Madoka struggled up the street, Sora's unconscious form draped across her back in a piggyback carry. Despite his small size, dead weight was still heavy, and she was exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster of the game.
"Just... a little... further..." she panted, checking the address Sora had mumbled before passing out completely.
The barbershop came into view—a small, traditional establishment with a red and white striped pole outside. The sign read "Kurumatani Barber" in elegant script.
His family runs a barbershop? Madoka thought, slightly surprised. She'd imagined many things, but this wasn't one of them.
She managed to reach the door and knocked with her elbow, unable to use her hands while supporting Sora.
The door opened to reveal an elderly woman with kind eyes and silver hair pulled back in a neat bun. She wore a traditional apron over her clothes.
"I'm sorry, but we close at 3 PM—" The woman stopped mid-sentence, her eyes widening as she saw Sora. "Sora! What happened?!"
"He's fine!" Madoka said quickly. "He just... he played really hard in a basketball game and his body gave out. He's just exhausted and sleeping."
The elderly woman—clearly Sora's grandmother—sighed with a mixture of relief and exasperation. "That boy... always pushing himself too hard. Come in, come in. Let me help you."
Together, they managed to get Sora inside and onto a futon that his grandmother quickly prepared in the back room.
"Thank you so much for bringing him home," the woman said, bowing deeply. "I'm Yone Kurumatani, Sora's grandmother. You must be one of his teammates?"
"Madoka Yabuchi," she introduced herself with a bow. "I'm the captain of the girls' basketball team at Kuzuryu High. I've been... helping train the boys' team."
"Ah, Madoka-chan! Sora has mentioned you." Yone smiled warmly. "He said you've been very kind to him."
Madoka blushed slightly. "He's the one who's been amazing. Today he scored 74 points against one of the best teams in the prefecture."
Yone's eyes widened. "74 points? My goodness..."
She looked at her sleeping grandson, and her expression softened with pride and concern.
"I apologize, Madoka-chan," Yone said. "Once Sora falls asleep like this, he barely wakes up. His body just shuts down completely. Please, let me at least give you a complimentary haircut as thanks for bringing him home safely."
"Oh, I couldn't—"
"I insist. Besides, you look like you could use a trim." Yone smiled. "And it would give me a chance to hear about this amazing game."
Madoka found herself sitting in the barber's chair, a cape draped around her shoulders as Yone worked on her hair with practiced skill.
"So he really scored 74 points?" Yone asked, her hands steady as she trimmed.
"On barely any misses," Madoka confirmed. "I've never seen shooting like that. He was making impossible shots, creating space against defenders taller and stronger than him, playing all but the last few minutes..."
Her eyes drifted to a framed photograph on the wall—a woman in a Japan National Team basketball uniform, holding a gold medal. She looked young, vibrant, full of life. And she had Sora's eyes.
"That's Yuka," Yone said quietly, following Madoka's gaze. "Sora's mother. My daughter."
"She played for the national team?" Madoka breathed.
"She was one of the best guards Japan ever produced," Yone said with obvious pride. "Fast, skilled, unstoppable when she got going. Sora inherited all of that from her—the love of basketball, the determination, the pure joy of playing."
Yone's hands paused for a moment.
"She's currently at Kanagawa Hospital," she continued, her voice quieter now. "She's been battling a critical illness for several years now."
Madoka's hand went to her mouth. "I'm so sorry..."
"Thank you, dear. It started when Sora was in elementary school. At first, we thought it was something minor—she was getting treatment at a local clinic in Nagano. But it got worse. The doctors there couldn't help her anymore, so we moved here to Kawasaki so she could receive better treatment at Kanagawa Hospital."
Yone resumed cutting, her movements automatic, muscle memory taking over while her mind was clearly elsewhere.
"Yuka... she made a difficult decision when her condition worsened. She distanced herself from Sora. Told him she didn't want him to see her like that—weak, sick, not the strong mother he remembered."
"That must have been so hard for both of them," Madoka whispered.
"It was. It is." Yone's voice cracked slightly. "Sora hasn't seen his mother in person for over a year now. They text, they call, but... it's not the same. Their relationship has been complicated ever since."
She set down her scissors and looked at the photograph of Yuka.
"But Sora made her a promise. He told her he would only come see her again when he wins the Inter-High tournament. He said he wants to show her that everything she taught him, all the sacrifices she made, all the hours she spent teaching him basketball despite her illness—he wants to prove it all meant something."
Tears welled up in Madoka's eyes. "That's why he pushes himself so hard..."
"That's why he refuses to quit, even when his body is breaking down. That's why he practices a thousand shots every day, why he plays through pain, why he won't accept being told he's too short." Yone wiped at her own eyes. "He's trying to reach his mother the only way he knows how—through basketball."
----
Sora's eyes opened slowly. His body still ached everywhere, but his mind was clear. He sat up carefully, testing his cramped leg.
It was stiff, sore, but functional.
