The sound of thousands of fans filled the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium, a low hum of anticipation rolled through the stands like a wave. It was the opening day of the Winter Cup, and every seat was taken.
Camera crews lined the court, commentators adjusted their mics, and flashes from the press pit painted the floor in white bursts of light.
But in the upper rows of the east section, Seirin sat together, leaning over the rail, watching the court below. None of them had expected to be here – at least, not as spectators.
Kagami slouched in his seat, arms crossed, a scowl on his face. "So, Kuroko told me we were supposed to play against Tōō first," he said. "Why the hell are we sitting here watching them? Don't tell me I came back late and you guys lost without me."
"Relax, idiot. We didn't even play yet." Hyūga sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Yeah, the schedule got all messed up this morning." Koganei leaned forward.
Riko, seated a few rows ahead, turned back toward them with a look that was equal parts serious and amused. "The organizers changed everything last minute," she explained. "Our match got pushed to tomorrow. They decided to start the tournament with just one game today – Tōō Academy vs. Meisei High."
Kagami raised an eyebrow. "Meisei? Never heard of them."
"Oh, you've heard of their ace." Riko smirked faintly.
"Their what now?" Kagami blinked.
Before she could answer, Hyūga tossed him a copy of the event brochure. Across the glossy first page, a headline in bold gold letters read:
THE FORTRESS RETURNS – RUI HACHIMURA REJOINS MEISEI FOR THE WINTER CUP.
Below it, a photo showed a tall, broad-shouldered player in a Meisei jersey – short afro, determined eyes, and a calm confidence that radiated off the page.
Kagami's eyes widened. "Wait, that's him? The guy who played for Japan's U17 team?"
Riko nodded. "That's the one. The organizers wanted a bigger opening – something that'd make headlines. So, they switched everything to feature him and Aomine in the first game."
"Aomine versus the Hachimura. That's a dream matchup." Koganei whistled.
"More like a nightmare for whoever's guarding them." Izuki said grimly.
Teppei leaned back, thoughtful. "It's smart, though. The whole country's watching. You start with Japan's two biggest names – you've got everyone's attention before the tournament even begins."
Kagami scratched the back of his head, still processing. "So, what's the deal with that guy, anyway? I was in the States. I only heard rumors."
Riko adjusted her glasses. "He's legit. Six-seven, two-twenty, wingspan around seven feet. Only started playing basketball last year – before that, he was a baseball player. But in his first year, he led Meisei to beat Rakuzan."
"He beat Rakuzan?!" One of the first years nearly choked.
"With the Uncrowned Kings," Riko confirmed. "Just raw teamwork and that monster leading them."
"Damn." Kagami's eyebrows shot up.
Riko continued, her tone shifting to something more analytical. "He's strong, fast, balanced. Plays inside and outside."
"Basically, he's you – but more skilled, bigger, calmer, and scarier." Koganei leaned closer to Kagami.
"You trying to start something?" Kagami glared.
"Just saying."
"No lies detected." Teppei chuckled.
Down on the court, the lights dimmed slightly as the announcer's voice echoed through the arena. "Ladies and gentlemen – welcome to the Winter Cup 2014 Opening Game!"
The crowd erupted. The giant monitors lit up with player highlights, stat lines, and dramatic replays.
"Representing Tokyo, the powerhouse led by Generation of Miracles ace Aomine Daiki – Tōō Academy! The Black Kings!"
Aomine jogged out with his usual lazy stride, gum in his mouth, grin cocky as ever. The cheers nearly shook the rafters.
"And representing Sendai – last year's champions, led by Japan's own Rui Hachimura – Meisei High! Japan's Finest!"
When Hachimura walked out, the crowd's noise changed – less screaming, more awe. His calm smile, steady eyes, and the easy power in his steps filled the arena with something different.
Kagami leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "So that's the Fortress, huh?"
"Afro-Samurai," Hyūga corrected. "They call him that too."
"Cool nickname. Guess we'll see if he lives up to it." Kagami grinned.
Riko, arms crossed, kept her eyes on the court. "He will."
"By the way, if we beat Kubasaki tomorrow…" Riko flipped through the bracket sheet again, tapping the next line down.
"Yeah?" Hyūga looked up.
"…we face the winner of this match." Riko smiled faintly.
"So, you're saying if we win, we play that guy? Or Aomine?" Kagami froze, then laughed – a sharp, hungry sound. Kagami's grin turned wild. "Perfect."
"You're insane." Hyūga groaned.
"Probably," Kagami said, eyes still fixed on the court. "But tell me you don't want to see that too."
"Maybe a little." Riko sighed, but her lips curved.
