Ari woke at 6:47 AM to the sound of his phone alarm—the same jazz piano instrumental. This time it felt inappropriately peaceful for what was about to be the most important day of his life.
For a moment, he just lay there, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling of his dorm room....his so so beautiful dorm room. Ari's body was still heavy with sleep but his mind was already racing. Today was the day. The draft tryouts. The moment everything he'd worked for over the past weeks would either matter or be revealed as insufficient.
His body felt numb, emotionally. Like his brain had activated some kind of protective mode, shutting down the anxiety and fear that threatened to paralyze him, leaving only a strange, crystalline focus in its wake.
He sat up slowly, his muscles was still sore. But he'd manage.... he'd definetly manage. The room was quiet except for the distant sounds of other students beginning to wake. Morning light filtered through his window, painting everything in that particular quality of early spring sunshine—clear, cool, promising. But it would probably rain later on. It rained a lot in Aoyama...
That's why it was called the Aoyama wet plains.
His room wasn't on the ground floor, and Ari didn't know if that was something he liked or not. But with this sort of luxury, should he be complaining.
He heaved himself up, walked to his small bathroom, his movements. Here came the ritual.
He turned on the sink and he let the water run until it was cold. The shock your system awake cold.
Then he cupped his hands under the stream, filled them, and splashed his face. Once. Twice. Three times. The water was sharp against his skin, driving away the last remnants of sleep, bringing everything into sharp relief.
He looked at himself in the mirror. His upturned cat eyes stared back. The dark patches of skin under his eyes seemed to be getting more and more pronounced the older he got.
His black hair was a mess, standing up at odd angles from sleep. All that baby hair just rough and all...ughhh....
His face was still the same. Swollen from sleep. Awake from ice. Lean from suffering.
He tensed waiting for the system to ruthlessly bring him down from his high horse....but it didn't. He was sure it had access to his thoughts.
So...."Today," he said to his reflection. "Today we find out if any of this matters."
He brushed his teeth with methodical precision—three minutes_youd think he was a vain person obsessed with his dental health. But he made sure to cover every surface. The mint taste was sharp, centering. His tongue ran over his teeth afterward, confirming their cleanliness. He needed to control something, something at least.
The shower was next. Ari turned the water hot—almost too hot—and stepped under it, letting the heat work into his sore muscles. He'd trained his body brutally for two weeks, and it showed. A little.
He washed—soap, rinse, shampoo, rinse again. The routine was grounding, something familiar in a day that promised to be anything but.
When he stepped out, the mirror was fogged over. He wiped a circle clear and looked at himself again—dripping wet, steam rising around him, a tall, lanky kid about to compete against two hundred others thirsty for thirty spots.
"You can do this," he told his reflection.
Ari groaned....His reflection looked unconvinced.
Back in his room, Ari checked his phone: 7:22 AM. He had time. The tryouts didn't start until 10:00 AM, but his body was already in game mode, adrenaline beginning its slow build.
He opened Instagram reflexively, and immediately regretted it.
Yoshimura High's social media was exploding. The official school account had posted a graphic announcing "DRAFT TRYOUTS - DAY 1" with dramatic basketball imagery and the time and location. It already had over 2,000 likes and hundreds of comments.
But worse were the student accounts. Everyone was talking about it. Photos of the Pavilion from different angles, captioned with things like "Can't wait to watch the bloodbath 😈" and "RIP to all the first years who think they have a chance 💀." Someone had made a betting pool on who would make it past day one. Infact there was more than one.
There were at least three different betting pool circulating.
One post showed a photo of the gymnasium interior with the caption: "200 hopefuls. 30 spots. May the odds be ever in your favor 🏀🔥" It had 847 likes.
"People are definitely going to be there," Ari muttered.
[YOU THOUGHT THEY WOULD NOT BE?]
"Aah!", Ari shrieked in fear. Or more like squealed.
..[WHAT SORT OF SCREAM WAS THAT?]
"What do you mean what sort of scream?", Ari muttered begrudgingly with a hand on his chest as if he was trying to calm the insane anxiety," You scared the crap out of me."
The system didn't reply...
Ari waited....
Till it sai_
[WEAK BOY]
Shot right into his already wobbly self esteem. Then an arrow came in his vision near the Systems message. It was pointing at Ari's phone.
