Slam Dunk: Sakuragi learned from Kawamura Eiki's experience

The after-school training ended a little later than usual.

Coach Takeda made Sakuragi practice his footwork under the basket for another twenty minutes, repeatedly practicing the same move: left turn, fake move, right turn, jump and layup.

Sakuragi started to get impatient when he practiced for the tenth time, but Takeda didn't say anything and just passed the ball to him again, so Sakuragi had no choice but to continue practicing.

It was almost dark when I got home. I quickly ate a couple of bites and rushed to the convenience store.

When he arrived at the convenience store, the owner was tidying up the cigarette racks behind the counter. Seeing Sakuragi enter, he gestured with his chin towards the television: "There's a replay of a soccer game today."

"Thanks, boss." Sakuragi put on an apron, stood behind the cashier, and his eyes were already drifting towards the small TV.

An NBA game is playing on TV. The words "NBA Finals" are displayed in the upper right corner of the screen.

Sakuragi rested his elbows on the cash register, his chin on his palms, completely absorbed in watching.

Jordan received the ball beyond the three-point line, the defender was sticking to him tightly, his hand almost touching his face. Jordan faked to the left, the defender's center of gravity shifted accordingly, then Jordan suddenly pulled the ball to the right, leaned back, jumped, and released the ball. The ball flew over the defender's fingertips, its arc high and flat, and "swish" it swished through the net.

Sakuragi's mouth was slightly open, and he forgot to close it.

He had never seen anything like it before: being guarded so closely in the face, yet still managing to jump up, lean back, and shoot the ball in while almost losing his balance.

He had tried shooting hoops and knew that if a person is in the air without a support point, their body will sway, their arm will shake, and the force of their shot will be off-target.

But Jordan didn't shake, didn't sway, and didn't veering.

The ball left his hands with incredible precision.

The numbers on the scoreboard were changing. Jordan carried the team forward single-handedly, scoring, assisting, stealing, rebounding—he did everything, and he did it all well.

But on the scoreboard, the Bulls were consistently behind, with the difference hovering around ten points, like a loose tooth that just wouldn't spring back up.

The final buzzer sounded. The Bulls lost to the Lakers by 2 points. Jordan's score was a game-high 36 points, but his team lost.

Sakuragi frowned. He turned around and found that his boss had been standing next to him at some point, watching TV and holding an opened pack of cigarettes with one in his mouth but not lit.

"Boss," Sakuragi pointed at the TV, "this Jordan, he's so good, how did he still lose?"

Basketball is a team sport.

The boss explained to Sakuragi, "No matter how good an individual is, without the help and cooperation of teammates, they can't win the game."

Sakuragi blinked.

"Look at Jordan," the shopkeeper pointed at the TV with his cigarette, "he scored 36 points, but what about the others? Nobody stepped up to help him. It's different with the Lakers. Although nobody scored that many points, several of them scored over ten points. They scored one here and one there, and together they scored more than the Bulls."

Sakuragi watched the bald man walk back to the locker room with his head down on the TV screen.

Jordan's back view was not quite what he had imagined. He thought that the "NBA's greatest player" should have his head held high, but the back view looked a bit tired, with his shoulders slightly slumped and his steps neither fast nor slow, as if he were walking a very, very long road.

"Oh, by the way," the shopkeeper said, putting the cigarette back in his mouth without lighting it, and mumbling, "I heard from my son yesterday that you participated in the county competition?"

Sakuragi turned his head.

"Your son?"

"Yeah, he's a first-year student at Hikari Middle School. He came back yesterday and said that there's a red-haired senior on the school's basketball team named Sakuragi who's really good at dunking."

The boss smiled, "I was thinking, isn't this you? I didn't expect you to be so talented, you can actually play basketball and even dunk!"

Sakuragi's lips curled into a smile, and his chin unconsciously tilted upwards. "Not bad," he said.

The shop owner chuckled and patted Sakuragi on the shoulder. "I'll be watching the game next weekend. Play well, good luck, Sakuragi."

Sakuragi nodded vigorously, feeling a warm sensation in his chest. He turned back to watch TV; Jordan was no longer on the screen, replaced by two Americans in suits talking.

Outside the convenience store, on the road not far away.

As Yuri Yanai walked under the streetlights, her shadow stretched long, extending from her feet all the way to the sidewalk across the street.

She was wearing a sailor uniform from Hongye Junior High School; the dark blue top and skirt appeared even darker under the night lights, almost black.

Her scarf was tied neatly, she wore white socks, black leather shoes, and her hair was draped over her shoulders with slightly curled ends that swayed gently with her steps.

At school today, Kato Rena asked her, "Why did you go to watch the game again yesterday?" She replied, "I had nothing to do." Kato rolled her eyes.