He could hear voices from the front of the shop—his grandmother and Madoka talking quietly.
Sora stood up, wincing at the pain, and made his way to the front.
"Sora!" His grandmother looked surprised. "You should be resting!"
"I'm fine, Grandma." He looked at Madoka, who was just finishing up her haircut. "Madoka-senpai, thank you for bringing me home."
"Of course. But you should really—"
"I'm going to the school court," Sora announced. "I need to practice."
Both women stared at him in shock.
"WHAT?!" Madoka stood up, the cape still around her shoulders. "Sora, you literally collapsed on the court three hours ago! Your body needs rest!"
"I'll rest tomorrow," Sora said simply, already moving toward the door. "Right now, I need to work on the things I did wrong in the game."
"You scored 74 points! What could you possibly have done wrong?!"
"I cramped up in the fourth quarter. That means my conditioning isn't good enough yet." Sora began lacing up his shoes. "I missed six shots. That means I need to work on my shot selection. And I let Tokiwa-senpai score on me too many times. My defensive positioning needs work."
"Sora—"
"We might have lost the practice game," Sora said, his voice firm despite his exhaustion, "but we can't lose in the upcoming Inter-High Preliminaries. The tournament starts in three weeks. That's not a lot of time to fix our weaknesses."
He looked at Madoka, his eyes burning with determination.
"I made a promise to my mom. I'm going to keep it. Which means I need to get better every single day. Starting right now."
Yone watched her grandson with a mixture of exasperation and pride. "At least eat something first. You can't practice on an empty stomach."
"I'll grab something on the way—"
"Sit." Yone's tone left no room for argument. "Ten minutes. I'll make you rice balls and you'll drink water. THEN you can go destroy your body some more."
Sora knew better than to argue with his grandmother. "Yes, Grandma."
While Yone went to prepare food, Madoka sat down next to Sora.
"Your grandmother told me," she said quietly. "About your mother. About your promise."
Sora's expression softened. "She told you about that?"
"I understand now. Why you push so hard. Why you won't quit no matter what." Madoka's eyes were red. "But Sora... your mother wouldn't want you to hurt yourself permanently. She'd want—"
"She'd want me to fly," Sora interrupted gently. "That's what she always told me. 'You have wings, Sora. Don't let anyone clip them.' So I won't. I'll keep flying until I reach her."
Madoka wiped at her eyes. "You're an idiot."
"I know."
"A stubborn, reckless idiot who's going to make me cry at every game."
"Probably."
She stood up. "Then I'm coming with you. If you're going to practice, I'm going to make sure you do it properly and don't injure yourself further."
"You don't have to—"
"I'm coming," Madoka said firmly. "Besides, someone needs to rebound for you. And clearly, you're not going to listen to reason, so I might as well make sure you're safe."
Yone returned with rice balls and sports drinks. "Here. Eat. Both of you."
As they ate, Sora pulled out his phone. He typed a message to his mother:
"Mom, I scored 74 points today. We lost, but I gave everything I had. My body gave out in the fourth quarter—I need to get stronger. I'm going to keep practicing, keep improving. I'll reach Inter-High. I promise. I'll see you when I win it all. Love you."
The response came quickly:
"74 points?! Sora, I'm so proud I'm crying. But please, PLEASE rest your body properly. You can't win Inter-High if you injure yourself training too hard. Be smart about this. I love you so much. I'm watching you fly, even from here."
Sora smiled, then put the phone away.
"Ready?" he asked Madoka.
She sighed but nodded. "Ready. But we're stopping after an hour. No arguments."
"Deal."
As they headed for the door, Yone called out: "Sora! Don't forget—proper rest is part of training too!"
"I know, Grandma! I'll be back by 10!"
The door closed behind them.
Yone looked at the photo of Yuka on the wall. "Your son is just like you, you know. Stubborn, determined, willing to sacrifice everything for basketball." She smiled through her tears. "He's going to make you so proud. He already has."
-----
The outdoor court was empty, the lights buzzing softly overhead.
Sora laced up his shoes, testing his cramped leg. It was still sore, but he could move.
"Start slow," Madoka instructed. "Light shooting. If you feel any pain worse than soreness, we stop immediately."
"Understood."
Sora picked up a ball and moved to the free-throw line. His form was still perfect despite his exhaustion—muscle memory taking over.
SWISH.
He moved to the wing. Shot again.
SWISH.
Madoka rebounded for him, passing the ball back each time.
After twenty makes, Sora moved to the three-point line.
"Remember," Madoka said. "Form shooting. No crazy moves. Your body needs recovery."
Sora nodded and shot.
SWISH.
As he practiced—nowhere near his usual intensity, but still working—his mind was already planning.
I'm coming, Mom, Sora thought as another shot fell through the net. Just wait a little longer. I'll fly to you.
The ball swished through the net, and Madoka caught it, ready to pass it back.
The road to Inter-High had begun.