The next morning, the Ishikawa estate was quiet, bathed in the soft light of a new day. Ren was in the engawa, the open-air corridor overlooking the central koi pond, sipping a cup of green tea.
"There you are, my little stormcloud."
Ren didn't have to look up to know who it was. His elder sister, Kaori, slid the door open with a whoosh, a cup of coffee steaming in her hand. She was dressed down—which for her meant a cashmere lounge set that probably cost more than his entire wardrobe.
"It's Saturday, Nee-san," Ren said, not taking his eyes off the pond. "Don't you have a company to take over?"
"Ha! I'm leaving that to Haru today," she said, plopping down next to him with zero grace. "Our dear cousin is already in Grandfather's study, by the way, probably learning how to count his billions. Sucking up. A real go-getter." She took a loud sip. "So. 'Future Champion.' Ready to be carried through the halls on the shoulders of your adoring fans?"
Ren just shot her a deadpan look. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Immensely," she grinned. "Grandfather Genji's 'royal decree' at dinner? I thought Uncle Masamune was going to choke on his sashimi. And you! 'I haven't decided.' So polite! So... you."
"Now, Kaori," a new voice chimed in. Their grandmother, Chiyo, approached, carrying a small tray of senbei. "Leave your brother alone. He's only just arrived."
"I am not leaving him alone, Obaa-san," Kaori said, grabbing a rice cracker. "He's a 15-year-old ghost. He needs me to bring him back to the world of the living. Which is why I'm taking him on a grand tour of Shirakawa City."
Ren sighed. "I was just going to walk around..."
"Nonsense! How will you find the best bubble tea? Or the arcade with the good fighting games? Or the shops that don't make you look like a boring old man? You need my expert guidance." She stood up and pulled on his arm. "Get up, Ghost-boy. We're going."
"You're not buying me another ridiculous jacket," Ren said, standing up.
"No promises!"
An hour later, Ren was a very stylish prisoner in Kaori's flashy red convertible, top-down, with music he was 80% sure was banned in several countries playing too loud.
"Okay, listen up!" Kaori shouted over the wind. "That's the main shopping district. Overpriced. That's the best ramen shop, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. And that... is Northwood High."
Ren's gaze followed her pointed finger. It was an old school, but respectable. It looked... normal.
"Dad's old stomping ground," Kaori said, her tone softening for just a second. "Can you believe he was the 'Miracle Captain' or whatever? He's so... dad now."
Ren just grunted in response, looking at the school gymnasium as they zipped past.
"Anyway," she said, her 'Queen Kaori' persona returning, "Grandfather is going to be a pain about the basketball thing. You know how he is about 'legacy.' Dad will back you up, though. He just wants you to be... you know."
"I know," Ren said.
"Just... don't lock yourself away again, okay?" she said, glancing at him.
Ren met her gaze. "I'm not."
"Good!" she chirped, turning the music up. "Now, first stop: bubble tea. You're getting the one with the brown sugar and cheese foam. You'll hate it, and I'll love watching you drink it."
She was right. He did.
After two hours of being dragged through every boutique and snack shop in the city, Ren finally made his escape while Kaori was arguing with a shop owner about a pair of imported sneakers.
"I'm going to check out the library," he muttered.
"The library? Ren, it's Saturday! You're hopeless!" she yelled after him, but he was already gone, disappearing into the afternoon crowd.
He let his feet carry him, finally able to just walk and observe. Shirakawa was nice. It was busy, but not suffocating like Tokyo. He walked past the main streets, into a quieter residential area.
And then he heard it.
Thump... thump... squeak... THUMP.
The unmistakable, rhythmic sound of a basketball on asphalt.
He followed the sound, his hands in his pockets. Tucked away behind a small community center, surrounded by a high chain-link fence, was a public streetball court. The paint was faded, the nets were chain, but it was a full court.
A few high school-aged kids were playing a sloppy 3-on-3. They were yelling, laughing, and missing easy shots. Ren leaned against the fence, just watching. One kid with bright red hair tried a fancy crossover and ended up tripping over his own feet, sending the ball flying.
It bounced off the fence, rolled across the pavement, and came to a perfect stop right at Ren's feet.
The red-haired kid, panting, looked over. "Hey, man! Toss it back! We need a sub, anyway. You play?"
Ren looked down at the ball. The worn, pebbled orange grip felt familiar. He could feel the old itch, the phantom-memory of spinning it on his finger.
He just stood there for a second, lost in the feeling.
"Hey! You deaf?" the kid shouted again, jogging over.
Ren blinked, snapping back. He picked up the ball. It felt heavy. It felt like home.
"No," Ren said, his voice flat. He tossed the ball back underhanded, perfectly, right into the kid's chest. "I'm just passing through."
He turned his back on the court and walked away, the sound of the thump... thump... thump... following him all the way home.