The sensation faded after a few minutes, leaving Ari breathing hard but feeling... different. Better. His shoulder still hurt, but less than it had moments ago. His head felt clearer. His body felt lighter.
He touched his collarbone gently, through the sling. Still Injured, but somehow he could feel it healing, feel his body working on it with unnatural efficiency.
"No wayt," he whispered. "This is really real."
[YOU'RE JUST NOW FIGURING THAT OUT?]
[YOU'RE NOT VERY BRIGHT, ARE YOU ARI TORU?]
But Ari was smiling—really smiling, for the first time since the accident. Because if this was real, if the system could actually make him into a player, then maybe—just maybe—he had a chance.
He spent the rest of that night studying more film, earning more points, learning everything he could about scoring. About footwork and shooting mechanics and the subtle art of creating space. About reading defenders and using angles and the thousand tiny details that separated good scorers from great ones.
[CURRENT SKILL POINTS: 14.2]
[YOU HAVE A PROBLEM]
[CALLED BASKETBALL ADDICTION]
[MOST LIKELY TO AFFECT SOCIAL INTELLIGENCE AND EMOTIONAL APTITUDE]
[REGARDLESS]
[THE GEAR APPROVES]
Six days later, Dr. Yamamoto stood at Ari's bedside, reviewing his chart with an expression that cycled between confused, impressed, and concerned.
"This is... remarkable," he said, adjusting his glasses. "Your collarbone is healing significantly faster than expected. The bone density here—" He pointed at an X-ray. "—this should have taken another two weeks minimum. You're healing like someone in their early twenties with optimal genetics, not a sixteen-year-old who was in a serious accident."
"Is that bad?" Ari asked, trying to sound appropriately confused rather than secretly thrilled.
"No, it's good. Excellent, even...I just don't have a clear explanation for it."
'Go easy on yourself doctor. Even I don't understand how I have a sentient system that worships this gear god.'
Dr. Yamamoto looked at Ari's parents, who were standing nearby, his mother was clutching his father's arm. "Sometimes patients heal faster than expected. Youth, good baseline health, positive mental attitude—it all contributes. But this is on the faster end of what I'd consider normal."
"So he can go home?" Michiko asked hopefully.
"Yes. Today, in fact. I want you to continue rest at home, avoid strenuous activity for another week, and come back for a follow-up in ten days." Dr. Yamamoto looked at Ari seriously. "But no basketball".
Of course the entire hospital knew how much Ari binged watched the NBA. Sometimes the nurse would be astonished and he'd take his time to explain which player was which player. Though she was more focused on the 'cute' ones.
"You can't play basketball. Not yet. Your collarbone is repairing itself rapidly along with rest and your genes, but it's not fully healed. Too much stress and you could slow down the process or maybe even worsen the injury."
"I understand," Ari lied smoothly.
[LIAR]
[YOU ARE GOING TO PLAY BASKETBALL IMMEDIATELY]
Two hours later, Ari was in his father's car, heading home. His mother hadn't stopped talking the entire drive, alternating between relief that he was okay and detailed plans for his recovery period that included so much home-cooked food Ari was pretty sure she was trying to fatten him up for winter. Or start one of her 'ger Ari bulky' seasons.
*Sigh*
His father drove in silence, but Ari caught him glancing in the rearview mirror several times, as if checking that Ari was really there, really okay.
Home looked exactly the same as when he'd left it—small, comfortable, lived-in. His room was exactly as he'd left it too. down to the deflated basketball in the corner. Last time he touched that?.....years.
"Rest," his mother commanded, fluffing his pillows."I'm making your favorite dinner. Katsu curry."
"Mom, you don't have to—"
"I'm making it."
She left no room for argument.
That evening, surrounded by his family at the dinner table, eating his mother's cooking and listening to his father talk about work, Ari felt a wave of affection for these people. They were normal. Aggressively, wonderfully normal. His father with his endless practicality, his mother with her loving fussing, both of them trying their best to give him a good life.
They had no idea their son had a magical basketball system and was about to attempt something impossible.
"Mom, Dad," Ari said during a lull in conversation. "I want to talk about something."
His father set down his chopsticks with the precision. His mother's smile faltered slightly.
"What is it, sweetie?"
Ari took a breath. "I want to play basketball again."
Silence. Total silence. Like what the fuck silence.
His mother's expression shifted through several emotions in rapid succession: surprise, worry, confusion. His father's face remained neutral, but that chiseled jawline Ari didn't manage to inherit tightened.
"Ari," Michiko said gently. "Sweetheart, you just got out of the hospital. You're still healing. The doctor said—"
"I know what the doctor said. I'm not talking about right now. I'm talking about at Yoshimura."
More silence.
"You haven't played in three years," his father said carefully. "You remember why you quit, don't you son?" The power in his father's voice made Ari shiver.
But he didn't waver.
"I know why I quit." Ari met his father's eyes. "I wasn't good enough. I was terrible. I loved it, but I couldn't do it. But now....." Ari paused, thinking on how to explain this without mentioning the system. "But things are different now. I'm different. And I want to try again."