[THIS ISS ENTERTAINMENT]
[WATCHING TEENAGERS FAIL PUBLICLY]
[YOSHIMURA IS WHAT YOU TEENAGERS CALL A BONIFIED TOXIC SCHOOL]
Ari closed Instagram before he could spiral further. He needed to get dressed. Needed to focus.
He pulled out the school tracksuit from his still-unpacked bags—the full uniform in Yoshimura's signature dark blue with two white stripes down the sides__speaking of, he hadn't met the school Tailor to get his uniforms done. But the tracksuit: The fabric was high-quality, comfortable, with just enough stretch for athletic movement. He put it on carefully: pants first, then the jacket over his black shirt.
It felt right. Like armor. It was thicker than normal too. And Ari got one that was a few sizes too big. Even for his frame.
[WHY IS YOUR TRACK SUIT SO BIG]
[ITS IN NO WAY A PSYCHOLOGICAL SHIELD]
The words hit Ari like a knife to bone. His hands froze on the zipper.
"I'm wearing it because it's comfortable."
[SURE]
[AND I'M A MOTIVATIONAL SYSTEM]
[WE ARE BOTH LYING TO OURSELVES TODAY]
[THE TRACKSUIT HIDES YOUR LACK OF MUSCLE MASS]
[YOUR SLENDER ARMS]
[YOUR NONEXISTENT CHEST]
[IT'S FINE]
[BUT BEST WE WORK ON THAT BODY IMAGE DONT WE]
Ari zipped up the jacket with more force than necessary, his jaw clenched. The system was right, of course. The tracksuit did make him look less skinny than regular basketball gear would. But so what? He was allowed to feel comfortable.
[BUT FOR NOW, WHATEVER HELPS YOU SLEEP AT NIGHT]
"I said it's no_".
[AND I SAID ITS FINE]
Ari left his dorm room at 7:40 AM, his mind was already locked into what the system had started calling "ultra focus mode." It made him feel cool, like Ultra Instinct from his favourite anime Dragon Ball.
Classes existed today—sadly. He technically should go to at least homeroom—but he doubted anyone else trying out would be there either. Besides, he needed basketball to be the only thing in his head. Complete, singular focus. Nothing else could matter right now. That was ultra focus mode.
Even the system seemed to feel it—the shift in his mental state from anxious teenager to something more concentrated, more dangerous.
[YOUR MENTAL CLARITY IS GOOD]
[UNHEALTHY, BUT GOOD]
The dormitory was quiet—most students were probably still sleeping or at breakfast. But as Ari descended the stairs to the ground floor, he spotted others. A few guys, scattered in the common area or near the exit, all with the same look: tall, athletic, nervous but determined.
First years. Going to tryouts.
They were tall—not as tall as Ari, mostly, but close. And they were built. Actual muscle definition visible even through their clothes. These weren't kids who'd spent three years away from basketball. These were players. Real ones.
One guy had to be 6'5" with shoulders that looked like you could hang 10 grocery bags on them. Another was maybe 6'3" but was so swol he looked like a five foot something from afar.
"Their jacked."
Yet Ari ooked at them and waiting to see if fear would kick in. Doubt. Insecurity.
....
It didn't come.
Instead, there was only focus. Only the knowledge of what he needed to do: survive. Prove he belonged. Show everyone who'd dismissed him that they'd miscalculated.
Or maybe..... he'd succefully attained perfect delusion.
One of the guys—the 6'5" one—caught Ari's eye, gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. Competitor to competitor. First year to first year.
Ari nodded back.
[LOOK AT YOU]
[NONVERBAL COMMUNICATION]
" Hehe...Than_
[STOP SMILING AT THEM!]
[THEIR THE COMPETITION. THEIR THE ENEMY... LOSE THIS FRIENDLY DISPOSITION]
Ari gulped. Then he collected himself. Alright. Alright. Not friends. He needed to be mean.
He headed toward the exit, intending to walk to the Pavilion early, get familiar with the space, maybe do some light warm-ups—
Then he noticed the other guys weren't leaving. They were just... standing there. Near the dorm entrance. Waiting.
Waiting for what?
Then Ari heard it: the sound of a bus engine.
Oh. Right. Yoshimura had shuttle buses for students, though they weren't always running. But for something like the tryouts, of course they'd have dedicated transport.
The bus pulled up just outside—a nice one, modern and air-conditioned, with Yoshimura's crest on the side. The doors opened with a hydraulic hiss.
Ari followed the other first years on board.
