Inside Ryonan High School's basketball gym, the sharp screech of sneakers scraping against the floor echoed endlessly—along with the furious bellow of a middle-aged man.
"Faster! What, didn't you eat today?! Uozumi! Is that height of yours just for decoration?!"
Taoka Moichi stood at the sidelines with his hands on his hips, veins bulging angrily on his forehead.
His usually passable-looking face was now twisted like an over-fermented steamed bun, his eyebrows scrunched together like two furious caterpillars.
Just two days ago, he had returned from Tomigaoka Middle School in a mood foul enough to ignite the air itself.
Rukawa Kaede—the basketball prodigy known as the "Fox of Tomigaoka"—had actually rejected his invitation.
The reason?
"Too far from home."
Ridiculous.
He chose Shohoku instead of Ryonan.
Too far?!
From Tomigaoka to Ryonan—it was barely a ten-minute train ride!
The more Taoka thought about it, the angrier he became. His chest felt stuffed with soggy cotton, suffocating him.
And this wasn't even the first time.
Back then, Mitsui Hisashi—he'd spent three whole months persuading him, only for the kid to leave with a single sentence:
"Coach Anzai is at Shohoku."
Last year, Miyagi Ryota—Taoka personally went to invite him.
Same answer.
Same damn reason.
Coach Anzai!
What kind of black magic did that chubby old man have? Just because he was a former national player?
"Did Coach eat gunpowder this morning?" first-year Fukuda Kicchou muttered under his breath.
"Shh! Keep it down!" second-year Uozumi Jun hurriedly signaled him to shut up, his towering two-meter frame shrinking like a scolded child.
As he spoke, Uozumi sneakily glanced at Sendoh Akira, who was calmly practicing jump shots nearby.
This first-year ace looked completely unfazed—his trademark relaxed smile still hanging at the corner of his lips, as if the coach's roaring was nothing more than background music.
Sendoh flicked his wrist.
The basketball traced a graceful arc.
Swish.
Clean through the net.
Seeing that, Taoka finally felt a little better.
At least Sendoh Akira—the real genius—had chosen Ryonan.
But then…
When he thought about Shohoku's stacked lineup—Rukawa Kaede, Mitsui Hisashi, Akagi Takenori, Miyagi Ryota—
His stomach started cramping again.
Three of them.
Three damn prospects he had his eye on.
All of them went to Shohoku.
"Are you all sleepwalking?!" Taoka's roar exploded once more.
"Defense! How many times do I have to say it—stick to your man! Fukuda! Is that defense or are you dancing ballroom?!"
Fukuda Kicchou flinched so hard his dribble nearly bounced off his own foot.
A suffocating pressure blanketed the gym. Every player held their breath, afraid to even inhale too loudly.
And then
At that exact moment, the gym door creaked open slightly.
The team manager peeked inside.
"Coach… someone's here to see you."
"Who?" Taoka snapped, turning irritably. "I'm busy!"
"A red-haired middle schooler. From Wakou Middle School. He says he wants to join the basketball team."
Taoka frowned.
Wakou Middle School? Never heard of it.
Red hair? Probably dyed. Kids these days…
"Let him in," Taoka sighed.
The door opened fully.
A figure stepped inside.
The first thing Taoka noticed—
A blazing head of red hair.
Not dark red.
Not wine red.
But a loud, flame-like red—wild and arrogant.
A classic pompadour.
Then he noticed the height.
About the same as Sendoh. Definitely tall among kids his age.
That alone made him basketball material.
But then… the face.
A bit dumb-looking.
Eyes staring straight ahead, unfocused.
Radiating an inexplicable sense of… ball pain.
Taoka spoke first.
"I'm Taoka Moichi, head coach of Ryonan High's basketball team. And you are?"
"Nice to meet you! My name is Sakuragi Hanamichi."
The red-haired kid grinned wide, flashing a mouthful of white teeth.
"I want to join your basketball team."
...
Recently, Sakuragi Hanamichi had been suffering from serious ball pain.
No—this wasn't a metaphor.
Real. Genuine. Ball pain.
He'd only transmigrated into this world a week ago.
One week ago, he was still the starting point guard of an NBA championship team—the man nicknamed "D'Magician meets Curry."
In 2030, he had led the Brooklyn Nets to crush the Spurs led by Wembanyama, hoisting the O'Brien Trophy.
Champagne still in hand.
Then he opened his eyes again—
And found himself lying in a Japanese-style room, facing the aftermath of his 50th confession rejection.
Of all people to transmigrate into…
It had to be Sakuragi Hanamichi.
No family.
Dead broke.
Living off part-time jobs and mooching meals from the so-called "Sakuragi Army."
Mito Yohei and the others were good guys, sure—but he couldn't freeload forever.
Thankfully, he had inherited the original body's insane physical attributes.
Terrifying explosiveness.
Shocking vertical leap.
A body that never seemed to know fatigue.
And on top of that—
Every ounce of his former life's professional basketball experience and skill.