"The basketball team at Yoshimura is nationally ranked," his father continued. "The competition will be intense."
"I know dad....I've researched it."
His mother reached across the table, taking Ari's hand. Her eyes were wet. "Honey, I remember how sad you were when you quit. How much it hurt you. I don't want you to go through that again. What if "
"What if I fail again?" Ari finished for her. "Maybe I will. But maybe I won't....I just."
"Why?" His father's question was direct, challenging. "Why put yourself through all that. This isn't smart son"
Ari thought about the system, about the impossible possibility floating in his vision. About Akihiko Heishi's Instagram and the social hierarchy he was walking into. About three years of watching basketball and loving it and being unable to participate.
"Because I never stopped loving it," he said simply. "And I need to know if I can do it. Really do it. Not just love it from the sidelines like some... pathetic nobody."
His parents exchanged a look—one of those married-couple communications that happened without words.
Finally, his mother squeezed his hand. "You were so miserable after you quit. So distant. I hated seeing you like that."
"Michiko—"
"No, Hideaki. He was miserable. He smiled less, talked less. It was like he'd lost something." She looked at Ari, her eyes searching his face. "If you want to try again, I want you to try again. But you're not a little kid anymore. Promise me you'll be ready to accept whatever happens."
....."I promise."
His father sighed, but there was something in his expression—not quite approval, but understanding. "If this is what you want, we'll support you. But you need to be realistic."
"I am." Ari's voice was steady. "I know what I'm up against. I know the odds. But I have to do this."
Another long look between his parents. Then his mother smiled, wiping her eyes. "Okay. Okay. What do you need?"
"A basketball."
The next afternoon, Ari stood in the sporting goods store with his parents, surrounded by walls of equipment that felt both familiar and foreign. He hadn't been in a place like this in three years. The smell of rubber and leather brought back memories—few good, most were painful.
"Just a basic outdoor ball," Ari said, scanning the selection. "Nothing expensive."
"Hmm." His father was examining a mid-range basketball. Jeez you'd think he was choosing a diamond for a wedding ring.
"This one seems durable. Its model has good reviews online."
His mother had wandered to a different section and returned holding a shoebox, looking uncertain. "Ari, I know you said just a ball, but..."
She opened the box. Inside were basketball shoes—not top-of-the-line, but not cheap either. Air Jordans, retro model. Specifically the retro 1 OG Chicago. Red, white and that gorgeous Nike black logo. Fuck it looked so coool!!!
Ari stared. "Mom, those are—"
"I know they're expensive." She looked almost guilty. "But your old shoes don't fit anymore, and if you're going to do this, you should look slayer in it."
'That was a pathetic attempt at 2025 way of taking mom but thank youuuuu'
"We have some savings set aside," his father added, which was his way of saying they'd probably get him even more if he asked "Consider it an investment in your future. Or at least your immediate happiness."
Ari felt his throat tighten. His parents—his 365 day budget-conscious parents—were buying him Jordans because they wanted him to be happy, even though they were clearly worried he was setting himself up for heartbreak.
"Thank you," he managed.
His mother hugged him right there in the store, not caring about the other customers. His father paid for everything at the counter with the best stoic mask you'll ever see.
Twenty minutes later: Ari was back home, holding the basketball in his hands like it was something precious ( it was ).
The leather was new, still had that fresh smell. The weight was perfect. The grip was right.
[BASKETBALL DETECTED]
[EQUIPMENT REGISTERED]
[READY TO BEGIN TRAINING PROTOCOLS]
"I'm going to the park," Ari announced, already heading for the door, new shoes in hand.
"Ari, wait—" His mother appeared in the hallway, concern written across her pretty face. "The doctor said you should rest. It's only been a day since you got home. What about your collar bone." Her eyes rose up worriedly towards his shoulder. Even then she had to look up.
"Its almost healed. I feel fine, Mom." Ari tried his most reassuring smile. "I'll just shoot around. Nothing intense. I promise."
'Sorry for lying mom. I intend to exhaust every fiber in my body playing this basketball this afternoon.'
"Hideaki—" She looked at her husband for support.
His father was reading the newspaper but lowered it, looking at Ari over his reading glasses. For a moment, neither of them spoke. He saw how eager his son was. Then Hideaki nodded slowly.
"Be careful. If anything hurts, come home immediately."
"Hideaki!"
"Michiko, we can't keep him wrapped in cotton." His father returned to his newspaper. "He's sixteen, not six. He's a man now. Men make their own decisions."
His mother looked between them, clearly torn between medical caution and parental understanding. Finally, she sighed. "Fine. But if you feel any pain—" She paused so Ari would finish her sentence for her.
"I'll come straight home." Ari was already pulling on the Jordans, lacing them with fingers that trembled slightly from excitement rather than nervousness.
They fit perfectly.
The park was a ten-minute walk from his house, and Ari covered it in seven, his new shoes were bright against the grey pavement. Looking good Ari. Looking good.
The sun was starting its afternoon descent, painting everything in warm gold light. Spring had fully arrived—cherry blossoms were falling like pink snow, and the air smelled clean and new.
