Inside the Supermarket
"Curry sauce, chocolate, bananas, coffee beans... what else was it again?"
Reiko muttered as she dropped a bag of coffee beans into the shopping cart, trying to recall what else her apartment was running low on.
"Oh right, I haven't bought water yet!"
She turned and called out, "Kota, can you grab a box of water for me? It's over there."
Kota glanced in the direction she pointed and sighed. "Alright."
After all, Reiko had helped him carry half his luggage back at the airport — the least he could do was haul a few bottles for her now. And as a man, helping a female friend with something heavy was the gentlemanly thing to do.
Following her gesture, Kota started making his way toward the beverage aisle.
He couldn't help but look around and whistle internally. This supermarket wasn't just big — it was massive, about the size of one of those high-end malls in Tokyo's city center.
"What kind of lunatic with too much money builds a place like this out here in the suburbs?" he thought. "They trying to launder cash or what?"
The place was near the airport, sure, and despite being far from the city, it actually had a decent number of shoppers. Still, anyone traveling by plane usually packed everything in advance — who would bother shopping at a random airport-side supermarket?
As Kota grumbled inwardly about the business model of whoever owned this place, he kept walking, eyes drifting lazily over the shelves — which, as fate would have it, was a bad idea.
At the corner of an aisle, Kota strode forward without slowing down — and just as he turned, someone else came around from the other side. The tall foreigner reacted instantly — his right foot slammed down, stopping his forward motion mid-step like he'd just hit pause on his own body.
The classic "main character bumping into a girl at the corner" moment didn't happen.
Realizing how close they'd come to colliding, Kota turned instinctively, ready to apologize—
"Sorry—"
"Are you blind, yellow monkey?"
Kota froze.
The sudden burst of English short-circuited his brain for a second. But then, all those miserable years of English classes and college exams came flooding back. His mind processed the insult instantly — and his brow twitched.
He shot back, fluent and loud, "If you can't speak properly, chop your mouth off, white pig!"
"White… pig?"
The tall blond foreigner blinked, thrown completely off. He'd called people "yellow monkeys" a thousand times since arriving in Japan — but no one had ever fired back with "white pig".
For a second, his brain genuinely lagged.
Kota, however, had no intention of stopping there.
After an entire month in China where he'd restrained himself to look good in front of his future teammates and coaches, his "trash talk system" had been in hibernation far too long.
And now, fresh off the plane and greeted by a perfect target — a rude foreigner, no less — how could he not go full throttle?
"Got a dragon tattoo on your neck, huh? What are you, some discount triad member? Open those pig eyes of yours and take a good look — this is Japan. Keep calling people 'yellow monkeys' and you'll end up face-down on the pavement, pal. And by the way, I only said sorry out of basic manners, don't go thinking I actually meant it. You really trying to push your luck, huh?"
The blond man stood there frozen, as if his brain had blue-screened.
"What's with this guy… did I just get verbally mugged?"
Then, something clicked in Kota's head — the face, the tattoo, the ridiculous spiked blond hair, the height easily over 190cm…
"Nash Gold?"
His pupils shrank. A wild idea popped up in his mind.
"Wait a second… did I board the wrong plane? Am I in the wrong country?!"
He grabbed a nearby product and checked the label — all written in Japanese.
"Nope, definitely Japan.
Then that means… the movie's started?"
He remembered the note he'd written back when he first arrived in this world — the "plot logbook," where he'd recorded everything he could recall from Kuroko's Basketball: Last Game.
And one name stood out — Nash, the American prodigy and ace of Team Jabberwock. In the movie, his team gave the Generation of Miracles a serious run for their money. Nash himself had even outplayed Akashi, reclaiming the title of the world's top point guard.
Kota had guessed ages ago that Jabberwock would eventually come to Japan — but after months of games and training, he'd practically forgotten.
Until now.
Nash finally snapped out of his confusion. His face twisted in fury. "What did you just say, you bastard?!"
He lunged forward, grabbing Kota by the collar.
But Kota's eyes flashed coldly. The military combat training he'd learned kicked in instantly.
From Nash's stance — one hand gripping his shirt, unbalanced — Kota could think of at least twenty-one ways to drop him flat on his back before he knew what hit him.
Just as he was about to act, a sharp voice cut through the tension.
"Stop!"
That voice — it was very familiar.
Kota turned and saw Akashi standing there, expression grim. When their eyes met, Akashi gave him a subtle, reassuring nod.
"Stop it, Nash," Akashi warned coldly. "If you lay a hand on him, I can personally guarantee you'll spend the next week in a Japanese jail cell."
Nash froze, then scoffed. "You think you scare me, Akashi? The basketball association won't let that happen — and your country's laws can't touch me anyway."
Even so, the hand gripping Kota's collar loosened slightly. The raised fist dropped back down.
"You can try," Akashi replied calmly.
Because while Japan's laws might not reach Nash… the Akashi family could. And in Japan, the Akashi family was the law.
"Tch. Lucky you, kid. You get to live another day."
Nash spat on the floor, letting go of Kota's collar and turning to walk away.
But Kota smirked and called after him, "You should be the one feeling lucky, white pig — you just dodged an embarrassing scene."
Nash stopped dead in his tracks. Slowly, he turned back, eyes narrowing. "Careful, monkey. You don't really think Akashi being here means I won't beat you into the floor, do you?"
Kota chuckled. "You're welcome to try. Let's see who's the one left lying down afterward."
The air between them thickened. Nash's jaw clenched, veins standing out as he tried to keep his temper in check. Kota just smiled lazily, mocking him without a word.
Akashi subtly shifted closer, one hand sliding into his pocket — ready to pull out his trusty scissors if things went south.
Then Nash's eyes darted down, scanning Kota's build — the solid arms, the clear muscle tone beneath his shirt.
"You play basketball, don't you?" he asked in a low voice. "If you're a man, prove it on the court — not with your mouth."
He glanced toward Akashi. A fight here would obviously get him in trouble, but a basketball match? Even Akashi couldn't object to that.
Smart move.
Kota tilted his head, smirking. "You don't need to 'prove' manhood with basketball… but if you're dying to play, I don't mind."
He added with a sly grin, "On one condition — after the match, win or lose, we find somewhere quiet to talk properly."
Nash blinked. Then a slow, feral grin crept up his face.
"Ha! I like you, kid. Maybe you're not that annoying after all."
From the height difference alone — 194cm versus 183cm — Nash was already confident. Whether it was fighting or basketball, there was no way he'd lose.
And the fact that Kota hadn't appeared in the Jabberwock vs. Vorpal Swords match meant only one thing: he couldn't be that strong.
Meanwhile, Akashi sighed quietly from the side. Things had already gone too far.
"You're reckless…" he murmured to Kota in Japanese. "That man's strong. Stronger than me."
Kota blinked, then grinned, clapping Akashi on the shoulder.
"Relax, Akashi. So what if he's stronger than you? I beat you three times, didn't I? So by math, that makes me stronger than him."
Akashi: "…"
"…Heh."