Once he accepted the reality of transmigrating into the protagonist of an anime world, the future became clear.
Basketball.
Only basketball.
Going to Shohoku according to the original plot? Sure, it came with protagonist buffs—but it was dirt poor.
Coach Anzai was great, but too hands-off.
And Shohoku was a public school—not ideal for development.
Ryonan was different.
A private school.
Plenty of funding.
Coach Taoka was hot-tempered, but he knew talent, truly cared about his team, and was willing to invest.
Most importantly—
Ryonan had money.
Free tuition. Scholarships.
Real benefits.
So today—
He came.
Standing inside Ryonan's gym, Sakuragi scanned the players in training.
Uozumi Jun—way taller in real life than in the manga.
Sendoh Akira—looking over curiously, that ridiculous hairstyle intact. A fellow heavy consumer of hair gel.
And the pineapple head—Fukuda Kicchou.
Ah, right. The guy who'd later become a one-way offensive monster with a defense full of holes. Still green now, before he pissed off the coach and quit.
"Hey! I'm talking to you!" Taoka's voice snapped him back to reality.
"Huh? Oh—yes, Coach." Sakuragi scratched his red hair.
Taoka frowned even harder.
"I asked—have you ever played basketball? Wakou Middle School… I've never heard of your team achieving anything."
"Nope," Sakuragi replied honestly. "Never played."
"But I can play."
That sounded contradictory enough to make Taoka laugh in disbelief.
"You can play, but you've never played? What does that even mean?"
Sakuragi thought for a moment.
"I mean—I have talent. Absolute talent. Coach, just look at me. This height, this build—what a waste if I don't play basketball."
He patted his chest confidently.
This wasn't bragging.
With proper training, Sakuragi Hanamichi's body—even by NBA standards—was absurd.
Taoka sized him up.
A total newbie… but that height was rare in Japan.
"Fine," he said. "Try it. Ryonan doesn't take just any stray cat or dog."
"Alright! Just watch me, Coach!"
Sakuragi grinned, shrugging off his school jacket. Underneath was a faded tank top, washed thin from use. He tossed the jacket onto a nearby chair and stretched as he strolled toward the court.
Reaching center court, he waved at Sendoh for the ball.
Sendoh casually tossed it over.
The players stopped training, all eyes fixed on the redhead.
Sakuragi caught the ball.
Nice feel. Properly inflated.
He bounced it a few times, feeling the rubber grooves beneath his fingers.
Then he began to dribble.
Clumsy.
No denying it—this body had almost zero muscle memory for basketball.
But after a dozen dribbles—
Something clicked.
Not the body's memory.
His own.
From his previous life.
The court fell silent.
Uozumi stood under the basket with his hands on his hips, curious.
Fukuda stopped his dribbling altogether.
Sendoh stepped back beyond the three-point line, still wearing that lazy smile.
Taoka crossed his arms, expression stern.
Let's see what this kid can really do.
Under everyone's gaze—
Sakuragi moved.
No flashy dribbles.
Just two quick bounces.
Then
Like a leopard spotting prey, he exploded forward.
"So fast!" Fukuda blurted out.
The red-haired boy became a crimson afterimage at center court.
His strides were massive, every step solid and explosive. Canvas sneakers shrieked against the wooden floor.
Two steps.
Then maximum speed.
Taoka's eyelid twitched.
That acceleration…
Was this kid a monster?
Fourth step. Fifth step.
Sakuragi reached the free-throw line.
Just as everyone assumed he'd take off like a normal layup—
His left foot slammed down on the free-throw line.
And he soared.
"Wait—don't tell me!"
Taoka's heart skipped a beat.
Time stretched.
Sakuragi launched from the free-throw line, his body catapulted skyward like a compressed spring unleashed.
His right arm drew back, the ball cradled perfectly.
His body formed a flawless arc.
Sunlight poured in from the high gym windows, gilding him in gold. His red hair trembled in the rushing air.
Hang time.
(Taoka vaguely heard the roar of an airplane engine taking off…)
Sakuragi's lungs expanded fully, air tasting of sweat and dust.
His heartbeat thundered like war drums.
The rim rushed closer.
This feeling was familiar.
He had finished countless dunks like this on NBA courts.
But this—
This was different.
Free-throw line takeoff?
Even in his past life, he couldn't do that.
This body was lighter.
Stronger.
Fifteen-year-old muscle fibers brimming with untapped power.
His lats contracted.
Abs tightened.
Thighs awakened.
And then
He slammed it down.
BOOM!
The rim howled.
The entire hoop shook violently, threatening to collapse.
The ball ripped through the net, smashed into the floor, and bounced high.
Sakuragi landed, jogging a few steps to absorb the force, then stopped smoothly.
He turned around, dusted his hands.
Calm.
As if he'd just finished a normal layup.
For the sheer flex he'd just pulled—
He silently gave himself a perfect score.
Awesome.
And this body's talent?
Absolutely insane.
Stronger than his former self.
And this was only fifteen years old.