Sunday Morning – Kagawa Residence, Matsumoto City, Nagano Prefecture, Japan
The faint sound of an alarm clock coming through the medium and tidy room. A lazy hand reached out from under the blanket and slammed the button, silencing it instantly.
Kagawa Ryota groaned as he sat up, his messy black hair pointing in all directions.
His eyes were half-open, his mind foggy. He had spent the entire night gaming again, grinding ranked matches until 3:00 AM.
He stretched, yawning deeply, rubbing his neck with a sluggish motion.
Ryota (Muttering): Ugh... I really need to stop staying up that late... I'm too tired.
He lived alone in a quiet two-story house tucked at the edge of the neighborhood. At 17, he managed to live independently while he is a student by day and a small business owner by morning. His parents had long separated, but his father still visited once in a while, while her mother remains unknown to him.
Despite his young age, Ryota wasn't some spoiled kid. He ran a small bakery near his area, employing a baker and a seller. It wasn't big, but it paid the bills and gave him something to be proud of.
He slipped on a black shirt, grey shorts, and quietly walked to the kitchen.
Sunday Morning – Dining Area
He poured cereal into a bowl, added milk, and fixed himself a cup of black coffee. Breakfast was simple, quiet, and the same every day.
The spoon clinked lightly against the bowl as he ate.
He turned on the TV, slouching into the couch. The sound of sneakers screeching filled the living room, a live basketball game was on. The screen flashed with energy, commentators shouting in excitement.
Ryota (Murmuring): Man... look at that vertical. He didn't even hesitate.
He wasn't just watching. He was studying their every move, every pass, every rhythm. The game fascinated him in a way nothing else did.
He loved basketball. Truly loved it.
But his body never caught up with his heart.
At 5'10", thin, skinny and wiry, Ryota looked more like a tired college student than an athlete. His metabolism burned through everything he ate. No matter how many meals or healthy shakes he tried, his body refused to bulk up.
He had long accepted that he wasn't made for it.
So instead of chasing dreams on the court, he focused on logic, business, and strategy. His brain was his weapon.
After breakfast, he threw on a hoodie and stepped out. The weather was warm, the air faintly crisp. He walked down the street toward the nearby grocery, earbuds plugged in, lost in his own world.
Late Morning – Near Asama Market District
On his way back, he slowed his steps.
In the distance, in an open court, a group of men were deep into a basketball game. Their movements weren't ordinary, each player had a distinct, almost unique rhythm to their play.
Ryota's eyes locked onto two of them. One was a short guy but he was fast, explosive, like lightning in human form. The other moved slower, almost invisible, as if the air itself ignored his presence. Yet, whenever someone lost focus, the ball somehow ended up in his hands.
The rhythm of the game was brutal with sharp passes, ruthless cuts, and the echo of every dribble thundering through the evening air. When they leapt, it was like a clash of storms; their bodies collided midair before a vicious dunk sent the rim rattling.
Ryota stopped walking, watching silently from afar.
They were fast. Powerful. Every play felt like something out of a highlight reel.
And for a moment, Ryota felt a twist in his chest.
Ryota (Quietly): If only I had that kind of body...
It wasn't jealousy of their fame or skill. It was envy of their freedom.
The way they moved, unrestrained, alive, fearless.
But that wasn't him. His life was practical, grounded. Work. Study. Sleep. Repeat.
He sighed, turning away and heading home.
Sunday Noon – Kagawa Residence
As he approached his house, something felt off.
The front door was slightly open.
Ryota froze, his hand instinctively tightening around his grocery bag.
Ryota (Muttering): I swear I locked that...
He cautiously stepped inside.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the air. On the couch sat a tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark polo and smiling.
Kagawa Yori. His father.
A towering 6'6" figure, muscles built from years of professional basketball.
Ryota: Dad? What are you doing here? I thought you were at work.
Yori (Grinning): What, I can't visit my own son?
Ryota (Shrugging): It's just... surprising. You know?... you still care, even though I didn't inherit your physique or talent.
Yori (Laughing): Hah! You are so random. You think that's what matters to me? Son, you're living your life well. You run a business, go to school, stay out of trouble. I'm proud of you. Not everyone has to play basketball. Everyone's born for something different.
Ryota didn't know how to respond. He just walked to the kitchen and started preparing lunch.
The two of them ate together, grilled fish, udon noodles, some side dishes and rice. It was quiet but warm. The kind of silence that didn't need words.
After the meal, Yori reached into his wallet and placed a thick envelope on the table.
