Teiko's first-string training volume was nothing short of hell-level.
Yet these freshmen clenched their teeth and endured it—
not a single one fell behind.
After the grueling group conditioning ended, it was finally time for free practice.
Hanyu Sota blended in among the upperclassmen and joined a scrimmage.
"Rookie, over here! Pass it!"
A first-string senior waved at him repeatedly.
At that moment, the one guarding Hanyu was a third-year senior.
The help defenders were far away.
This was—a perfect isolation opportunity.
Hanyu took a deep breath.
His eyes flicked left, and his body subtly leaned in the same direction.
Going left?
The experienced senior reacted instantly, shifting his center of gravity to cut him off.
The next second
"!"
Hanyu changed direction like a ghost, flashing past him on the right.
Damn—fake!
"Help! Stop him!"
But the others were still stunned by that convincing feint.
Before anyone could rotate over, Hanyu had already scored with ease.
"Whoa, nice one, rookie!"
A teammate ran over and slapped Hanyu on the shoulder.
Hanyu waved his hands modestly.
"Just luck, just luck."
On the other side, the senior who'd been shaken off was immediately roasted by his so-called friends.
"Man, Jirō, that was embarrassing. Getting crossed by a first-year brat like that—HAHA!"
"What, did you start dating recently? Legs gone soft, huh?"
"I told you, basketball is sacred. It doesn't need love dragging it down."
Flushed with shame and rage, Jirō finally exploded:
"You idiots, shut up! One more word and I'm flipping on you!"
"Hurry up and dump Suzuko, or you'll get kicked back to the second string sooner or later."
In the first string, there was no such thing as immunity—
play poorly, and the cold-blooded coaches would send you back down without mercy.
"Hey Jirō, don't tell me you're waiting for them to break up so you can swoop in?"
"Yeah, man, your eyes already sold you out."
"Yūji, you bastard—don't spout nonsense!"
"Don't believe the slander!"
"Hahahaha…"
"..."
Amid the laughter and roughhousing, the sky slowly darkened.
The gym lights stretched the boys' shadows long across the floor.
The upperclassmen slipped away early, leaving behind a mess.
As first-year rookies, Hanyu and a few other unlucky souls were stuck staying late to clean.
The sound of mops dragging across the wet floor finally stopped.
The nightmare cleaning session was over.
Akashi Seijūrō and his group were long gone.
Since their routes home overlapped, Hanyu walked back with Aomine Daiki.
The sunset stretched their shadows across the pavement.
Aomine spun the ball on one hand and suddenly perked up.
"Hey, there's a street court up ahead. Wanna run a game?"
Hanyu didn't even lift his eyelids.
The air went quiet for a few seconds.
"Spare me. Look at the sky—the moon's practically out already."
He rejected him flatly and kept walking.
Aomine, clearly unsatisfied, shamelessly chased after him.
"Don't be such a buzzkill! Just five points! We'll dip right after!"
Hanyu sighed, unmoved.
"Tomorrow. Tonight is a hard no."
Are you kidding? I'm starving.
Who still had energy to sweat with this basketball maniac?
There was a fridge full of ingredients waiting at home—and no dinner yet.
At the intersection, the traffic light blinked.
"I'm going this way. See you tomorrow."
Hanyu waved, cut off any chance for more pestering, and disappeared into the night.
The Next Morning
The sunlight was blinding.
Hanyu showed up with massive dark circles, looking like a national treasure that had just escaped from the zoo.
His whole body radiated a keep-out level of exhaustion.
The reason?
Last night's NBA game was too good. He'd "cultivated immortality" all the way to dawn.
Not long after leaving home—
SMACK!
His shoulder was hit so hard he nearly saw his ancestors.
"Yo! Morning!"
No need to turn around.
That dark tall idiot.
Aomine leaned in and burst out laughing.
"Whoa, what happened to your eyes? Go mining last night?"
Hanyu yawned weakly, eyes watering.
"Watched a game. Overtime went too late… yawn."
Aomine looked sympathetic—though not sincerely.
"Man, that's rough."
Hanyu rubbed his sore shoulder and glanced past him.
There stood a girl with pink hair.
A high ponytail, Teiko's fitted sailor uniform,
petite and delicate—like a porcelain doll.
Isn't she the girl who came to the gym with Aomine yesterday?
Noticing Hanyu's gaze, Aomine scratched his head.
"Oh, this is Momoi—Momoi Satsuki."
"Uh… we've known each other forever. You could say it's a cursed childhood bond. Basically, childhood friends."
Momoi stepped forward and bowed politely.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Momoi Satsuki."
"I'm terribly sorry for all the trouble that idiot Aomine caused you yesterday!"
The tone. The posture.
She looked exactly like a mother apologizing for her delinquent son.
Hanyu blinked, then waved.
"No, no trouble at all."
"I'm Hanyu Sota. Nice to meet you."
Aomine puffed his cheeks like a pufferfish.
"Hey! Who are you calling trouble?! Stop slapping labels on me!"
Momoi instantly turned fierce.
"Daiki! Shut up!"
Aomine wilted like a frostbitten eggplant.
Hanyu watched them quietly.
So this is what childhood friends are like…
The air even felt a little sour.
