The newspapers were stacked high at the corner shop, headlines blazing with playoff scores. For most people, it was just sports news. For me—and now for Yohei's family—it was opportunity.
The Bets
We sat in the Mito family's living room, the low table covered with tea cups and the faint smell of soy simmering in the kitchen. Yohei's father leaned forward, arms crossed, the seriousness in his eyes heavy.
"Alright," he said. "We'll place the bet."
My pulse quickened. This was it—the first real step.
He continued, "Five hundred thousand yen on the Pistons winning the Eastern Conference. They're the favorites, and the payout is safe enough. 1.5 times is not much, but it's steady."
I nodded, respectful. "That's a smart move."
Then I added, calmly, "I'll place one million yen. Half for the Pistons as conference champions… and the other half on them winning the NBA championship."
The room fell silent.
Yohei's mother gasped. "One million?! On both? Hanamichi, are you mad?!"
Even Yohei choked. "You're really going all in on the Pistons winning everything?"
I met their eyes, steady. "Yes. This is the year. The Pistons will beat the Bulls in the East, then defend their title in the Finals. The payout will be five times the original stake. If we win, that's the beginning of something bigger."
Yohei's father stared at me for a long moment, measuring my resolve. Finally, he exhaled, shaking his head with the faintest smile. "You've got guts, boy. Let's hope you're right."
The bets were placed. A line had been crossed.
Yohei's Question
A few days later, Yohei caught up to me during lunch break, his usual lazy grin replaced by something uncertain.
"Oi, Hanamichi," he muttered, scratching his head. "Back when you said I could be a soccer player… were you serious? Or were you just messing with me?"
I leaned against the railing, watching the schoolyard below. "Serious. You've got balance, agility, and footwork most people don't even realize they need. When you fight, you move like a midfielder—always stable, always ready to switch directions. That's talent. Real talent."
He blinked, surprised by my conviction. "Soccer, huh… In PE, it's the sport I actually enjoy the most. Never thought of it as more than just fun."
I looked at him firmly. "If you take it seriously, if you train like I've been training, you could become a star. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next year, but the potential is there. Don't waste it."
For a moment, Yohei was silent. Then a slow smile spread across his face. "Heh… Damn, Hanamichi, you always talk big. But somehow, with you, it doesn't sound like nonsense."
He clapped me on the shoulder. "Alright. I'll give it a shot. First step—join the school's soccer club. Let's see where it goes."
I grinned. "Good. That's how it starts."
For the first time, I saw Yohei not just as my loyal friend, but as someone standing at the edge of his own dream. That spark I'd planted in him was starting to burn.
The Conference Finals
Days later, we gathered again in the Mito home. The entire family was there, along with me and Yohei, the television glowing with the Pistons-Bulls series.
Game after game, Jordan fought like a lion. His dunks lit up the arena, his midrange jumper was deadly. But the Pistons were relentless—hard fouls, suffocating defense, the "Jordan Rules" in full effect.
And just like I had said, the Pistons triumphed. Eastern Conference Champions, for the third year in a row.
The room erupted. Yohei cheered, his mother gasped, and his father stood, fists clenched, letting out a rare laugh.
"You were right," his father said, turning to me. "Every word. You saw it before it happened."
Yohei's mother still looked stunned, but even she couldn't hide her relief as the payout numbers came through. The 500,000 yen became 750,000.
Then, without hesitation, Yohei's father declared, "I'm putting it all on the Pistons to win the championship."
Yohei blinked. "All of it?"
His father nodded firmly. "Yes. If we're going to trust him, then let's trust him completely."
He turned to me, his eyes sharper than before but filled with respect. "Hanamichi… I don't know what kind of fire drives you, but you've given my son something to believe in. For that, you have my thanks."
I bowed slightly. "I only told him the truth. The rest is up to him."
Resolve
Later that night, Yohei walked me to the gate. "Hanamichi… should we tell the others? Noma, Yuji, Nozomi? If my dad could convince them…"
I shook my head at first. "It'll be hard. Parents don't trust bets easily."
But before I could continue, Yohei's father stepped outside, overhearing.
"I'll talk to them," he said calmly. "If they see what I've seen, they'll believe. Leave it to me."
Yohei looked stunned, but I simply nodded.
This wasn't just about money anymore. It was about faith—about proving that the future could be bent if you had the courage to grab it.
And as the night settled in, I knew one thing with absolute certainty:
The Pistons weren't just going to win the Finals. They were going to pave the road for me, too.