The interior of the bus was standard—rows of seats on either side, overhead lighting, the smell of cleaning products and that particular scent all buses seemed to have. But the atmosphere was anything but standard.
Ari moved down the aisle, taking in the occupants. More first years, all clearly heading to tryouts. Some sat alone, wearing earbuds, focused inward. Others sat in pairs or small groups. Likely friends from middle school or roommates who'd bonded before.
And at the very back of the bus, sitting alone in the last row like some kind of King, was Isami Nagi.
The Prince Cobra.
His red eyes surveyed the bus with an expression that would beat best described as superior hostility.
He sat with one leg laid atop the other, his posture was leaning forward and his hands relaxed in his lap. Everything about his body language said predator at rest. Do no disturb. Do not approach.
Even the way he occupied space felt aggressive.
Ari moved past other students, hyperaware suddenly of everyone around him. Each one looked like they could be an ace at an average school—these weren't random kids hoping to play basketball, these were players. Athletes with experience, with skills, with middle school championships and MVP awards.
And Nagi looked like he was from a different species entirely. Even sitting still, he radiated danger. Like those players who didn't just beat you—he humiliated you, to show you the difference in your abilities.
The other first years gave him space. Not because he was taking up physical room, but because his presence demanded it. No one sat near him. No one tried to make conversation. Not in the way people avoided Ari—because he was weird and gave off antisocial goth boy energy—but because they were genuinely intimidated.
Isami Nagi stared forward, unblinking, and the message was clear: I'm better than you. I know it. You know it. Let's not pretend otherwise.
Ari found a seat near the window about halfway back, crossing his legs and straightening his spine. He took a deep breath, trying to center himself, to find that mental space where everything else disappeared except basketball.
[VERY CALM]
[YOUR HEART RATE SAYS OTHERWISE]
"I am calm."
[YOUR HEART RATE IS 94 BPM]
[YOU'RE ABOUT AS CALM AS A RABBIT IN A WOLF DEN]
The bus started moving, pulling away from the dormitory and heading toward the athletics complex. Ari watched the campus slide past his window, buildings he barely recognized, paths he'd gotten lost in yesterday, the whole sprawling estate that was Yoshimura High School. Looking like a scenery from the french revolution. Only now with more rain and grass. And in japan.
My god this school is beautiful.
Two boys sitting a few rows ahead, talking in voices that carried just enough to be overheard by Ari's superhuman hearing. A trait you pick up when your tongue becomes one of your most rarely used organs in public.
"Think we'll even survive day one?" The first voice was nervous, uncertain.
"Day one? I'm just hoping to not embarrass myself in the first hour." The second voice tried to laugh it off.
"My brother went through these tryouts two years ago. Said it was brutal. Two full days of hell."
"Two days?" A pause. "Wait, isn't it four days this year?"
Ari's attention sharpened.
"Yeah, four. They extended it. Usually it's just two days—day one is conditioning and the simple things, day two is the scrimmages and fun stuff But this year..." The first boy lowered his voice slightly. "Apparently they're being extra thorough. Four full days."
"Why?", the second one seemed like the follower of the two.
"Because we haven't won a legitimate championship in four years. Yoshimura's basketball program has crazy history—national champions, professional players, all that legacy. But lately? We've been good, not great. Second place. Third place. Losing in semifinals." The boy's voice carried a mix of reverence and frustration. "Coach Hosei is apparently tired of almost winning. So this year, he's going nuclear with tryouts. Four days to find the perfect roster."
"That's insane."
"Yeah...scared? That's Yoshimura."
The conversations continued, and Ari stopped listening when his ears had grabbed what he deemed satisfactory.
The tryouts had been two days for the past decade. But this year—this specific year, when Ari happened to be trying out—they'd extended it to four. Day one: conditioning and fundamentals. Day two: skill evaluation and scrimmages. Day three: team-based drills and more scrimmages. Day four: final cuts and roster decisions.
Two hundred students would become... something smaller by the end of day one. Maybe a hundred? Seventy? Fifty? Then those survivors would face three more days of elimination.
[FOUR DAYS]
[THAT IS GOOD FOR YOU]
Ari blinked at the system text. Before using his inner voice. "How is that good?"
