The spring sun hung low over the Kawasaki River, casting long shadows beneath the bridge where Sora Kurumatani found himself surrounded by trouble.
"Oi, elementary school brat! Hand over your wallet!" The tallest of the three street thugs loomed over him, his breath reeking of cigarettes.
Sora looked up at them, his brown eyes unwavering despite the significant height difference. At 149 centimeters, he was used to being underestimated. "I'm a high school student, actually."
The thugs burst into laughter. "High school? Yeah right, shrimp! Now fork it over before we get rough!"
"Fine." Sora reached into his pocket and pulled out what little money he had—1,200 yen. "But that's all you're getting."
The leader snatched the bills from his hand, then his eyes landed on Sora's backpack. A predatory grin spread across his face. "What about the bag? That looks expensive."
Sora's grip tightened on the strap. "No."
"What did you say?" The thug grabbed for the bag, but Sora twisted away, holding it close to his chest.
"I said no!" Sora's voice rang out with conviction that seemed too large for his small frame.
What followed was predictable. Three against one was never a fair fight, especially when the one was significantly smaller. Fists flew, and Sora hit the ground more than once. His lip split, his cheek swelled, but his arms never left his backpack.
"Stubborn little brat!" One thug kicked at the bag. "What's so important in there anyway?"
Sora curled around it, absorbing another blow to his ribs. "None of your business!"
After what felt like an eternity—but was probably only a few minutes—the thugs finally gave up, frustrated by his resistance. They pocketed his money and left, hurling insults over their shoulders.
Sora lay there for a moment, catching his breath. His body ached, his uniform was dirty, but his backpack remained secure in his arms. Slowly, he sat up, wincing at the pain in his side.
"That was pretty stupid, you know."
Sora's head snapped up. A tall figure stood a few meters away, leaning against the bridge support. The guy was massive—easily over 190 centimeters—with a muscular build that suggested he could've stopped those thugs with a single look. He had spiky hair and wore what looked like a Kuzuryu High uniform.
Before Sora could respond, the stranger's stomach let out a loud, prolonged growl that echoed under the bridge.
The tall guy clutched his stomach with a sheepish expression. "Hey, you got any food? I'm starving."
Sora blinked, thrown off by the sudden request. He rummaged through his bag—careful not to reveal its precious contents—and pulled out two curry buns he'd bought for lunch. "Here."
"Thanks!" The stranger devoured the first bun in three bites, then started on the second more slowly. As he chewed, he pulled out his phone and showed Sora a photo of a girl. "See her? That's Tomo. She's a sophomore. We were supposed to go on a date, but she never showed up."
Sora had no idea how to respond to this random confession from a complete stranger.
"I could wait 24 hours every day," the tall guy continued, his voice carrying genuine sadness, "but she'll never come."
The melancholy moment stretched between them. Sora shuffled his feet, uncomfortable. "Well... I need to get going. First day at Kuzuryu High and all."
He started to walk away, but the stranger's voice stopped him.
"Hey, Mister No-Height!"
Sora whirled around, a vein popping on his forehead. "Don't give me weird nicknames! My name is Sora Kurumatani!"
The tall guy grinned, completely unbothered by Sora's anger. Then his expression shifted to curiosity. "But seriously, why didn't you hand over the bag? You took a pretty bad beating just to keep it."
Sora's hand instinctively moved to his backpack. His voice softened. "Because this bag... it contains my wings."
"Your wings?"
"My basketball shoes." Sora's eyes lit up with passion. "They're my most important possession. Without them, I can't fly."
The stranger's eyebrows rose, as if seeing Sora for the first time. Then, without warning, he shoved Sora hard.
Sora tumbled backward down the riverbank, splashing into the shallow water. He flailed, panic seizing him. "I—I can't swim!"
"Then get back up here!" the stranger called out.
Sora thrashed and struggled, but somehow managed to claw his way back to the concrete stairs. He collapsed on the steps, coughing and soaked to the bone. "What the hell was that for?!"
The tall guy crouched down beside him, studying his face. "You said you've been in fights like that before, right? And you never run away?"
Sora glared at him through dripping wet hair. "That's right. I don't care how many people there are or how big they are. I never run from a fight."
A genuine smile spread across the stranger's face. "I like you, Mister No-Height. Tell you what—I'll teach you how to fight properly. With your spirit and some actual technique, you'd be—"
THWACK!
