By the time morning broke over Okinawa, the ocean breeze had already swept through the open dorm windows. The boys were dressed in crisp new uniforms – grey trousers, white shirts, navy jackets with the Onitsuka crest, and sneakers that looked wildly out of place under the polished look.
The crest itself was curious – a small cat with a permanently disinterested face. Ask any local, and they'd tell you right away it was an Iriomote cat, Japan's only species of wild feline.
They stepped out of the dormitory under Tyrone's lead. Marcus, Daniel, and Michiko were already waiting outside.
"What took you guys so long? You're almost late for your first school day," Daniel said, tapping his watch.
"Lo siento," said Jesus, adjusting his collar. "I was trying to find shoes that actually fit this uniform. The others were waiting on me."
"Well," Marcus pointed down, "none of your shoes match those outfits anyway."
"Let's hurry," Michiko cut in. "I still have to introduce you to your homeroom teachers. You'll all be in English-taught classes."
"Wait, so there are English-speaking classes here?" asked Ector.
"Yes," Michiko replied. "Not many, but with all the foreign and especially American families here, we had to make space. It's a big school – there's room for everyone."
"So not everyone here's Japanese?"
"Roughly six to seven percent aren't," she said. "There are around three thousand students total. About two hundred are foreigners."
"Damn, that's a lot," Novak muttered.
They followed Marcus, Daniel, and Michiko toward the main building – and immediately drew attention. Two tall foreign men in smart-casual clothes escorting a striking Japanese woman, followed by seven towering students in matching uniforms.
Even Ector, the shortest of the crew, stood taller than anyone in the crowd.
Whispers rippled through the hall like a wave. "Eh? Are they college players?" "They can't be high schoolers!" "Look – two of them are darker than my coffee!" "Shhh! Don't say that!"
The boys noticed every reaction – even if they couldn't understand most of it. Their Japanese was still rough.
Ector leaned toward Jesus with a grin. "Man, I feel like a celebrity. You see all those girls looking?"
Jesus smirked. "They're not looking, hermano – they're calculating. Like, 'If he trips, he's crushing three people.'"
Novak muttered under his breath, "Feels like walking into an anime opening."
~~~~~
The group split at the main corridor. Michiko stopped to explain the system.
"You'll all be in the English Division, that's what 'E' stands for in your class codes. It helps identify which classes are taught fully in English. So, Tyrone, Novak, and Grigori – you're in Class E1-1. Jesus, Ector, and Deng – E1-2. And Jean-Batiste – you're E2-1, the upper-year English class."
JB nodded slowly. "So I'm solo then."
"You're the senior," Marcus said with a grin. "Try not to scare the locals."
"Too late for that," Ector muttered.
When they were introduced, none of them followed the usual Japanese customs. They didn't bow, didn't smile much, and certainly didn't give rehearsed speeches about hobbies and dreams. They just said their names, flat and quick, then walked to their seats. The teachers didn't push it – one look at them, and it was clear this was not the type of group to force small talk on.
Even though the E-classes were half-filled with other foreign students – kids from the U.S., the Philippines, Australia, and mixed Japanese families – the seven newcomers still stood out. Towering over everyone, shoulders broad, faces unreadable.
Novak, trying to be polite, gave the most effort. He introduced himself properly, mentioning he liked movies and basketball, and awkwardly added that he hated spicy food. It wasn't much, but it was something. Jesus, meanwhile, smirked and said, "Jesús Iglesia. Don't ask for miracles," then took his seat like he'd just dropped a punchline. Ector only said his name. Tyrone crossed his arms and nodded once. Grigori didn't bother to look into people's faces and simply gazed through them.
When class ended, a few curious students – mostly other foreigners – approached to break the ice. "Hey, you guys hoop, right?" one asked. "Where are you from?" another said, trying to sound friendly. The replies were short, dismissive. "Yeah." "America." "Fuck off loser."
Only Novak and the Africans – Biha and Aliir – showed any warmth. JB smiled easily, answering questions about his height like he'd rehearsed it a hundred times. Aliir, quieter but kind, spoke politely when asked where he was from. Novak tried to keep the mood friendly, even translating a few things between classmates when the English got too messy.
The rest of the team, though, stayed in their bubble.
~~~~~
The kids filed out of their classrooms with that usual mix of boredom and restlessness that hits after a long first day. Down the hallway, Daniel waited for them – clipboard under his arm, sleeves rolled up, expression halfway between tired and proud dad.
"Alright, Tigers," he said as they grouped up, "you've survived your first day without getting expelled or starting a fight. I'm impressed."
Jesus smirked. "Barely. Couple of kids tried asking me where I'm really from."
"Should've told them heaven," Ector muttered, earning a snort from Novak.
Daniel led them through the outdoor walkways toward the gym complex. The late Okinawan sun painted everything gold – the sea glimmered beyond the palm trees, the school buildings looked more like a training resort than a high school.
When they entered the gym, a hush fell. The place was insane. Full-sized hardwood courts gleamed like mirrors under LED lights. Weight rooms walled in glass stretched along the sides, packed with modern machines. Above them, a banner read:
AD VICTORIAM.
Grigori let out a low whistle. "Now this… this is real gym."
Tyrone nodded, eyes wide. "This is a pro setup, not some high school."
Erik Kuhlmann stood at center court already, clipboard in one hand, a whistle hanging from his neck. He looked up as the team entered.
"Finally," he said. "Welcome to your new home."
The boys lined up. Kuhlmann's tone turned businesslike. "It's almost June. The Winter Cup is in December. Qualifiers start in November. That gives us five months. Five months to turn you into a functioning team and crush everyone in your path."
No one spoke.
He paced once, letting the echo of his shoes fill the space. "There's a catch. To qualify, we need at least five Japanese players on the roster. Otherwise, we're disqualified."
A groan rippled through the boys.
Ector sighed. "So we gotta babysit locals now?"
"Watch it," Daniel warned. "They'll be your teammates."
Kuhlmann continued. "They'll join us soon. Until then, I'll be drowning in paperwork to register you with the federation and clear your visas for athletic competition. That means practice runs under Marcus and Daniel for now. Plus, since Ector and Grigori are only fourteen we had to jump them up a year. The paper-work didn't end yet."
Marcus clapped once, grin spreading. "Translation: y'all are mine. And I'm not going easy on you."
Jesus grinned back. "Good. We don't do easy."
Novak smirked. "But we also don't do morning runs."
Marcus raised a brow. "Oh, but you will."
That got a collective groan – but under it, a hum of excitement.