Chapter 2: The Dunk from the Free Throw Line
Having decided to "continue playing basketball," Sakuragi Hanamichi unconsciously rubbed his chin.
So, following the inevitable flow of fate… he would still end up joining Shohoku's basketball team.
He felt a faint inner resistance.
To think that he—the once-proud "Chinese Magician," who had fought his way through ruthless courts and dreamt of the NBA—would now start over as a complete beginner in a Japanese high school gym. The emotional drop felt like plunging from a mountain peak into the sea.
But basketball was basketball.
As long as skill existed, any court could become a stage. On the other hand… if you weren't tall enough, you were doomed. Japanese high school basketball valued height almost religiously. Without it, you might as well be chained to the bench and charged "training fees."
Still, reason prevailed. Step by step. Take too large a leap, and crack—you tear something important.
Right now, he was just a penniless first-year student who had followed a girl's smile into Shohoku High. If he wanted the NBA again, he first needed to dominate Japan's high school courts, become a name scouts couldn't ignore.
And Shohoku's basketball team was the only possible starting line.
"It's decided," he thought, snapping his fingers silently.
The final bell rang.
As usual, the Sakuragi Gang swarmed him immediately.
"Hanamichi! Let's go! There's a new pachinko place near the station!" Takamiya Nozomi grinned, slinging an arm around him.
"No." Sakuragi swung his schoolbag over his shoulder. "I'm going to the basketball club."
"…Basketball club?"
Those four words froze the group solid.
Then—
Understanding lit their faces like fireworks.
"Ohhh!" Takamiya slapped his palm. "I get it! You're going to pick a fight with the basketball team! Revenge for Haruko rejecting you fifty times!"
"That's it!" Oonan Yuuji laughed. "They're done for!"
Noma Chuichiro stroked his thin mustache knowingly. "As expected. No way Hanamichi actually likes basketball."
Only Mito Yohei stayed quiet. He just looked at Sakuragi with mild curiosity.
Sakuragi opened his mouth to explain—then decided it wasn't worth it.
Let results speak.
The five of them marched toward the gym in a noisy parade.
The moment the heavy door swung open, the smell hit them: sweat, rubber, dust, polished wood. The rhythm of bouncing balls and squeaking shoes filled the air.
A few freshmen practicing dribbling near the entrance stiffened at the sight of a red-haired delinquent leading four equally suspicious companions.
One boy fumbled. The ball slipped from his hand and rolled away.
Sakuragi ignored them, eyes sweeping the court.
Then he saw him.
Rukawa Kaede.
Stretching alone near the far baseline, expression blank, posture relaxed yet razor-focused. The atmosphere around him quietly pushed others away.
Rukawa glanced up briefly at the commotion. His eyes paused on Sakuragi's red hair for less than a second—then he looked away, uninterested, returning to his stretches.
Tch. Arrogant as ever.
Annoyingly… handsome too.
"Hey! Bring out your boss!" Takamiya suddenly shouted, hands on hips, imitating a gangster's swagger.
The gym quieted. Several second-years turned toward them with frowns.
Then—
A deep voice thundered behind them.
"What do you want?"
They turned.
A massive figure stood in the doorway, blocking the light.
Dark skin. Square jaw. Muscles carved like stone. Nearly two meters tall.
Akagi Takenori.
The Sakuragi Gang froze.
Takamiya shrank behind Sakuragi instantly.
Noma and Oonan exchanged looks of pure panic. This was no ordinary student. This was a walking fortress.
Just as retreat plans formed in their minds—
Sakuragi stepped forward.
He lifted his head and met Akagi's gaze directly.
"I want to join the basketball club."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Akagi Haruko, who had followed her brother inside, stopped in place. Her eyes widened in disbelief. Hands rose to her lips.
This was the same boy who, just days ago, had loudly declared he hated basketball.
The Sakuragi Gang's jaws dropped again.
Then understanding twisted their faces.
"Brilliant," Takamiya whispered. "Join first, then cause chaos from inside!"
"As expected of Hanamichi!" Oonan nodded seriously.
Noma murmured, "He… has a brain?"
Even Yohei raised an eyebrow.
Akagi's thick brows knitted together.
"Our team isn't a playground for delinquents."
A fair judgment, Sakuragi admitted internally.
Without waiting for further rejection, Sakuragi grinned.
"Then let me prove it."
He pulled off his school jacket and tossed it to Yohei. Underneath, a plain white tank top outlined broad shoulders and powerful arms—raw athletic potential hiding in plain sight.
He rolled his neck. Cracked his wrists. Ankles. Joints snapping cleanly.
Then he walked to the sideline and picked up a basketball.
Leather met fingertips.
A strange synchronization surged through him.
Memories of relentless drills, international courts, roaring crowds, NBA dreams—merged with this body's explosive youth and physical talent.
Fire and ice locking together.
He dribbled twice.
Thump. Thump.
The sound echoed through the suddenly quiet gym.
Rukawa's gaze lifted again. Akagi's eyes narrowed.
Sakuragi moved.
He slammed the ball forward and burst into motion.
His strides were long. Fast. Violent with intent. He crossed half the court in seconds.
Left foot hit the free-throw line.
He launched.
Leg muscles detonated. His body lifted as if gravity had lost its hold.
Red hair flying. Arm raised high. Body stretched like a drawn bow.
The ball arced—
BOOM!
A one-handed dunk hammered the rim. The backboard trembled.
Sakuragi landed cleanly, knees absorbing impact. The ball bounced away across the floor.
Silence swallowed the gym.
Rukawa Kaede stared, eyes no longer sleepy.
Akagi Takenori's mouth hung open despite himself.
Haruko clasped her hands, cheeks flushing bright red, eyes sparkling.
The Sakuragi Gang stood frozen in awe.
Finally, Mito Yohei muttered, voice low and genuine:
"…When did Sakuragi learn basketball?"