The rain hit the cracked asphalt like a steady drumbeat — a rhythm that only one person dared to move to.
A lone figure stood beneath a flickering streetlight, a basketball in his hand. His hood was soaked, shoes worn, eyes burning.
Riku Vane.
Three years ago, his name had ruled the underground courts of Neo-Tokyo.
Three years ago, he'd been called the street ghost — a prodigy whose crossover could freeze a man's soul mid-play.
And three years ago, he lost everything.
The night his entire team's spirits were destroyed.
He hadn't touched a ball since.
Until now.
The ball bounced once. Thud.
And as it echoed through the alley, the shadows stirred — faint blue trails forming beneath his feet, like smoke from forgotten fire.
Riku exhaled. "...Still can't forget the rhythm."
Every bounce carried a pulse — his pulse — the heartbeat of the game.
It wasn't just practice; it was calling something. The court, the energy, the unseen crowd beyond the mortal veil.
In this world, basketball wasn't just sport. It was soul warfare.
Every player was born with a Spirit of Play — a supernatural being shaped by their drive, passion, and purpose.
These spirits played beside their masters, fused with them, enhancing every move, every breath.
But Riku's spirit — his best friend — had been erased in an illegal Soul Match.
He'd watched it vanish. Powerless.
And after that, Riku had disappeared, too.
Until tonight.
"Once more," he whispered.
He dribbled. Crossed. Spun. The rain curved with his motion, droplets forming spirals around his body. For a moment, the air shimmered — like reality itself hesitated to keep up.
Then it came.
A pulse from beneath the court.
A low, trembling voice.
> You dare awaken me, mortal?
The ball stopped. The sound vanished. Even the rain froze midair.
Riku blinked — his reflection in a puddle staring back — but behind it, a second pair of eyes gleamed. Silver. Cold.
> I smell despair... yet your soul burns like a dying star.
The streetlight shattered, plunging the court into darkness.
Out of the shadow rose a figure — tall, elegant, wrapped in tattered veils of mist and night. Her eyes glowed faint violet, her presence suffocating yet mesmerizing.
Riku's hand trembled, but he didn't step back.
He'd seen spirits before. This... was something else.
"Who— what are you?" he asked.
> You already know my name, she whispered, her voice a haunting melody. They called me Lira. The Phantom Queen.
His pulse skipped.
Lira. A forbidden spirit said to have devoured her master centuries ago. The spirit that even gods sealed away beneath the ruins of the old Soul Courts.
She shouldn't exist.
Riku clenched his jaw. "You're supposed to be dead."
> So are you, she replied, smiling faintly. Yet here you stand — calling me with a heart that refuses to rot.
The shadows surged. His knees buckled as her aura wrapped around him, cold as a tomb.
He felt her probing through his memories — the pain, the guilt, the fire.
> You've lost your team… your spirit… your purpose.
She leaned closer, her face inches from his. Tell me, mortal. What drives you to summon me?
Riku's breath came ragged. He didn't have an answer. Or maybe he did — buried under all that grief.
"I want…" he whispered, fists trembling. "To play again."
The world held its breath.
Lira tilted her head. "To play? After losing everything?"
"To prove I can still stand." His voice cracked, but his gaze didn't waver. "To show that no spirit, no god, no rule decides my fate. I do."
For a long moment, she stared — as if weighing his soul in her hands.
Then she smiled — a slow, dangerous smile. "Interesting."
Lightning flashed.
> Then let us make a pact, Riku Vane. You offer me your resolve… and I will lend you my power.
A surge of energy erupted around them. The entire court lit up with spectral lines, glowing blue and violet. The ball lifted into the air, spinning between them like a moon caught in gravity.
Riku extended his hand. "You'll obey my rules?"
> I don't obey. She placed her hand over his heart. I resonate.
The instant their fingers touched, reality fractured.
Images flooded his mind — a vast arena where spirits clashed like gods, courts floating in the void, millions chanting his name.
And through it all, her laughter — cold, thrilling, alive.
When he opened his eyes again, the rain was gone.
The court was silent. But his right arm glowed faint purple — an ethereal pattern coiling from wrist to shoulder, pulsing like a second heartbeat.
He staggered. "What… happened?"
> Our souls have linked, Lira said, her form fading into mist behind him. Your body now carries the mark of our contract.
He could feel it — raw, unfiltered power humming beneath his skin. Faster reflexes, sharper senses, a pull toward the rhythm of the game.
"...Feels insane," he muttered.
> You haven't even dribbled yet.
Riku smirked. "Then let's test it."
He dropped the ball. Thud.
The world reacted.
Air pressure shifted. Light warped. His shadow moved before he did — a phantom tracing his motion. When he crossed over, the phantom followed, delayed by half a second — a spectral copy mirroring his every move.
It was beautiful. Terrifying. Addictive.
He shot.
The ball exploded from his fingertips like a comet, slicing through the rain, slamming into the hoop with a crack that echoed through the entire block.
Riku stood there, chest heaving. His phantom self dissolved beside him, fading into mist.
Lira's voice lingered, soft as breath.
> You carry pain like a crown. I like that. Let's see if it's strong enough to rule the Soul Court.
Riku chuckled, wiping his mouth. "Rule it? Nah."
He turned toward the empty stands — his eyes burning again with the same fire he'd buried three years ago.
"I'm gonna change it."
---
Later That Night
A pair of figures watched from a rooftop across the street — their cloaks fluttering in the wind.
"He really awakened her," one whispered. "The Phantom Queen."
"The Council won't stay quiet about this," the other replied. "A banned spirit, bonded to a street player? That's a death sentence."
The first figure adjusted their visor. "Not if he wins."
---
Meanwhile
Inside Riku's mindscape — a vast, moonlit court suspended in mist — Lira sat upon a throne of fractured glass, watching him through the veil of consciousness.
> You intrigue me, human. A broken soul reaching for heaven through a game...
Let's see how far your madness can take us.
Her smile widened.
> Because from now on, every dribble you make echoes through the souls of gods.
To be continued...