A remote-control airplane came out of nowhere and smacked directly into the tall guy's forehead. He swayed for a moment, then toppled over backward, completely knocked out.
Sora stared at the unconscious stranger, then at the crashed toy plane, then back at the stranger. "What... just happened?"
From somewhere above the bridge, a kid's voice yelled, "Sorry!"
Sora decided this was his cue to leave. He grabbed his backpack, wrung out his uniform as best he could, and hurried toward Kuzuryu High.
The entrance ceremony was already underway when Sora finally arrived at the school, his uniform still damp and his body aching from the earlier beating. He slipped into the auditorium as quietly as possible, joining the other first-years in the back.
The principal droned on about "fresh starts" and "three years of memories," but Sora's attention kept drifting. Through the tall windows, he could see the edge of what looked like outdoor basketball courts.
His fingers twitched. His feet wanted to move. It had been weeks since he'd last played—really played—and the itch was becoming unbearable.
The moment the ceremony ended and students began dispersing to find their classrooms, Sora made a decision. First day or not, he needed to touch a basketball. He needed to feel the court under his feet.
He slipped away from the crowd of first-years, following the signs and his instincts until he found the gymnasium. The main doors were locked, but there was a side entrance that opened to the outdoor courts.
The courts were empty, beautifully maintained with fresh paint on the lines. The hoops looked regulation height, the nets were intact. Sora's heart soared.
He quickly changed into his basketball shoes—the ones his mother had given him, the ones with worn soles that fit his feet perfectly. As he laced them up, he felt the familiar transformation. The pain from his injuries faded into the background. His exhaustion vanished. When he held a basketball in his hands, Sora Kurumatani wasn't small.
He was limitless.
Sora started with simple dribbling drills, the rhythmic bounce of the ball echoing across the empty court. Left hand, right hand, between the legs, behind the back. His movements were fluid, practiced, the result of countless hours of solo training.
Then he moved to shooting. He started close, working on his form, then gradually moved back. His height meant he'd had to develop an unorthodox shooting style—quick release, high arc—but it worked. The ball swished through the net again and again.
He was so absorbed in his practice that he didn't hear them approaching until it was too late.
"Oi."
The voice was deep, commanding, and dangerously calm.
Sora turned to find five figures standing at the court entrance. They all wore Kuzuryu High uniforms, but something about them was different. Their postures, their expressions, the way they moved—everything screamed danger.
The one who'd spoken stood in the center. He was tall—not as tall as the stranger from the bridge, but imposing nonetheless—with bleached blonde hair and sharp eyes that seemed to dissect Sora where he stood. A nasty scar ran along his jawline.
"An elementary school kid?" one of the others muttered, squinting at Sora.
"What's a brat doing on our court?" another added.
The blonde leader's eyes narrowed. "Grab him."
Before Sora could react, two of them moved with practiced efficiency. They seized his arms and began dragging him toward the gymnasium building.
"Hey! Let go of me!" Sora struggled, but their grips were iron.
They pulled him into the building, down a hallway, and shoved him roughly into what appeared to be the boys' basketball team locker room. The space was a mess—trash on the floor, jerseys thrown haphazardly on benches, the smell of old sweat permeating everything.
The blonde guy stepped forward, his presence filling the room. Up close, Sora could see he was probably a second-year, maybe seventeen years old. His uniform was modified—sleeves rolled up, top button undone in open defiance of school rules.
"Name's Momoharu Hanazono," he said, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "I run the basketball team here. And that court? That's my turf." He leaned down, getting in Sora's face. "Nobody touches a ball on my court without my permission. Got it?"
Sora met his gaze without flinching. "I'm Sora Kurumatani. First-year. And I came here to play basketball."
Momoharu's eyebrow twitched. Then he noticed Sora's uniform—the Kuzuryu High crest on the breast pocket.
"You're... a student here?" He straightened up, processing this information. Then his expression darkened. "Doesn't matter. You broke my rule. That court is off-limits. And since you're too stupid to understand that..."
He turned to his gang. "Lock him in. Maybe an hour in here will teach him to follow orders."
"Wait—" Sora started, but the door was already closing.
The lock clicked into place.
