The start of the new school year brought with it new faces, renewed schedules, and a sense of
reset that was floating in the air. For Haruki, now in his senior year, school was no longer just
gray corridors or worn desks. It was familiar territory, almost like coming back to a house where
Everything changed, but the walls are still in place.
His first visit was not to the classroom or his locker, but to the gym. When I push the door open and feel the
Echoing his footsteps on polished wood, he felt a mixture of nostalgia and belonging.
"You're back," said a familiar voice.
It was Souta, in the captain's uniform and with a calmer smile than usual.
"This place is not so easy," Haruki replied, bouncing a ball he found in the corner.
-Ready to train the new ones?
"Ready to listen," he said. Everyone has their own rhythm. I just want to help you
Find.
That afternoon they met the new members of the team. Nervous kids, kind of uncoordinated,
with looks that oscillated between respect and fear. Haruki didn't raise his voice. He just watched. Them
He asked them to introduce themselves, to say why they wanted to play.
One said "to be popular."
Another, "because I like to run".
A third, lowering his head, murmured:
-Because I want to fit in.
Haruki smiled. At that moment, he saw himself reflected in that boy. He came over, patted him on the shoulder,
and said:
-Then, you're in the right place.
And so began a new stage, not with shouts or applause, but with the certainty that basketball
It was still more than a sport.
It was a language that still had many stories to tell.
Chapter 7: New lines, same court
The start of the new school year brought with it new faces, renewed schedules, and a sense of
reset that was floating in the air. For Haruki, now in his senior year, school was no longer just
gray corridors or worn desks. It was familiar territory, almost like coming back to a house where
Everything changed, but the walls are still in place.
His first visit was not to the classroom or his locker, but to the gym. When I push the door open and feel the
Echoing his footsteps on polished wood, he felt a mixture of nostalgia and belonging.
"You're back," said a familiar voice.
It was Souta, in the captain's uniform and with a calmer smile than usual.
"This place is not so easy," Haruki replied, bouncing a ball he found in the corner.
-Ready to train the new ones?
"Ready to listen," he said. Everyone has their own rhythm. I just want to help you
Find.
That afternoon they met the new members of the team. Nervous kids, kind of uncoordinated,
with looks that oscillated between respect and fear. Haruki didn't raise his voice. He just watched. Them
He asked them to introduce themselves, to say why they wanted to play.
One said "to be popular."
Another, "because I like to run".
A third, lowering his head, murmured:
-Because I want to fit in.
Haruki smiled. At that moment, he saw himself reflected in that boy. He came over, patted him on the shoulder,
and said:
-Then, you're in the right place.
And so began a new stage, not with shouts or applause, but with the certainty that basketball
It was still more than a sport.
It was a language that still had many stories to tell.
During the first few weeks, Haruki became a silent but constant figure in the
training. He did not shout, he did not impose his authority. Watched. He took notes. Sometimes he suggested
movements with simple phrases, other times he corrected with a gesture or a look. But always,
He always listened.
The new players began to loosen up little by little. One of them, Junpei, was skilled with the
ball but clumsy in defense. Another, Sora, ran like the wind but did not know how to position himself. Haruki
He took each one separately after training. He showed them exercises, lent them
notebooks with outlines, he even shared videos of his own past mistakes.
"It's not about being perfect," he told them. It's about understanding how you can add to the team.
Souta, from his role as captain, complemented that vision. He led with energy, he motivated with his
presence, but he had learned to give space. To trust.
One day, after a particularly long workout, Souta and Haruki sat down on the
Stands.
"I never thought that teaching was more exhausting than playing," said Souta, laughing.
-Because teaching is not showing what you know. It's helping others discover what they're capable of
"To do," Haruki replied.
"And what do you discover now?"
Haruki looked at the empty court.
-That this was not the end of a story. It was only the prologue.
That night, upon returning home, Haruki found an envelope with no return address on his desk. Inside
There was a handwritten letter:
"I saw you play. But more importantly, I saw you grow up. Don't stop writing, teaching, feeling. The
The field can be many things. You made it a place where others meet."
There was no signature, but Haruki knew immediately who it came from.
And with that certainty, he opened his black notebook again, ready to write down the next play.
As the weeks progressed, the team's initial excitement gave way to the first
Trips. In the first friendly of the preseason, they lost by twenty points. Passing errors,
lack of coordination, nerves. It was a resounding defeat.
