Chapter 1 Haruko Akagi is not like Izumi Sakai
Sakuragi Hanamichi leaned against the corridor window, his shoulders slumped, head hanging like a wilted radish.
The early April wind carried a lingering chill, ruffling his blazing red pompadour—the same loud hairstyle that had earned him as many beatings as notoriety since middle school.
Outside, the Shohoku High School grounds basked in spring sunlight. A handful of cherry trees had burst into bloom, petals scattering across the yard like slow-falling snow. Students crossed the courtyard in fresh uniforms, laughter drifting faintly upward.
It was the kind of scene that belonged in a youthful romance drama.
Yet in Sakuragi Hanamichi's mind, only one word echoed:
Disappointment.
No—worse than disappointment.
Just hours ago, he had been someone else entirely.
A point guard who commanded roaring arenas.
A champion who had lifted the NBA trophy before a sea of cameras.
"The Chinese Magician," praised for court vision and impossible passes.
And now?
He had awakened in the body of a sixteen-year-old Japanese delinquent with terrible grades, a history of brawls, and a legendary record of fifty straight romantic rejections.
Sakuragi Hanamichi.
The protagonist of Slam Dunk.
A loud idiot who didn't even know how to dribble properly.
Compared to the NBA spotlight, this world felt smaller than a shoebox. The gap between who he was and who he had become was deeper than the Mariana Trench.
"…Damn it."
He sighed, long and bitter.
Just then, several faces popped out from the classroom window beside him.
"Oi, Hanamichi," Takamiya Nozomi whispered, grinning.
"He got rejected again for sure," Noma Tadashi stroked his thin mustache like a detective.
"Look at his back… totally gray," Oonan Yuji said dramatically.
"Poor guy," Mito Yohei muttered — sympathetic in tone, amused in expression.
The four delinquents who made up the Sakuragi Army. His loyal idiots. Exactly as the manga described.
Sakuragi didn't bother reacting. He simply stared at the blossoms, too exhausted to even roll his eyes.
Then—
A soft voice behind him.
"Um… excuse me."
Gentle. Hesitant. Yet carrying quiet confidence.
"Do you… like basketball?"
A spark shot through his skull.
Here it was.
The legendary encounter.
Akagi Haruko — the trigger that ignited Sakuragi's entire basketball journey.
According to the manga script, his heart should thunder, his eyes should sparkle, and fate itself should descend in slow motion.
He turned.
The girl before him had long brown hair tied neatly behind her shoulders. Clear, earnest eyes. A calm smile. The plain but graceful Shohoku uniform.
She was cute.
But not the idol-fantasy beauty he had subconsciously imagined from rumors.
More importantly—
He knew the future.
She would fall hopelessly in love with Rukawa Kaede.
And Sakuragi would spend months embarrassing himself for her attention.
A bucket of cold water poured over the tiny flame that had just ignited.
So, with a flat voice and tired eyes, Sakuragi Hanamichi said:
"…I don't like basketball."
Silence.
He turned back to the window, presenting her only his back, resuming his study of the cherry blossoms like nothing had happened.
Behind him, Akagi Haruko stood frozen, blinking in confusion.
At the classroom window, the Sakuragi Army collectively lost their minds.
"WHAT?!" Takamiya choked.
"He rejected a girl first?!" Oonan gasped.
"And such a cute one!" Noma shouted.
Yohei narrowed his eyes, intrigued. "This is stranger than fifty rejections in a row…"
Haruko, cheeks faintly pink with embarrassment, hesitated — then quietly walked away.
The corridor returned to stillness.
The bell rang.
No sooner had Sakuragi sat at his desk — last row, window seat, the canonical protagonist position — than his four companions swarmed him.
"Hanamichi! Are you sick?!"
"Were you cursed?!"
"Did an evil spirit possess you?!"
Takamiya even began chanting nonsense exorcism words while blowing air at his face.
"Shut up!" Sakuragi shoved her forehead away. "I'm fine! I just wasn't interested!"
All four froze.
"Not interested in a pretty girl?"
Yohei smiled. "The world really is ending."
Sakuragi opened his mouth, then closed it.
Was he supposed to tell them he had once played in NBA Finals games?
He clicked his tongue. "My tastes evolved. Got a problem?"
Before they could continue, the teacher entered. The group dispersed reluctantly, though their eyes still burned with curiosity.
Silence finally returned.
Sakuragi rested his chin on his palm, gazing past the classroom glass toward the sky.
The teacher's lecture washed over him like distant radio static.
His thoughts wandered.
If he stayed on this path, he'd become exactly what many Japanese students did in this era — mediocre grades, graduation, a desperate job hunt, endless overtime, cheap suits, bowed heads, tiny apartment, life drained away under fluorescent office lights.
A corporate drone.
The idea made his skin crawl.
His eyes drifted downward, toward the school gym building.
Basketball.
In the manga, Sakuragi possessed monstrous athletic gifts — absurd jumping power, raw speed, iron stamina, a body built for the sport despite zero experience.
And now?
This body belonged to him.
But so did the skills, knowledge, and mentality of an NBA champion from another world.
The early 90s NBA flashed through his memory.
Jordan's Bulls had just begun their first dynasty.
Shaquille O'Neal would enter the league this very year.
Hard fouls. Hand-checking defense. True giants in the paint.
No soft whistles. No superteam migrations.
A brutal, glorious era.
A real battlefield.
If he could return there… if he could reach that court again…
His heartbeat quickened.
A cherry blossom petal drifted down, tapping gently against the window.
Sakuragi's eyes sharpened.
No.
He would not become a corporate slave.
He would not waste a body born for basketball.
A genius, wherever he stands, belongs on the biggest stage.
The roaring crowd.
The shining hardwood.
The orange ball carrying infinite possibility.
That was where he belonged.
"…Maybe," he murmured, lips curling slightly,
"…being reborn as Sakuragi Hanamichi isn't so bad after all."