Honestly, he felt a twinge of envy.
He'd always been a lone wolf.
Aside from basketball—his silent companion—he'd never had friends he could bicker with like this.
But now wasn't the time to get sentimental.
His eyelids were already fighting a war.
Going to class like this?
Falling asleep was guaranteed.
And if the teacher caught him—
his parents would be called.
The image of his mom's nonstop nagging mouth flashed in his mind.
Hanyu shuddered.
That was worse than hell.
Just then, Aomine's face turned even worse than his.
Because Momoi, smiling sweetly, handed him a lunchbox.
Her homemade "love bento."
"Gah!"
Aomine sucked in a sharp breath.
The horrifying memory of that flavor attacked his brain.
That wasn't food.
That was a biochemical weapon.
Cold sweat ran down his back.
I have to save myself!
His sneaky eyes locked onto Hanyu—
like a starving wolf spotting a fat sheep.
While Momoi ran ahead into the school—
Aomine leaned in close, whispering.
"Hey, Hanyu. You didn't bring lunch today, right?"
Hanyu eyed him warily.
"No."
Aomine's eyes lit up.
"Perfect! It's fate!"
"?"
"Well, I accidentally brought an extra bento today. I'll give it to you—no need to thank me!"
Hanyu stepped back.
"No."
"Huh?! Why not? You don't have food!"
"I may not have lunch, but my instincts say you're up to something."
Aomine looked away, guilty.
"S-So rude! Thinking so badly of me!"
See?
That guilty face said it all.
As expected.
In class, the teacher's voice was the ultimate lullaby.
Hanyu collapsed onto his desk, sleeping like the dead.
He didn't even notice when the lecture stopped.
The teacher stood behind him, chalk in hand—
like the Grim Reaper.
Hanyu smacked his lips in his dream, feasting.
His peaceful sleeping face was a public execution of the teacher's authority.
Veins bulged on the teacher's forehead.
Luckily, the outcome wasn't as tragic as imagined.
Since Hanyu usually behaved well—and this was his first offense—
he was only made to stand in the hallway for a while.
The dismissal bell rang.
Club time.
Hanyu thought he was early, but when he opened the gym door—
someone was already there.
A boy with striking green hair.
"Swish!"
The ball arced high.
"Swish!"
The net rippled.
"Swish!"
Three in a row—nothing but net.
That perfect parabola looked like art.
Hanyu couldn't help but praise him.
"That three-point accuracy is terrifying."
Who could handle that?
At some point, Akashi Seijūrō appeared beside him.
"Since the day I met Shintarō, I've never seen him miss a three."
Akashi spoke as if it were obvious.
"..."
Hanyu fell silent.
They really are monsters.
"Well then, I can't fall behind."
Bang!
The ball hit the floor.
Bang!
Hanyu exploded forward, slicing into the paint.
A smooth layup.
Score.
His touch felt good—but shooting alone was boring.
Before long, the upperclassmen began to arrive.
And last—
the overwhelming captain, Nijimura Shuzo.
Hell training resumed.
Only two days into the first string, the freshmen were still adapting.
This insane intensity crushed them—they couldn't make it look effortless like the seniors.
"Haah… haah…"
Murasakibara Atsushi panted, annoyed.
"Ugh… this is such a pain. I want Umaibō. Hey, can I eat snacks now?"
Midorima Shintarō pushed his glasses, breathing hard.
"Are you an idiot… huff… this is training. If you eat snacks, Nijimura-senpai will beat you flat."
Aomine was drenched in sweat, but his eyes still burned.
"Man… I wanna 1v1 the seniors! This basic stuff is boring!"
Nijimura's roar echoed through the gym.
"First-years over there! Stop dragging! It's not over—keep up!"
"Yes!"
The five shouted in unison and forced themselves on.
At last, the grueling session ended.
Then came the long-awaited free practice.
Bang!
Bang!
The floor thundered.
In scrimmages against the upperclassmen, Hanyu cut loose completely.
He was like a wild horse unleashed, tearing through the defense.
One down…
Two…
Three!
His movements flowed like water—too fast to follow.
"Whoa! That kid is insane!"
"No one can stop him! What kind of speed is that?!"
From the sidelines, Nijimura narrowed his eyes.
"This level—even in the current first string, he'd stand out. The assistant's earlier proposal… maybe it wasn't just a fantasy."
Seeing Hanyu dominate, Aomine couldn't sit still.
He demanded the ball and charged into the half-court.
That feral style—defense meant nothing.
"Damn it!"
A senior who'd been shaken off clenched his teeth.
Is the gap really this big?
This is brutal…
He's just a first-year!
Another teammate patted his shoulder.
"Accept reality. They're not like us."
"That kind of talent… it's heaven-fed."
"At this rate, they'll be starters soon, right?"
"Maybe. But our starters aren't pushovers either—monsters in their own right."
…
Time flew.
In the blink of an eye, a week had passed since Hanyu joined the first string.
In Assistant Coach Sanada's office—
Smoke filled the air (crossed out).
The assistant held a thick stack of data sheets, densely packed with the five freshmen's stats.
That growth curve was terrifying.
So this is what geniuses look like…
Especially—
Hanyu Sota.