throw line, ball in hand, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. The bandage on his left eyebrow from yesterday's fight stood out starkly against his blonde hair.
He bent his knees, brought the ball up, released—
CLANG.
The ball hit the front of the rim and bounced away.
"Shit," Momoharu muttered, retrieving it.
He set up again. Shot again.
CLANG.
Another miss.
Sora watched from behind the fence, hidden in the shadows of the building.
Momoharu tried again. This time the ball went in, but barely—it rattled around the rim three times before dropping through.
"Finally," Momoharu growled.
He retrieved the ball, dribbled back to the line. Set up. Shot—
Miss.
"DAMN IT!" Momoharu's frustration exploded. He grabbed the ball violently and sprinted toward the basket.
Sora watched as Momoharu took two powerful steps, then launched himself into the air.
Holy shit.
Momoharu rose. And rose. And kept rising.
His vertical leap was incredible—easily over ninety centimeters. For a moment, he seemed to hang in the air, the ball cocked back behind his head.
Then he slammed it through the rim with authority.
BANG!
The entire backboard shook. Momoharu hung on the rim for a second before dropping back to the ground, breathing hard.
"He flew," Sora whispered, awe in his voice. "He actually flew."
Momoharu stood under the basket, hands on his knees, catching his breath. Even from a distance, Sora could see the conflict on his face—satisfaction at the successful dunk, frustration at the failed free throws.
Sora stepped out from his hiding spot, unable to contain himself any longer.
"Hanazono-senpai!"
Momoharu's head snapped up, his expression shifting from surprise to something guarded. "Kurumatani. How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough to see that amazing dunk!" Sora jogged onto the court, his excitement genuine. "Your jumping ability is incredible! You must have jumped at least ninety centimeters high!"
"It's nothing special," Momoharu said, but there was the faintest hint of pride in his voice. "Any decent player can—"
"That's not true at all! With that kind of vertical leap and your build, you could be an amazing rebounder. And if you worked on your shooting—"
"My shooting sucks," Momoharu interrupted flatly. "In case you didn't notice, I can't even make free throws anymore."
"But you're practicing," Sora said, his eyes bright. "That's what matters. You're—"
The sound of multiple footsteps interrupted him. Heavy, deliberate, aggressive.
Both Sora and Momoharu turned to see a group approaching from the school's entrance. Seven guys this time, all wearing Shinmaruko High uniforms. Several carried baseball bats.
The leader—a tall guy with a bandaged face from yesterday's beating—stepped forward with a cruel smile.
"Well, well. Look who's playing basketball like a good little boy," the leader sneered. "Hanazono. We came back for round two."
Momoharu's expression went cold. "I thought I made it clear yesterday. Leave."
"Oh, we will," another delinquent said, tapping his bat against his palm. "Right after we return the favor. Seven of us this time. And we came prepared."
"And hey," the leader continued, his eyes landing on Sora, "you brought a mascot. How cute."
He stepped closer, looking Sora up and down with obvious disdain. "What's this, Hanazono? You practicing basketball now? How pathetic. The great Kuzuryu delinquent playing kiddie games."
"My basketball skills are better than your face will be in five minutes," Momoharu shot back.
The leader's smile vanished. "Big words for someone who can't even make a free throw. We were watching, you know. You missed, what, five in a row? And you want to act tough?"
"At least I'm trying something," Momoharu said. "What are you doing with your life besides getting your ass kicked?"
That did it.
"GET THEM!"
The Shinmaruko delinquents charged forward, bats raised.
Momoharu pushed Sora back. "Stay behind me, kid—"
But Sora didn't listen. He saw one of them swinging a bat at Momoharu's head and reacted on instinct.
Sora darted forward with his enhanced speed, faster than he'd ever moved before. He reached the attacker and shoved him hard, using his low center of gravity to knock the guy off balance.
The bat swung wide, missing Momoharu by inches.
"What the—" Momoharu's eyes widened at Sora's speed.
But there were too many of them.
What followed was chaotic and brutal. Momoharu fought with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd been in countless street fights, but seven on two—especially with weapons—was impossible odds.
Sora tried to help, his enhanced speed allowing him to dodge some attacks, but he wasn't a fighter. A bat caught him in the ribs. A fist connected with his jaw. He went down hard.
"Sora!" Momoharu roared, redoubling his efforts. He managed to disarm one attacker and was using the bat to hold off three others, but two more grabbed him from behind.
They forced him to his knees.
The leader approached, nursing a bloody nose from one of Momoharu's punches. "Not so tough now, are you?"
He kicked Momoharu in the stomach. Then again. And again.
Sora tried to get up, his vision swimming. Through the haze, he saw Momoharu taking the beating, saw the rage and helplessness in his eyes.
He forced himself to stand, swaying unsteadily.
"Oh, look," the leader laughed. "The mascot's still got some fight in him."
One of the delinquents grabbed Sora and slammed him against the fence. Stars exploded in his vision. His ears began ringing—a high-pitched whine that drowned out everything else.
Through the ringing, he saw mouths moving. The leader was saying something to Momoharu, but Sora couldn't hear it.
The leader pointed at the basketball court, made some gestures, then laughed. His gang joined in, clearly mocking something.
Finally, the Shinmaruko gang left, laughing and congratulating themselves. The leader called back over his shoulder: "One week! Basketball court! We'll show you how real players do it!"
But Sora barely heard it through the persistent ringing.
He collapsed to the ground, the high-pitched whine still overwhelming. Everything sounded distant, muffled, wrong.
Momoharu crawled over to him, blood dripping from his split lip. His mouth was moving, forming words, but Sora couldn't hear them properly through the ringing.
"—ou okay? Sora? SORA!"
The sound came through distorted, like Momoharu was shouting from underwater.
"I... I can't hear you properly, senpai," Sora managed. "My ears... they're ringing..."
Momoharu's expression shifted to concern, then frustration, then something that looked almost like guilt. He kept talking, his face earnest, his hands gesturing, but Sora could only catch fragments through the persistent ringing.
"—stupid... why did you... middle school... basketball isn't... gave up..."
Sora shook his head, trying to clear it. The ringing was slowly subsiding, but Momoharu's words were still muffled, indistinct.
Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes, the ringing faded enough for Sora to speak clearly.
"Senpai, I'm sorry," Sora said, looking directly at Momoharu. "I didn't hear what you said. My ears were ringing too much. Could you... could you show me that dunk again?"
Momoharu stared at him, completely taken aback. "What?"
"The dunk. The one you did before those guys showed up." Sora's eyes were bright despite the bruises forming on his face. "Show me again. I want to see how it feels to fly."
For a long moment, Momoharu just looked at him. Then something changed in his expression—the hardness cracked, revealing something vulnerable underneath.
"You're insane," Momoharu said, but there was no heat in it. Almost fondness, even. "We just got our asses kicked, you probably have a concussion, and you want to see me dunk?"
"I want to see you fly," Sora corrected, smiling despite the pain. "You looked free up there. Like basketball was the only thing that mattered."
Momoharu closed his eyes, breathing deeply. When he opened them again, they held a determination Sora hadn't seen before.
"Alright, you idiot," Momoharu said, pushing himself to his feet with a wince. "Let's go to the court. But after this, you're going to the nurse's office."
"After this, you're going to teach me how to jump that high," Sora countered, accepting Momoharu's hand up.
They limped toward the basketball court together, two beaten-up players who refused to stay down.