The First Week:
The air in Miyagi still carried the cold of early spring.
Morning wind brushed across the open yard of Kaisei High School, stirring the flags above the gymnasium. It had been only a week since the new school year began, but the campus already felt alive — laughter from the courtyard, clubs shouting for new members, first-years hurrying with half-tucked shirts and brand-new shoes.
Among them, Aizawa Ren blended in easily.
His uniform was neat, his movements quiet. He listened more than he spoke, and when he did, his voice was low and even. He had already joined his classes, sat through orientation, and eaten lunch by the window with the same small circle of classmates. No one knew much about him, only that he had come from Osaka and was now living with his grandmother nearby.
He didn't seem like someone with any particular interest in clubs.
Every time he passed a recruitment booth, his eyes would flick briefly toward it — then move on.
---
At lunch, Kanzaki Yui found him sitting under the cherry tree beside the gym, eating bread and milk. She was small, sharp-eyed, and always moving — the type who couldn't stay still even when she was pretending to relax.
"You really aren't joining anything?" she asked, crouching beside him with her lunchbox.
Ren looked up, then went back to his bread. "Not really."
"You're saying that like someone who's running away from something," she teased.
He didn't answer. The wind blew a petal onto his sleeve; he brushed it off without looking at her.
Yui smiled faintly. "You still do that, huh?"
Ren gave her a questioning glance.
"Act like you don't hear me when I'm right," she said, grinning.
---
That afternoon, as classes ended and clubs began gathering, Yui leaned against the hallway window, looking out toward the gym. The sound of basketballs echoed faintly from inside — a steady rhythm of thuds and squeaks.
She turned toward Ren, who was stuffing his books into his bag.
"You know," she said, "the basketball team's tryouts ended yesterday. They've got new players this year — some good ones."
Ren didn't reply.
"You should at least come watch," she continued. "It's not like you have club duties."
"I'm fine."
"Come on. You said that last year, too. Just for a few minutes."
He hesitated, the faintest pause in his movement. Then he sighed, zipped his bag, and followed her down the hall.
---
Outside the gym, the noise grew louder — the sound of sneakers sliding, the thump of a ball hitting the floor, short bursts of laughter and calling.
Yui peeked through the half-open doors, eyes lighting up. "They're practicing full court already. You'll like this."
Ren said nothing, but she caught the small shift in his stance — a tiny forward lean, barely noticeable.
She smiled. "Got you."
They slipped quietly inside.
Inside, the gym buzzed with motion.
Sunlight spilled through the high windows, streaking the polished floor with long, golden lines. The sound of sneakers, the bounce of balls, and the short, sharp rhythm of whistles filled the air — the heartbeat of the court.
The basketball team was already in full practice. Most were first-years, still trying to prove themselves. Others were second-years who carried the calm steadiness of experience. The coach wasn't around — the captain, stood near the half-line, arms crossed, watching drills with focused eyes.
Ren and Yui took a seat on the bleachers.
Yui leaned forward, chin resting on her palm. "They've got a solid lineup this year," she murmured. "Look — that's Daichi Morimoto, number seven. Power forward. He's the anchor. And the tall one under the rim is Hayato Ishikawa — the center. He's their defensive captain."
Ren followed her gaze without much interest. The movements on the court were familiar — he had seen them thousands of times before — screens, pivots, fast breaks. But his eyes stopped when a few of the newer players switched in.
A boy in a white scrimmage vest — quick, confident — dribbled between his legs, faking a crossover before cutting in for a layup. His name echoed faintly from the bench.
Renji Nakamura — first-year, shooting guard. Fast, flashy, and unafraid of attention. His play had a rhythm that demanded eyes to follow him. He made every possession a small performance.
Beside him, another player waited for a pass. Tall for a first-year, calm-faced, with long arms — Haru Aoyama, a natural wing shooter. His release was clean, the arc of the ball sharp and effortless.
Every shot — swish.
He hardly missed.
The captain clapped once. "Good, keep it up! Renji, Haru — nice timing!"
---
Yui nudged Ren's arm.
"They're both pretty well-known already. Prefecture-level talent. The team's lucky this year."
Ren's gaze lingered for a moment, then drifted away.
He sat back, arms crossed, watching silently.
---
Renji noticed him.
That quiet boy sitting up on the bleachers, watching with an unreadable face. Everyone else cheered, whispered, or commented, but he just sat there — like someone who didn't care.
Renji smirked. "Hey, you sitting there like a scout or something?" he called out, voice loud enough to turn heads.
A few players stopped mid-drill, glancing up.
"You think you can do better? Or you just here to judge?"
Yui froze for half a second. "Ah, crap."
Ren's expression didn't change.
For a moment, no one spoke. Even the bouncing balls slowed.
Then Ren exhaled softly and stood. "Sure," he said, voice low. "Let's see what you've got."
The air in the gym shifted.
Ryo raised a brow, but didn't stop it.
There was something in Ren's tone — not pride, not challenge — just quiet certainty.
Renji grinned wider. "Alright then. One-on-one. First to five."
He tossed the ball to Ren. "You start."
---
Ren caught it lightly.
His steps were unhurried as he moved to the top of the key. For a brief moment, the gym was silent except for the sound of his dribble — calm, steady, precise.
Renji crouched low, energy humming through his stance.
Ren took a single step — a faint shift of weight — and in that moment, Renji blinked. The ball was already past him.
A single, smooth drive, no wasted motion.
Layup — 1–0.
The second play came faster.
Renji tried to block the path, anticipating the direction.
Ren's body leaned right, eyes cold, then snapped left in an instant — footwork sharp and efficient, like muscle memory honed over years. Another point.
Murmurs rippled through the gym.
"Did you see that move?"
"He didn't even fake properly…"
"No — he didn't need to."
Renji gritted his teeth. He switched to offense, attacking hard. He tried his flashiest crossover — but Ren didn't even react until the last step. A single pivot, clean steal.
And then — a step-back jumper.
The ball left his hands without hesitation. Swish.
The gym went dead silent.
---
5–0.
It had lasted barely two minutes.
Renji froze, sweat sliding down his temple. He wasn't just beaten. He was taken apart. Every attempt, read perfectly. Every fake, countered.
The rest of the team stood still. Even Haru, usually calm, stared like he'd seen something impossible.
Yui exhaled softly. She had known this would happen — but even she felt her chest tighten at how effortlessly Ren handled it.
---
Hayato, the captain, finally spoke.
"…Hey. What's your name, kid?"
Ren spun the ball once in his hand, then set it down gently. "Doesn't matter," he said. He turned, heading toward the exit.
The sound of his footsteps echoed faintly across the wooden floor.