Sora stood alone in the filthy locker room, the echo of their laughter fading down the hallway. He tried the door—locked solid. The windows were too high and too small to climb through.
"Great," he muttered. "First day and I'm already locked in a locker room."
He sighed and looked around. If he was going to be stuck here for a while, he might as well make himself useful. Sora had never been good at sitting idle.
He found a trash bag under one of the benches and began picking up garbage. Empty drink cans, food wrappers, old bandages—it was disgusting, but he kept at it. As he cleaned, he organized the scattered jerseys, straightened the benches, and even found a mop to tackle the worst of the grime.
About twenty minutes into his impromptu cleaning session, Sora noticed something odd. There was a small hole in the wall, roughly at chest height. It looked recent, probably punched through during some fight or accident.
Curiosity got the better of him. He leaned close and peered through the hole.
On the other side was another locker room—cleaner, more organized, and clearly belonging to a girls' team based on the pink jerseys hanging on hooks.
And standing directly in his line of sight, in the middle of changing out of her school uniform, was a girl.
Sora's face went nuclear red. "GYAAAAAH!"
He jerked backward so hard he tripped over a bench and crashed to the floor. His heart hammered in his chest, both from embarrassment and from the split-second image now burned into his brain.
She was beautiful. Long dark hair, athletic build, an air of confidence even in that brief glimpse. But more than that—she'd been wearing a basketball uniform underneath. She was a player.
Sora scrambled back to the hole, but this time he only looked at the jerseys and equipment. He wasn't a pervert, he told himself. He just... wanted to see if she played basketball. That was all.
"Having fun?"
Sora nearly jumped out of his skin. He whirled around to find the tall stranger from the bridge lounging in one of the open lockers, looking perfectly comfortable despite the cramped space.
"You?! How did you get in here?!"
The guy yawned and stretched, somehow unfolding his massive frame from the locker. "I was here first. Been sleeping here since this morning. You woke me up with all that cleaning."
"You... you were here the whole time?"
"Yep." He noticed Sora staring at the hole in the wall and grinned knowingly. "Saw something interesting?"
"N-no! I wasn't—it was an accident—I didn't see anything!" Sora's face burned even hotter.
The tall guy laughed, a genuine belly laugh. "Relax, Mister No-Height. But seriously, you should stay away from the basketball court. That guy who locked you in here? That's Momoharu. He's my twin brother."
Sora's eyes widened. "Twin? But you two don't look anything alike!"
"Yeah, we get that a lot. I'm Chiaki Hanazono." He walked over to the door and examined the lock. "Momoharu and his friends... they're not really bad guys. They're just angry. The basketball team here has a complicated history."
"I don't care about complicated," Sora said firmly. "I came to Kuzuryu High to play basketball. Nothing's going to stop me."
Chiaki studied him for a long moment, then smiled—the same genuine smile from earlier. "You know what? I really do like you." Without warning, he raised his leg and kicked the door. The lock shattered, the door swinging open. "Come on. Let's go to the court."
They made their way back outside, and Sora's breath caught. The outdoor court was now occupied.
A girls' basketball team was running drills—fast breaks, defensive slides, shooting practice. They moved with precision and obvious skill, their synchronized movements showing years of practice together.
And at the center of it all was her. The girl from the locker room.
She was running a three-on-two drill, handling the ball with confident control. She saw the opening, drove to the basket, and laid it up with perfect form. The ball kissed the glass and dropped through the net.
Her teammates cheered. She grinned, high-fiving them as they rotated positions.
"That's Madoka Yabuchi," Chiaki said, noticing Sora's stare. "Second-year. She's the ace of the girls' team. The whole team is good, but she's special. She's the gem of Kuzuryu High basketball."
Sora couldn't take his eyes off her. It wasn't just that she was beautiful—though she was. It was the way she played. The joy, the skill, the passion. It reminded him why he loved basketball in the first place.
"Let's practice," Sora said suddenly, already moving toward an empty basket on the other side of the court.
But before he could take three steps, a familiar voice cut through the air.
"Well, well, well. Look who got out."
Momoharu and his gang appeared, blocking their path. The blonde leader's expression was dark, his eyes locked on Sora with undisguised hostility.
"I thought locking you up would teach you a lesson," Momoharu said, stepping closer. "But here you are, back on my court. That kind of disrespect..." He cracked his knuckles. "That needs to be dealt with."