Yori: Here. For you.
Ryota blinked in disbelief. Inside was a bundle of yen roughly 350k.
Ryota (Shocked): This much? The usual was 250k yen and my bakery is doing alright financially... Why?
Yori: To help with the bakery. Pay your staff properly, keep the place running. And maybe buy yourself something nice for once.
Ryota: You really don't have to, Dad... I haven't even gone through all the money you gave me last month.
Yori: I know... But I just want to be sure, that's all.
He gave his son a firm pat on the shoulder, then stood.
Yori: Take care of yourself, Ryota. Eat more, yeah? You look like you could be blown away by the wind.
Ryota (Smirking): Maybe that's the only way I'll fly.
Yori laughed, grabbing his car keys as he headed to the door.
Yori: Don't forget, I'll come by again soon. Maybe next time we can shoot some hoops together.
Ryota: Yeah, maybe.
The car engine started outside, then faded down the street.
And Ryota was alone again.
He sat on the couch, staring blankly at the TV screen. Basketball highlights still played — some flashy dunks, impossible passes, perfect teamwork, 3-point shootings, and more.
He leaned back, exhaling slowly.
For a moment, the world felt painfully quiet.
He had money, comfort, freedom. But there was something missing, something that made his chest feel hollow.
He didn't know what it was.
Maybe it was purpose.
Maybe it was passion.
Maybe... it was the feeling of being alive again.
He looked at his hands and he saw them thin, pale, trembling slightly from caffeine.
Ryota (Whispering): I just... wish I could be strong too.
Outside, a basketball bounced faintly in the distance. The sound echoed through the empty streets.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Ryota turned toward the window, eyes narrowing slightly.
Something about that rhythm felt strange, it was too perfect, too sharp.
He didn't know it yet, but that sound marked the beginning of everything.
The start of a game far beyond his imagination.
A game that would test not only his body... but his soul.
Sunday Night – Kagawa Residence
The clock on Ryota's wall ticked past 10:00 PM.
The quiet house was lit only by the pale glow of his computer monitor.
Ryota leaned back in his chair, headset snug over his messy black hair. His friend's voice came through the mic, bright and teasing.
??? (Laughing): Bro, you missed that headshot again! You falling asleep already, Ryota?
Ryota (Yawning): Says the guy who's been carried for three games straight.
Reiji: Excuse me? The great Yoneda Reiji doesn't get carried! You just got lucky, that's all.
Ryota chuckled, taking a sip from his half-empty energy drink. Empty ramen cups and snack wrappers littered his desk it is proof that another all-nighter was in progress.
Despite the fatigue creeping in, gaming with Reiji always made the night lighter. They had been friends since middle school, they are total opposites but inseparable.
Match after match went by, their laughter mixing with the sound of digital gunfire and victory jingles.
Outside, the moon drifted higher, and the world slipped into silence.
Ryota (Murmuring): 4:30 AM already... great.
He rubbed his eyes, stretched, and sighed.
Ryota: Maybe a quick nap won't hurt.
He collapsed onto his bed before even removing his headset. Within seconds, the quiet hum of his PC fan lulled him to sleep.
Monday Morning – 7:00 AM
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Ryota's alarm blared like a siren. He jolted awake, nearly falling off his bed.
Ryota (Groaning): Ugh... I really gotta stop doing this.
He stared at the clock.
7:05 AM.
Panic set in. He had twenty-five minutes to get to school.
Throwing on his uniform shirt, dark blue blazer, and black shoes, he quickly tied his necktie in the mirror. He grabbed his bag and bolted out the door.
His car keys sat temptingly by the door, but he ignored them.
Ryota (Thinking): Traffic's gonna kill me. Bike's faster.
He jumped on his black bicycle and pedaled hard through the streets. The cool morning air hit his face, washing away the last traces of sleep.
Monday Morning – Tenkuu Gakuin Highschool, Matsumoto City
Ryota rolled up to the school gate just as the warning bell rang. He parked his bike, sprinted up the stairs, and slid into his seat seconds before the teacher arrived.
Teacher (From the hallway): Right on time, Kagawa. That's new.
Ryota smirked, catching his breath. Beside him sat his best friend a tall, broad-shouldered, and annoyingly perfect in every way.
Yoneda Reiji.
6'3 in height. Red hair that seemed to catch every ray of sunlight. The basketball team captain, popular, confident, and the kind of guy who drew attention wherever he went, even some girls is crazy over him, no suprised.
Ryota: You look way too awake for someone who stayed up all night.