In the dressing room, no one said a word. Junpei stared at the ground. Sora was gently tapping a
empty bottle against his slipper. The atmosphere was dense.
Haruki did not speak immediately. He waited for everyone to change, for the silence to settle in the
all. Then he stood up, walked to the center of the locker room and left his notebook on the bench.
"They didn't fail today because they didn't know how to play," he said. They failed because they wanted to
appear perfect.
Everyone looked at him.
"The field doesn't need heroes," he added. Connection required. And that only happens if they accept that
they are going to make mistakes. What matters is what they do next.
No one answered. But a spark was lit in the eyes of many.
The next training session was different. Haruki proposed an unusual dynamic: each player had to
to tell out loud what his worst game was. At first there was nervous laughter, then confessions
Sincere. One spoke of scoring on his own rim. Another, of having missed all his free throws
in a school final.
And then Haruki told his story: the day he lost the ball to Kanzaki on a fast break
key. How he felt exposed. Humiliated. Useless.
"But that mistake made me understand something," he said at last. I am not defined by what I did wrong. I am
defined by what
I did later.
From that day on, the team began to understand each other better. They supported each other more. They
corrected themselves without fear.
And in the following friendly, although they lost again, they did so by only five points. And in the end,
They hugged each other as if they had won.
Souta proposed an idea at the end of the practice:
-What if we organize a friendly tournament here, at home?
-With which teams? asked one of the novices.
Souta smiled and looked at Haruki.
-With old acquaintances.
The idea of the tournament became an official school project. With the support of the management, the
The gym prepared to receive three guest teams: Hoshikawa, Saiten and Kurobane. Old
rivals, now allies in a new stage of formation.
The announcement caused a stir. Students discussed it in hallways, school networks, and
chat. For Haruki, it was a reunion with echoes of the past. For the newcomers, an opportunity to
measure yourself against the best.
Kanzaki was the first to arrive. Higher, even quieter, but with a warm look at the
shake Haruki's hand.
"You still see beyond the game," he said simply.
Aoyama showed up with a bag full of personalized balls and a sketchbook as
meticulous like Haruki's.
"I'm writing my own story too," he said. But I'm still missing the end.
Ichiro arrived with his new training equipment. He was more relaxed, talked more, and even
he joked with Souta about who dominated the rebound better now.
Joint training began two days before the tournament. Instead of confronting each other,
They practiced together: combined defense, shared pressure, reading games. It was as if the
rivalry of the past would have been transformed into a silent complicity.
During a break, Haruki and Kanzaki sat in the stands.
-Are you still writing? Kanzaki asked.
-Always.
-Me too. But not with words. With movements.
"Then your pages must be very fast," Haruki replied, and they both laughed.
The tournament was held on a Saturday. The stands were full. Parents, students, teachers. Even
some local sports journalists.
In the first match, Haruki's new team faced Saiten. It was a beautiful battle. Sora
He scored his first points. Junpei stole a key ball. They lost by two points, but no one went down
the head.
Afterwards, the teams mixed. They played for fun. Crusader Companions, Former Rivals
playing together. Kanzaki assisted Riku. Ichiro threw a joke at Daichi. Aoyama and Ami
they exchanged notebooks with technical notes.
And Haruki, from the center of the gym, observed everything.
With pride. With peace.
At the end of the tournament, a brief symbolic act was organized. There were no trophies or medals. Alone
words. Souta, as host captain, went up to the small dais armed with wooden benches and
He thanked everyone for participating.
He then gave the microphone to Haruki.
"We're not here to count wins or losses," he began, looking at the audience. We're here
Because we still believe that basketball is more than a game.
Attentive silence.
-Some use it to win titles. Others, to get to know each other. I used it to find myself. And that's what
What I wish for all who step on this field: that they not only throw the ball, but that they listen to what they do.
What does he say when he bounces. That they look to the sides, that they learn from those who run with them.
A warm applause filled the gymnasium.
That night, after all, Haruki and Ami were strolling through the silent streets of the neighborhood.
-Did you realize that you no longer need the notebook to remember? Ami asked.
"But I like to wear it." Not for fear of forgetting. But because I still have things to write.
-Like what?
"Like this," he said, and wrote on the last page:
"Chapter 8: Those Who Keep Playing."
-Do you think it will be the last?
"I hope not," he answered.
In the following days, the new players trained with more conviction. Defeats no longer
they were punishments. They were steps. Haruki guided them patiently, with humor, with stories of his
epoch. He became a mentor without realizing it.