She was indeed bored out of her mind, so bored that she memorized the time of the next game for Hikari Middle School, so bored that she calculated the time Sakuragi worked, and so bored that she was now walking on this road she had never walked before to a convenience store she had never been to before.

Buy some things.

Yes, just buying some things.

While you're at it, take a look at that interesting big dog.

As they approached the convenience store, a figure moved in the shadows by the roadside. Yanai slowed her pace slightly and glanced over.

The man leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, one leg slightly bent, his foot resting on the base of the wall. The streetlight didn't reach his spot, but he stepped forward, and the light fell on his face.

Mito Yohei.

Yanai stopped. She recognized the face. The one who sat on the very edge of Sakuragi's group in the stands yesterday, not talkative, but every time he spoke, he hit the nail on the head.

Moreover, she had seen him before, not at school, but at one of her father's social events.

The Mito family didn't have a big business, but they had dealings with the Yanai family. She didn't pay much attention at the time, only remembering the face and the surname.

Yohei straightened up from the wall, took two steps toward her, and stopped when there were three or four steps between them.

"Shall we chat?" Yohei spoke first.

Yanai's eyes were slightly narrowed, like a cat whose afternoon nap had been suddenly disturbed.

"What are you talking about?" Her voice carried a lazy teasing tone, with the last syllable rising in a high pitch, like she was coaxing a child. "Mito-dono Kagami."

Dianyang.

She emphasized those two words, using honorifics to address a middle school student, creating a highly sarcastic effect.

Yohei's lips twitched. He understood, but he didn't respond.

He didn't come to argue or bicker; he came to say something. Then he left.

"That Sakuragi guy," Yohei's voice was neither loud nor soft, each word clearly enunciated, "is very simple-minded. To put it bluntly, he's single-minded and an idiot."

He paused, looking into Yanai's eyes.

"If you're just playing around, it's fine. But if you find pleasure in hurting Sakuragi..." Yohei paused, "I won't let you get away with it."

The streetlights drew a line of light and shadow between the two people; Yohei stood on the dark side, and Yanai stood on the bright side.

Yanai paused for a moment, stared at Yohei for two seconds, and then smiled.

"You're being too nosy, Mito-dono." She crossed her arms, leaned back slightly, raised her chin, and looked down at Yohei.

She was half a head taller than him, and this position naturally created a sense of intimidation. "I'm so scared."

The last sentence, "I'm so scared," was said in a sarcastic tone, like someone trying to coax a child.

Yohei didn't back down. Sakuragi was his brother. From elementary school to junior high, they had fought together, gotten beaten up together, and squatted on the rooftop together in the wind. He wouldn't let anyone treat Sakuragi like a toy.

"I mean what I say." Yangping left these words behind, turned and walked away. His shadow stretched longer and longer under the streetlights, growing fainter and fainter until it finally disappeared around the corner.

Yanai stood still, looking in that direction.

The streetlight shone on her face, and her expression slowly changed from "disdain" to "amusement," and then from "amusement" to "thoughtful."

"What a deep brotherly bond," she murmured, her voice so soft that only she could hear it, a sound that was both a sigh and a smile.

She looked down at herself; the scarf on her sailor uniform fluttered slightly in the night breeze.

She reached up and patted her scarf, then looked up and glanced in the direction of the convenience store. Through the bright glass window, she could see a red figure wearing a green apron inside.

Yanai took a deep breath, and the corners of his mouth slowly turned up into a smile.

She walked toward the convenience store, her steps much lighter than before. Her shoes tapped on the sidewalk, like someone tapping a cheerful tune with their toes.

Outside the convenience store, not far away.

Yohei didn't go far.

He stood under a cherry blossom tree across the street. In June, the cherry blossom tree only had leaves, its branches and leaves lush and casting a large shadow under the streetlights.

He leaned against the tree trunk, his hands in his pockets, looking at the scene inside the convenience store through its bright glass window.

Sakuragi was standing behind the cashier, his expression changing from "bored" to "surprised". His mouth widened, his eyes lit up, and he looked like someone had pressed the power button.

Yanai stood in front of the cashier, holding something in her hand as she paid, a smile on her lips, talking to Sakuragi. Sakuragi nodded vigorously, like a big dog wagging its tail after being praised.

Yohei sighed deeply. The breath rose from his chest, passed through his throat, and slowly escaped from his lips, carrying a sense of utter helplessness, a feeling of "I'm really worried sick."

Maybe I'm overthinking it.

Yohei straightened up from the tree trunk, patted the bark scraps off his back, and turned to leave.

He walked past one streetlamp after another, his shadow shifting from behind to in front of him, then from in front of him to behind him, growing longer and fainter until it blended into the night and became indistinguishable.

A night breeze blew by, carrying the damp heat unique to June, rustling the leaves of the roadside trees like someone gently clapping in the distance.