The girls' practice had stopped. Madoka and her teammates were watching, concern evident on their faces.
"Hanazono-senpai, please," one of the girls called out. "He's just a first-year. Leave him alone."
Momoharu ignored her. His gang formed a semicircle around Sora and Chiaki.
"You've got guts, I'll give you that," Momoharu said, his voice low and dangerous. "But guts won't save you from another beating."
Sora's hands clenched into fists. Every instinct told him to fight, but five against one—even with Chiaki here—those weren't good odds. And more importantly, fighting wouldn't solve anything. He'd just end up suspended before his high school career even began.
But he couldn't just walk away either. Not from basketball. Not from his dreams.
One of Momoharu's friends—a stocky guy with a buzz cut—grabbed Sora's backpack before he could react. "What's so important in here anyway?" He unzipped it and pulled out Sora's basketball shoes—the same ones he'd fought so hard to protect earlier.
"Give those back!" Sora lunged forward, but two others caught his arms, holding him in place.
Momoharu snatched the shoes, examining them with disdain. "These old things? These are what you were protecting?" He dangled them mockingly. "Pathetic."
"Those aren't just shoes," Sora said quietly, his voice cutting through the tension. "They were a gift from my mother."
Momoharu's expression flickered—just for a moment—but he quickly masked it.
"My mom worked extra shifts to afford them," Sora continued, his voice steady despite being held. "She'd watch my games whenever she could, even though she was always tired. She'd cheer louder than anyone else in the gym." His eyes met Momoharu's. "These shoes... they're my wings. And they're the last gift she ever gave me."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Madoka had moved closer, her hand over her mouth. Even Momoharu's friends looked uncomfortable.
"Momoharu-senpai," Madoka said softly. "Please. Just give them back."
But Momoharu's jaw was set, though something painful flickered in his eyes. "He broke the rules. There are consequences." He turned toward the gymnasium building. "I'm throwing these in the incinerator."
"Then let's settle this on the court!" Sora's voice rang out, surprising everyone—including himself.
Momoharu stopped, turning slowly. "What?"
Sora took a deep breath, his heart pounding. "Basketball. Me versus all five of you. 5-on-1."
The courtyard erupted in murmurs. Students who'd gathered to watch began talking excitedly. Even Momoharu's friends looked shocked.
"Are you insane?" one of them muttered.
"That's suicide," another added.
Madoka stepped forward. "Kurumatani-kun, you can't—"
"If I win," Sora continued, his voice gaining strength, "I get my shoes back and you let people use the court. You stop being afraid and start playing real basketball again."
Momoharu's expression darkened dangerously. "And when you lose?"
Sora's jaw tightened. "If I lose... I'll quit basketball. I'll never play at Kuzuryu High. Never touch a ball here again."
"Sora, no!" Chiaki grabbed his shoulder. "You don't know what you're saying!"
But Sora's eyes never left Momoharu's. "Those are my terms. Do you accept?"
For a long moment, Momoharu just stared at him. Then a slow, cruel smile spread across his face.
"You've got guts, kid. I'll give you that." He tossed Sora's shoes at his feet. "Fine. 5-on-1. First to ten baskets. We'll see if your wings can actually help you fly."
Sora picked up his shoes with reverent care. As he sat down to lace them up, his hands were shaking—not from fear, but from anticipation.
"This is crazy," Chiaki said, crouching beside him. "You know that, right?"
"Yeah," Sora admitted, pulling the laces tight. "But if I back down now, I might as well quit anyway."
He stood up, bouncing on the balls of his feet. The familiar weight of his shoes, the way they hugged his feet perfectly—it was like coming home.
Madoka approached, her expression conflicted. "Kurumatani-kun... are you sure about this?"
Sora looked at her and smiled—a genuine, fearless smile. "I didn't come to Kuzuryu High to give up on the first day."
The crowd pressed closer, forming a rough circle around the court. Word had spread fast—a first-year challenging five delinquents to 5-on-1 basketball. It was insane. It was impossible.
It was about to be legendary.
Momoharu and his four friends took their positions. Sora stood alone on the other side, looking impossibly small against them.
"Ready to quit already?" Momoharu called out.
Sora just grinned and dribbled the ball once. The sound echoed across the suddenly silent court.
"Let's play basketball."