The court was empty, exactly as Ari had hoped. It was a simple outdoor setup: cracked asphalt, chain nets, faded paint marking the three-point line and key. Nothing fancy. Nothing like the pristine indoor facilities Yoshimura had multiple of.
It was just...perfect.
Ari stood at the edge of the court, basketball in hand, and just breathed. This was real. He was really doing this.
Then
He dribbled once, testing. The sound echoed across the empty park—that distinctive rhythm that every basketball player knew by heart. His form was still terrible, he could feel it. Sloppy. Uncontrolled. Three years of not playing had made him even rustier than he'd been before.
But that would change.
He took a step onto the court, and the system activated.
[LOCATION: BASKETBALL COURT DETECTED]
[INITIATING: TRAINING MODE]
[WELCOME TO YOUR EVOLUTION, ARI TORU]
New windows exploded across Ari's vision, flooding him with information:
[QUEST UNLOCKED: "FIRST BOUNCE"]
[OBJECTIVE: MAKE 10 CONSECUTIVE FREE THROWS]
[REWARD: 5 SKILL POINTS]
[TIME LIMIT: NONE]
[QUEST UNLOCKED: "FOUNDATION - PART 1"]
[OBJECTIVE: DRIBBLE FOR 30 MINUTES STRAIGHT WITHOUT LOSING CONTROL]
[REWARD: 3 SKILL POINTS + BALL HANDLING +5]
[TIME LIMIT: MUST BE COMPLETED TODAY. YOU HAVE 9 HOURS]
[QUEST UNLOCKED: "CONDITIONING"]
[OBJECTIVE: RUN FULL COURT SPRINTS - 20 REPETITIONS]
[REWARD: STAMINA +2, SPEED +1, 2 SKILL POINTS]
[FAILURE PENALTY: NONE]
[TIME LIMIT: MUST BE COMPLETED TODAY]
'hey...hey slow do—"
[QUEST UNLOCKED: "FORM CHECK"]
[OBJECTIVE: SHOOT 100 JUMP SHOTS WITH PROPER FORM]
[REWARD: SHOOTING MECHANICS UNLOCK, 4 SKILL POINTS]
[FAILURE PENALTY: NONE]
[TIME LIMIT: NONE]
[DAILY TRAINING REGIMEN AVAILABLE]
[RECOMMENDED DURATION: 4-6 HOURS]
[CURRENT PHYSICAL CONDITION: 87% RECOVERED]
[WARNING: OVEREXERTION MAY SLOW RECOVERY]
[SUGGESTED APPROACH: STEADY PROGRESSION]
[DAYS UNTIL YOSHIMURA DRAFT TRYOUTS: 14]
Ari stared at the cascade of information, his heart was pounding. Four quests. All available right now. All possible, but all challenging. Especially in his current condition.
Ten consecutive free throws. He'd never made ten consecutive free throws in his life. Swear to god.
Thirty minutes of dribbling. His ball handling was atrocious.
Twenty full-court sprints. That would destroy his legs
One hundred jump shots with proper form.
..... Yep. No way he was doing that.
The system hadn't spoken since the quests appeared—no sarcastic commentary, no mocking observations. Just cold, clear objectives floating in his vision like challenges from some divine judge. From the Gear.
Ari stood at the free-throw line, ball in hand, and looked at the basket. The rim seemed so so small. Impossibly far away. 'My hands can't fling this heavy basketball that far.'
Fourteen days until tryouts.
Two hundred students competing for thirty spots.
A national championship team that treated basketball like a religion.
And him: a 6'6" kid who couldn't make a layup, couldn't dribble without looking, couldn't shoot to save his life.
His stats came in the corner of his vision:
[POWER: 23/100]
[STAMINA: 31/100]
[VERTICAL: 18/100]
[SPEED: 35/100]
[SCORING: 12/100]
[DEFENSE: 15/100]
[ATHLETICISM: 22/100]
[IQ: 67/100]
[PASSING: 28/100]
[SKILL: 8/100]
Eight. His skill stat was eight? Did he have no motor understanding or any ability to complete basic movements with a basketball?
This was so unreal. He really sucked.
Ari bounced the ball, feeling its weight, its texture. The new Jordans felt solid on his feet. The spring air was cool on his skin. The court was empty and waiting.
He looked at the quests again. All those objectives. All that work. All that impossible distance between where he was and where he needed to be.
Then Ari smiled—that intense, slightly unsettling expression that came from his cat-like eyes narrowing with focus.
"Alright," he said quietly to the system, to himself, to the universe. "Let's see how far I can go."
He dribbled to the free-throw line, set his feet, and shot.
The ball hit the front of the rim and bounced away.
[FREE THROWS MADE: 0/10]
[FORM ANALYSIS: TERRIBLE]
[KEEP TRYING]
Ari retrieved the ball, returned to the line, and shot again.
And again.
And again.
The sun continued its slow descent, painting the world in gold and shadow. Cherry blossoms drifted across the court like pink snow. Somewhere in the distance, kids were laughing, their voices would carry on the spring breeze.
Ari Toru stood on a cracked asphalt court with a new basketball and impossible dreams, shooting free throws like his future depended on it.
Because it did.