[MORE TIME TO PROVE YOURSELF]
[MORE CHANCES TO IMPROVE]
[MORE OPPORTUNITIES TO BE NOTICED]
[THE ATHLETICALLY GIFTED WILL DOMINATE DAY ONE]
[BUT FOUR DAYS ALLOWS FOR OTHER QUALITIES]
[CONSISTENCY, INTELLIGENCE, DETERMINATION]
[YOUR STRENGTHS]
[TRUST THE SENTIENT SYSTEM IN YOUR HEAD]
[TRUST IN THE GEAR]
[THIS IS BETTER THAN A TWO-DAY SPRINT]
Ari thought about it. The system was right...( As it always painfully was ). If tryouts were only two days, the naturally talented would shine immediately and the roster would be set based primarily on athleticism and existing skills. But four days? Four days allowed for growth, for adaptation, for showing that you could learn and improve.
Four days was a chance.
The bus finally got to the Pavilion, and the energy shifted immediately. The building loomed before them—massive, modern, intimidating in its architectural assertion of excellence. This was where champions were made. Where legends started.
Where Ari would either prove he belonged or be exposed as delusional.
Students began standing, gathering their things, filing toward the exit. This was nervous palpable energy now—jokes had stopped, conversations had died, everyone was moving with the alert ferocity of soldiers about to enter into battle.
Ari stood, moving toward the aisle.
And found himself face-to-face with Isami Nagi.
Not intentionally. Pure coincidence. Fuck!
They'd both moved toward the exit at the same time..all because Ari took his time to stand off his sit, and now they were directly in front of each other in the narrow aisle.
Ari froze. Should he go first? Let Nagi pass? What was the protocol here?
Isami's red eyes met his, and for a moment, there was something like... disgust. Recognising Ari's wasted height, Then something shifted in Nagi's expression—not quite contempt, but close.
He sighed—a sound of pure annoyance—and pushed Ari to the side with one hand.
Ari moved because he had no choice. Nagi's strength was casual but undeniable. He didn't shove hard, didn't make a scene, just moved Ari like he was a piece of furniture in the way.
"Get out of my way," Nagi said, his voice that was wild and excited. 'Shit he sounded like an anime anti hero protagonist'. Like he was barely containing energy that wanted to explode.
Ari could tell from his tone, basketball was less a game and more a hunting ground.
Then he was past, walking down the aisle without looking back, leaving Ari standing there with his hand gripping the bus seat for support.
"Kid, you still here?" The bus driver's voice snapped Ari back to reality. "Everyone else got off already."
Ari looked around. The bus was empty except for him and the driver.
"Right. Sorry. I'm—" He hurried down the exit, feeling his face burn with embarrassment.
[YOU CERTAINLY HANDLED THAT WELL]
The sarcasm was dripping.
"He's a jerk," Ari muttered as he stepped off the bus.
[AGREED]
[ALSO: MOST PEOPLE WHO ARE THE BEST AT WHAT THEY DO ARE JERKS]
[IT'S NOT ALWAYS TRUE]
[BUT IT'S EXPECTED]
[MICHAEL JORDAN: LEGENDARY JERK]
[KOBE BRYANT: FAMOUSLY DIFFICULT]
[LARRY BIRD: TALKED TRASH. GENUINE TRASH TALKER]
[KEVIN DURANT: ... ARGUES WITH KIDS ON TWITTER]
[ALL MVPS]
[ALL CHAMPIONS]
[ALL JERKS]
[THE QUESTION IS:]
[ARE YOU SATISFIED BEING A BOTTOM FEEDER?]
[NICE, POLITE, AND IRRELEVANT?]
[OR DO YOU WANT TO BE GREAT]
Ari stood outside the Pavilion, staring up at the building, and felt something shift in his chest. Like his eyes were being ripped open to a world even his hyper analytical mind could never understand. Being nice didn't win championships. Being polite didn't dominate.
Being undeniable did.
"Let's go," he said quietly, and walked toward the entrance.
The Pavilion's interior was chaos.
Two hundred first-year boys swarmed the massive space, their voices. Heavy murmurs from every direction.
Electric energy and excitement mixed with competition mixed with FEARRR.
Some guys were stretching, others talking in groups, a few standing alone with headphones in, getting in the zone..or just trying to aura farm.
Ari's eyes sprang open when he paused to take it all in.
He spotted a seven-footer near the far wall—an actual seven feet tall, maybe more. Then another. Then three more. One of them was so enormous he didn't look like a first year at all—built like a professional center, massive shoulders, the kind of size that wasn't even proportional anymore.
"Oh god," Ari whispered. He felt small. Really small.
"Th...these are_
[THOSE ARE YOUR COMPETITORS]