And when a new regional tournament was finally announced, Haruki, from the bench as an assistant,
He handed the ball to the team's new point guard.
"Trust yourself," he said. Because we already do it.
The young man nodded, nervously, but smiling.
And as the game began, Haruki closed his eyes for a moment.
I knew I wouldn't always be on the court.
But it would always be part of the game.
One afternoon, after class, Ami and Haruki met in the library. They no longer spoke like
before, in cautious phrases or between silences. Now they knew each other so well that small
looks to understand each other.
-Have you thought about what you are going to do after high school? she asked, leafing through a book of
sports literature.
"I'm writing a project to present at the Faculty of Education," he replied. I want to
I want to teach, but I also want to train. Not only athletes, but people.
"It sounds like you," Ami said, smiling.
-And you?
-I am applying for a sports analysis scholarship. Maybe you can travel.
"And leave me alone with all these rookies?"
"Do you think you can't do without me?"
Haruki looked at her, feigning indignation.
-No. But I'd rather not try.
They both laughed.
In the corner of the room, a younger student struggled with a stack of rule books
Sports. Haruki got up, walked over, and offered her help. Together they organized the material. The boy
He confessed that he wanted to join the team, but that he did not dare to apply.
"What if I'm not good?"
"No one is good at first," Haruki replied. What matters is having the will to improve.
He gave her his number.
-Come to Wednesday's training. Just watch, if you will. Or shoot a shot. Whatever you can today.
The boy nodded, almost on the verge of tears.
The next day, Haruki shared a proposal in the clubhouse: to create a sports library
open to the whole institute, where you could consult manuals, watch recorded matches, read
True stories of athletes.
-And why not also create an analysis and narrative club? Ami proposed. For those who want to
Understand the game from another angle.
The idea was approved.
Within a few weeks, students from other courses began to arrive. Some of them were playing. Other
Wrote. Others just listened.
But they all shared something: they were looking for their place.
On the last day of the semester, before the winter break, the team organized a small event of
Farewell for the final year students. No one officially announced it, but everyone knew that
it would be the last time Haruki would wear the team's colors.
The gym was decorated with photos, motivational quotes and souvenirs from the tournaments. The new
players prepared a surprise: a compilation video with images of training,
matches, spontaneous moments, and phrases that Haruki had said without realizing that they were leaving
footprint.
At the end of the video, Junpei took the floor:
-There are players who teach plays. And there are players who teach you to believe in yourself. Haruki
He did both.
Sora added:
-And he listened to us. Always. Even when we had nothing to say.
The group gave him a new notebook, with red covers this time, with a dedication on the first
page:
"So that you write all the stories that still have to be told. Thank you for giving us one."
Haruki, moved, didn't know what to say right away. He just hugged them, one by one.
Later, in the empty locker room, Ami found him putting away his things.
-Are you ready?
"I don't know," he answered. But I think that is never fully known.
She offered him her hand.
-So, do we continue writing?
"Always," Haruki replied. Page by page.
And as they walked together outside the gym, the lights went out behind them.
But the story, as always, went on.
Because some stories don't end.
They only transform into others waiting to be lived.
The first day at university was as chaotic as Haruki had imagined. Huge rooms,
students from all over, professors with busy schedules, and a campus so alive that it seemed like a
a city apart.
However, in the midst of that chaos, Haruki remained calm. His red notebook accompanied him
in the backpack, next to a folder with notes and a planning notebook. In one of his courses,
He discovered that his introductory sports teacher was... Kanzaki.
"I didn't expect it," Haruki told him, seeing him at the front of the classroom.
"I do," Kanzaki replied with his typical calmness. Someone has to teach by example.
During classes, Kanzaki did not flaunt his past. He spoke precisely, but with
mankind. And he often used phrases that Haruki had once said.
-There is no perfect play, only decisions that connect.
One day, after class, Haruki approached her.
-Why did you agree to teach here?
-Because when someone defeated me with a perfect game reading, I understood that the future was
Changing. And I wanted to be part of that change.
"Was that someone me?"
Kanzaki smiled.
-Who else?
That silent recognition marked a new beginning.
That night, Haruki wrote in his notebook:
"Chapter 1, college season. Same game, new story."
And as he watched the new teammates train under the lights of the university gymnasium,
He thought of all those who had brought him there.
And he knew, more clearly than ever, that there were still many fields to tread.
And many pages to write.