Reiji (Grinning): I'm built different. You, on the other hand, look like a zombie that forgot to respawn.
Ryota: Funny. I carried you last night, remember?
Reiji: Dream on. Anyway, I saved your grades last week, so you owe me. I convinced Sensei not to call your dad about your missing assignment.
Ryota looked away.
Ryota: My dad wouldn't answer even if he did.
Reiji's smile softened.
Reiji: Still... you're doing good, man. Your old man trained me once, remember? I still owe him and you for that.
Ryota smiled faintly.
Ryota: Yeah. You couldn't even dribble straight back then.
Reiji: Hey! That was years ago. Now I'm captain in this school, living proof of your dad's genius coaching.
The teacher entered, ending their banter.
Late Morning – Lunchtime
When the bell rang, students flooded the cafeteria. Ryota and Reiji found a quiet table by the window, trays clattering softly as they sat.
Reiji: What's your plan after class?
Ryota: Sleep. Or game. Depends on which one kills me slower.
Reiji (Smiling): How about something healthier? Let's shoot some hoops. It's been years since you touched a ball.
Ryota blinked.
Ryota: Nah, I'll just embarrass myself.
Reiji: You won't. The court's empty today. No one to see you miss.
After a moment's hesitation, Ryota sighed.
Ryota: Fine. One game. Then I'm done.
Reiji: Deal.
After School – School Court
The afternoon sun burned golden across the quiet court.
Reiji dribbled the basketball, the sound echoing against the metal fences.
He passed it to Ryota.
Reiji: Your turn. Let's see that form.
Ryota positioned himself at the free throw line. He bent his knees, focused... and shot.
The ball hit the rim and bounced off.
Ryota (Muttering): Damn it.
Reiji: Don't stop. Keep going.
Ryota tried again. Miss. Again. Short. Again. Too far.
Out of fifteen shots, only one went in.
His arms burned, his shoulders ached. Sweat clung to his forehead.
Ryota: One out of fifteen. Not bad... if we were counting failures.
He dropped to sit on the court floor, catching his breath.
Reiji: You're thinking too hard. Basketball isn't about logic... it is about rhythm, instinct. You've got the brain for it, but your body doesn't trust it yet.
Ryota (Smirking): Easy for you to say, Mr. Highlight Reel.
Reiji: Hey, I started like you too. Your dad didn't let me quit, remember? He said, "Even a weak shot matters if you believe it can go in."
Ryota paused. For a second, his father's voice echoed faintly in his mind he remains calm, firm, proud.
He exhaled slowly.
Ryota: Maybe I should've trained with you guys back then.
Reiji (Grinning): Never too late. Come on, juice break. My treat.
Evening – Vending Area
The two sat on a bench near the vending machines, sipping cold juice cans.
Reiji: You've still got potential, Ryota. You just don't see it.
Ryota: Potential doesn't mean much when your arms feel like noodles.
Reiji (Laughing): Then eat more noodles. The good kind.
Ryota laughed, shaking his head.
Ryota: You really should be a motivational speaker instead of a captain.
Reiji: Maybe after I win nationals.
The sun dipped lower, painting the court orange and gold. The world felt calm again and simple, grounded.
Evening – The Road Home
Reiji grabbed his car keys.
Reiji: I can give you a ride if you want.
Ryota: Nah, I'll take my bike. Need the wind.
Reiji: Suit yourself, zombie. See you tomorrow.
They parted ways. Ryota pedaled slowly through the suburban roads, the breeze brushing against his face.
By the time he reached home, the sky had turned a soft purple. He parked his bicycle by the gate and then he stopped.
A small cardboard box sat neatly on his doorstep.
There was no delivery truck in sight, no mail carrier nearby.
Ryota (Thinking): Huh? I didn't order anything...
He crouched and picked it up. The box was plain brown, a bit heavy. A shipping label was taped neatly on top.
He read the sender's name and he froze.
From: Kagawa Yori
His father.
Ryota's heart skipped a beat.
He stood there for a moment, unsure what to feel. Confusion, curiosity, maybe a touch of unease.
Ryota (Whispering): Dad...?
He carried the box inside, setting it on the living room table. The soft rustle of the cardboard sounded faintly in the quiet room.
He didn't open it. Not yet.
He just stood there, staring at the name on the label and wondering why his father, who had just visited yesterday, would send him something without saying a word.
Outside, the streetlights flickered on. The clock ticked softly in the background.
Ryota exhaled, sitting on the couch.
The unopened package sat across from him, silent and still.
To be continued...