~~~~~
The crowd inside the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium hummed with anticipation. The starting lineups went as following:
Meisei High
PG – Haru Suzuki, 5'9", 159 lbsSG – Ryota Sato, 6'3", 181 lbsSF – Allen Hachimura, 6'3", 190 lbs, 6'6" wingspanPF – Rui Hachimura, 6'7", 220 lbs, 7'0" wingspanC – Daiki Tanaka, 6'4", 187 lbs
Tōō Academy
PG – Shoichi Imayoshi, 5'11", 157 lbsSG – Ryō Sakurai, 5'9", 130 lbsSF – Yoshinori Susa, 6'3", 176 lbsPF – Daiki Aomine, 6'4", 187 lbsC – Kōsuke Wakamatsu, 6'4", 187 lbs
At center court, Daiki Tanaka turned toward Aomine with an easy grin. "Yo, ma boy. Been a while, huh?"
"Yeah." Aomine didn't even look at him.
He walked straight past, stretching his shoulders as he went.
Momoi leaned in from the bench, whispering, "You two know each other?"
"Older cousin. Biggest asshole in the world." Aomine snorted.
Momoi blinked, unsure whether he was serious. With Aomine, it was impossible to tell.
The referee blew the whistle. Tip-off.
Wakamatsu out-jumped Tanaka, and Tōō took the first possession.
Imayoshi brought it up, sharp eyes already scanning. One fake pass, then a bounce feed to Aomine on the wing. Aomine's first move was instant – crossover, half-spin, step through. The ball slipped off his fingertips like water, rolling off the glass and in.
2–0, Tōō.
Momoi clapped once. "Good start. Keep it steady!"
Haru Suzuki brought the ball down with smooth, darting movements, surveying his team's spacing. He swung it to Allen Hachimura, who cut across the free-throw line before dropping it to Rui in the mid-post.
"So this is Japan's big hope, huh?" Aomine crouched low in front of him, grinning.
Rui didn't respond. He just pivoted once – fluid, balanced – and rose over Aomine's outstretched arm. The ball brushed nothing but the net. The crowd gasped. Rui's face didn't change. Calm. Composed. Silent.
"Alright then." Aomine's grin widened.
From there, the quarter exploded. Every possession felt like a duel.
Aomine danced in isolation, his movements sharp and unpredictable – a flicker of speed, then a reverse spin, then a sudden pull-up from the baseline.
Rui answered every time, bodying through contact, spinning off help defense, dropping smooth jumpers from the elbow or hammering in dunks off lob passes from Suzuki.
The rest of Meisei followed his rhythm – Sato's shooting spread the floor, Allen attacked gaps, and Tanaka cleaned the glass relentlessly. Tōō's offense revolved entirely around Aomine's flow – Sakurai hit a few threes off kickouts, but every possession started and ended with their ace.
The scoreboard kept swinging: 6–6. 10–10. 14–14.
It wasn't a team game anymore. It was a stage for two players.
Halfway through the quarter, Aomine wiped sweat from his chin and smirked across at Rui. "That all you got? You're supposed to be the best Japan's got, right? I expected more."
Rui paused mid-dribble, glanced at him once, and smiled – not warmly, but wickedly.
Then he stopped holding back.
The next possession, Aomine drove, floating in midair – Rui leaped from nowhere and erased the shot mid-flight. The sound of the block echoed like a gunshot.
The next time, Wakamatsu tried a putback – Rui swatted it, grabbed the ball, and threw a laser pass to Allen, already running. Allen caught it and lobbed it back up, behind his back. Rui stormed down the lane, grabbed it one-handed, and dunked through contact. And-one.
The rim shook. The arena erupted.
"...Holy mother of Jesus." Imayoshi exhaled through his nose.
From then on, it was domination. Rui blocked everything that entered his territory – Sakurai's floaters, Susa's layups, even one of Aomine's off-balance drives. Every defensive stop turned into a fast break. Every rebound became an explosion.
Rui's power was wild. He jumped not only higher, but smarter. He timed every leap, every step, every seal. He didn't celebrate. He didn't yell. He just destroyed.
By the end of the quarter, Meisei had pulled ahead 28–20.
The buzzer sounded. As players walked to their benches, Rui finally approached Aomine at half court. It was the first time he spoke all game.
"You know," he said quietly, his tone polite but edged with disdain, "I'm disappointed."
Aomine tilted his head. "Huh?"
"I heard a lot about you – the Generation of Miracles. I crushed Rakuzan last year with their trio of the Uncrowned Kings. They weren't much." Rui's eyes narrowed, his voice cold. "You guys don't seem like much either."
He turned to leave, then added, "Show me everything you have next quarter. Otherwise, I'll just head back to the States. This little pond is too small for me."
Aomine stood there, frozen for half a heartbeat – then his lips twitched into a grin.
"...Tch. You bastard."
For the first time in years, his blood was boiling in the best possible way.
Momoi saw it instantly – that slight tremor in his shoulders, the way his pupils narrowed, the smirk curling just a little too high.
"Oh no," she whispered. "He's waking up."
The buzzer faded. The crowd murmured, sensing the storm about to break.
…