Chapter 5: You want me to play power forward?
The midday sun filtered through the classroom windows, painting long warm rectangles across the wooden desks — the kind of light that made even the most energetic student feel sleepy.
The recess bell had just rung.
Sakuragi Hanamichi wasted no time. He flopped forward onto his desk, arms folded into a pillow, ready to claim ten precious minutes of nap time.
The past few nights had been brutal — late shifts at the convenience store, followed by exhausting basketball practice. His eyelids felt like they were weighted with iron.
Just as he began to drift off, a finger poked his arm lightly.
Sakuragi groaned, lifting his head. He rubbed his eyes, yawned hugely, mouth stretching wide enough to embarrass any normal person — though Sakuragi Hanamichi had no shame to spare.
"Mito… Yohei?"
Yohei pulled a chair beside him and sat down, resting his chin on one hand. His usual gentle smile was there, but his eyes were observant — as always.
"Hanamichi," Yohei asked quietly, "are you serious about this basketball thing?"
Sakuragi blinked away the last of his drowsiness. Yohei didn't ask pointless questions. If he was asking, he genuinely wanted to know.
"I mean it," Sakuragi said, voice rough from sleep but steady. "I'm joining the basketball club. So I won't be hanging around after school anymore — no pachinko, no wandering the streets. But if someone messes with you guys—"
He grinned.
"—just call the genius Sakuragi Hanamichi."
Yohei studied his face, as if searching for cracks in the bravado. Then he frowned slightly.
"…You've changed."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice into a teasing whisper.
"Could it be… that being rejected by fifty girls finally broke you? Did heartbreak turn you into a serious man overnight?"
"Pff—cough!!"
Sakuragi nearly choked on his own spit.
"Shut up! It's not like that!" he snapped, face reddening. "I just… figured something out, okay?!"
He sat upright, eyes drifting toward the schoolyard where students ran about under the bright sky.
"I don't wanna waste my life doing nothing anymore," he said. "I found something worth doing."
Then — like flipping a switch — his familiar smug grin returned. He hooked a thumb at himself.
"This genius was born for sports! Not playing basketball would be a crime against nature!"
A snicker rose from nearby.
Takamiya Nozomi leaned over from the next desk, chubby cheeks stretched into a grin.
"Oh? Born for sports? Then explain your legendary three-pointer yesterday."
He dragged the word out mercilessly.
"Airball~."
Noma and Oonan burst into laughter.
"That shot offended the basketball gods!"
"You should practice before calling yourself a genius!"
Sakuragi's embarrassment ignited instantly. He shot up, grabbing Takamiya by the collar.
"You little punk! I just haven't perfected my shot yet! Once this genius masters it, every basket will tremble before me!"
"Ow! Help! The airballs are attacking me!" Takamiya howled dramatically.
Laughter filled the classroom.
In the middle of the chaos, Sakuragi glanced at his friends — loud, rude, annoying… but loyal. The kind who would mock you loudly but stand beside you when it mattered.
For someone who had arrived in this world with nothing, having friends like this wasn't bad at all.
Shohoku Gym — Following Days
From that day forward, Shohoku's gym gained a new constant presence.
Every afternoon, Sakuragi was the first to arrive — changing into his uniform, stretching, warming up — then joining team practice before staying behind for extra drills.
Basketballs thudded against the floor. Some brushed the rim. Many clanged loudly off it.
He began with free throws — feeling the ball roll off his fingertips, adjusting wrist angle, learning release timing.
Then mid-range jump shots — leap, release, land, repeat.
Sweat soaked through his white tank top. Drops slid down his jaw and splashed onto the polished floor. His arms burned. His calves trembled. Still, he picked up the ball again and again.
He knew his greatest weakness.
And he knew exactly what was coming in the future.
The Inter-High. Nationals. Monsters like Rukawa, Mitsui, and Sendoh.
If he wanted to stand on that stage, he couldn't afford to stay useless on offense.
Akagi's Decision
One afternoon, Sakuragi was scowling at the rim after missing yet another shot when a tall shadow fell across the court.
"Sakuragi."
He turned.
Akagi Takenori stood there — Shohoku's captain. Towering. Serious. Sweaty from practice but upright as ever.
"I've been watching your training," Akagi said.
Then, after a pause:
"There's something we need to discuss."
He folded his arms.
"Our point guard, Miyagi Ryota, is currently absent due to injury. He'll return soon. But aside from him… our team lacks a strong inside player besides myself."
His eyes moved to Sakuragi's broad shoulders and long legs.
"You have height. Jumping ability. Strength. And instinctive aggression on defense."
Akagi's tone softened slightly.
"You're suited to play power forward."
He waited for a reaction.
Sakuragi simply shrugged.
"No problem."
Akagi blinked. He hadn't expected such easy acceptance.
Sakuragi spun the basketball on one finger, grinning.
"Basketball's basketball. This genius can play any position!"
He leaned forward, lowering his voice dramatically.
"If I couldn't… how could I ever surpass Kaede Rukawa?"
Akagi's lips twitched — half irritation, half relief.
"…Fine. Then from tomorrow, you'll train as a power forward."
New Training
From then on, Sakuragi's drills changed.
Less empty shooting. More battles under the rim.
He practiced sealing defenders with his hips, learning foot placement.
He learned when to jump for rebounds — not too early, not too late.
He learned to feel contact without losing balance.
Day by day, he improved fast — frighteningly fast.
After only a week, even Akagi found himself pushed backward in the paint.
"This guy…" Akagi thought. "…Is he really a beginner?"
The Arrival of the Coach
One evening, after a grueling post-up session, both of them stood gasping for breath when the gym lights dimmed slightly.
A short, round figure stepped inside — white hair, white beard, smiling face like a kindly Buddha.
Coach Anzai.
Behind his thick glasses, his eyes narrowed with quiet amusement — seeing far more than he let on.
The noisy gym fell silent at once.
Shohoku's soul had arrived.