The dawn rose with a golden patina over the sea. The first light of day painted the
walls of Haruki's room with warm shadows, as if the sun was trying to write with ink
of fire on the walls of its history. He was still sitting, surrounded by notebooks, posters of the
project and scattered notes that spoke of strategies, dreams and possible futures. But that
Tomorrow, his mind was not in the present.
I was thinking of Souta.
He had avoided his memory for a long time. Maybe because of guilt. Maybe out of fear. But now
that the Samurai Basketball Spirit initiative had begun to grow, he felt that he owed him something. Or
at least, an imaginary conversation that he did not have time to have.
He rummaged through his papers and found an old photo of the team. They were all there: Riku, with that
eternal competitive smile; Ami, with her headphones hanging from her neck and her eyes attentive to the game;
Daichi, with his serious expression; and Souta, always in the background, with his arms crossed and a firm
gaze,
as if he knew that his role was not to shine, but to sustain.
Haruki looked at the image for a long time. Then he stood up.
That day he would not go to the community gym. I had to pay another visit.
The cemetery was on the outskirts of town. Among reddish-leaved trees, the tombstones formed
a sea of carved silences. Haruki walked slowly, holding a small flower wrapped in
Newsprint. It was not a grandiose offering, but it was sincere. Like everything that came from the
heart.
When he arrived, he bowed before Souta's tombstone. I didn't have fancy words, just a name, a
date, and an engraved phrase that read: "Discipline is remembering what one wants."
"A lot has happened, Souta," Haruki murmured, sitting down in front of the grave as if speaking
with one more teammate. We launched the project. The children are coming. They laugh, they fail,
Rise... like us. And sometimes... Sometimes I swear I see your way of walking in one of the
they.
He was silent.
-Do you remember when we argued about the zonal defense? You always said that "defense was like
poetry: brief, precise and lethal".
A breeze blew through the trees, stirring up the dry leaves as if something invisible were settling with the
head.
"I wish you had seen this. That you share it. That you would take a folder and correct me
in silence as you always did. I don't know if I'm doing the right thing. But I know I haven't
Surrendered. And that... I learned that from you.
He put the flower down next to the tombstone and stood up, his eyes moist but firm.
When he returned to the gym, Ami was waiting for him with a notebook under his arm.
-Everything is fine? she asked, without sounding inquisitive.
Haruki nodded.
-I just needed to remember where we came from to know where to go.
She smiled, as if she understood more than she was saying.
"Then you'll like this." We received an invitation.
He handed her a printed sheet with the logo of the Ministry of Education.
"Dear people responsible for the Samurai Basketball Spirit project: We extend a cordial greeting to you
invitation to present their initiative at the National Meeting of Alternative Schools,
to be held next month in Osaka."
Haruki read the message twice.
-Seriously?
"Really," Ami confirmed. This is growing, Haruki. People are starting to listen.
"And what do you think?"
"That we should take one or two of the boys." So that they speak for themselves.
Haruki nodded, already thinking of names.
Training that week became more intense. Not in the physical sense, but
emotional. Haruki was not looking for perfection, he was looking for truth. He asked questions, let the
mistakes happened, he celebrated crazy ideas and moves that had no logic but heart.
At the end of Thursday, he gathered all the children and told them:
-There is an opportunity to represent the project in a national event. But I don't want you to
compete for it. I want you to think: what did this place mean to you? What did they learn
here? What would you like to tell others?
Silence.
Then, a girl raised her hand.
-Can I make a drawing?
"You can do whatever you want," Haruki replied. It's your story.
More than thirty responses arrived. There were texts, diagrams, drawings, comics, letters, models.
Some were talking about basketball. Others of how they had made friends, overcome fears,
learned to trust. Haruki and Ami checked them all for two nights in a row.
In the end, they chose two.
Yuki, an 11-year-old girl who spoke little but had designed a play inspired by a
traditional dance choreography.
And Daigo, a 13-year-old boy who used to stay on the margins of the group, but who delivered a letter
titled "When I understood that I was not invisible".
The trip to Osaka was a mixture of laughter, nerves and amazement. For Yuki and Daigo, it was their first time
outside the town. Ami had prepared a presentation with photos, videos and fragments of the
activities, but Haruki insisted that the boys have the microphone.
When they went on stage, Haruki felt a knot in his stomach. Not for fear of failure, but
because of the possibility that the echo of those voices would change more lives.
Yuki leaned over and showed his notebook with the move he had invented. He explained how the dance of
The hands could confuse the defense, and how the harmony of the group was more important than
annotate. He ended with a phrase that made more than one smile: "Dancing is also a way of
think."
Then it was Daigo's turn.
-I used to believe that basketball was for the strong. I just watched. Until someone said to me:
'Thinking is also playing'. Since then, every time someone falls, I'm already thinking about how
Lift. I'm not fast. But I am part of it. And that... That changed me.
There was applause. Long. Honest.
At the end of the event, a group of educators approached the project's booth. Some asked
Manuals. Others offered contacts. There was even a teacher who proposed to bring Spirit
Samurai to Okinawa.
Back at the hotel, Haruki opened his notebook and wrote:
"Small voices also awaken great paths."
Days later, already at home, Haruki received a call from Daichi.
-How was it?
-Like a game without a score. But where everyone gained something.
-So it was a good game.
-Yes. But I feel like it's just the beginning.
"Do you want me to come and visit them?"
Haruki smiled.
"I want you to come and teach a class."
"Only one condition," said Daichi, "that you prepare the boys as if they were going to lead a team, not
Just to play it.
-Fact.
The day Daichi arrived, the gym was filled with a different energy. Although children do not
their presence commanded respect. He began the class with a question that puzzled the
all:
-What is more important: knowing what to do with the ball or what to do without it?
There were murmurs. Hands raised. Opinions. Discussion.
Daichi listened to them all. Then he said:
-There is no right answer. But if you understand the question, you're already thinking about how
Strategists.
Haruki, from the background, felt that Souta would have approved.
That night, as they picked up together, Daichi handed him a new notebook.
-I want you to start writing the next manual. Not about techniques. But about how to train
teams with soul.
-And what title would you give it?
Daichi thought about it for a few seconds.
-"Play as if it matters".
Haruki nodded.
Later, on his balcony, with the sea as his only witness, Haruki opened the notebook.
And on the first page he wrote:
"Chapter 15: Voices that awaken".
And underneath, without hesitation, he added:
"The game is just the surface. What's underneath... it is what transforms."
And then, he knew he wasn't alone.
That every step the children took, every unexpected move, every shared story, was the
confirmation that the number 11 was still alive. Not on a T-shirt.
But in each child who learned to see with the heart.