Slam Dunk: Sakuragi learned from Kawamura Eiki's experience

After filling out the form, Sakuragi Hanamichi officially became a member of the Wako Junior High School basketball team.

Mr. Takeda walked to the sidelines of the court and clapped his hands.

"Come on, Sakuragi, let's start with the basics."

Sakuragi followed him to the open space next to the basketball hoop.

"Lung stance and dribble the ball."

Takeda bent down and demonstrated a movement. He bent forward with his left leg, stepped back with his right leg, squatted slightly, and rhythmically dribbled the ball with his right hand.

"This is the most basic basketball move. First, get your racket steady, then we can talk about anything else."

Sakuragi glanced at the teacher's posture, then looked down at the ball in his hand.

The ball was orange-red, with some wear on the surface, but the grainy texture was still there. He spread his fingers, pressed the ball to the ground, and squatted down in a lunge position, imitating Takeda.

"Smack."

The ball bounced up and then fell back down.

"Smack."

Another one.

Watching from the side, Takeda nodded: "Yes, that's it. Let's clap it a hundred times first to get a feel for it."

Sakuragi lowered his head, his eyes fixed on the ball.

The instant the ball bounces back into my palm, I can clearly feel its weight and the force of the rebound. One bounce, two bounces, three bounces—the rhythm gradually stabilizes.

But the laughter coming from the sidelines interrupted the rhythm for a moment.

"Ha ha ha ha……"

Takamiya Nozomi leaned against the door, clutching her stomach with both hands, laughing so hard she couldn't straighten up.

"Look at his posture! Doesn't it look like a kindergarten kid learning to dribble a ball?"

Da Nan squatted on the ground, mimicking Sakuragi's movements with both hands, while making voiceovers: "Pat...pat...pat...so slow..."

Noma, being even more mischievous, mimicked Sakuragi's expression, deliberately scrunching his face, staring intently at the ground, and muttering, "Ball, don't run away, ball, don't run away..."

The laughter of the three echoed through the empty basketball court, each laugh louder than the last.

Sakuragi stopped, the ball bounced twice on the ground, and rolled to the side.

He slowly turned his head, his face filled with murderous intent, his eyes sweeping across like knives. My forehead started to itch; I wanted to smash someone.

Sensing the murderous intent, Takamiya's laughter sounded stuck in his throat, turning into a "gurgle".

But today, Sakuragi didn't chase after them and give each of them a headbutt.

Because he caught a glimpse of the scene on the other side of the court, where Oda Ryusei was leading several players in a scrimmage.

The ball was passed around rapidly in their hands, and their sneakers made a sharp squeaking sound on the floor as they ran, all in perfect coordination with their passing and positioning.

A bounce pass pierced the defense, Oda caught the ball and made a layup, the ball grazed the backboard and fell cleanly into the basket.

Sakuragi looked down at the wooden floor beneath his feet, then at the ball in his hand.

He's here, bending over to bounce the ball. Others are over there doing scrimmage.

A surge of anger rose in his chest, Sakuragi tightened his grip on the basketball, and his face darkened.

With his sharp eyes, Mr. Takeda knew Sakuragi was about to explode at the sight of his expression.

He quickly stepped forward, calmly patted Sakuragi on the shoulder, and said in a relaxed tone, "Sakuragi, do you know Jordan?"

Sakuragi was taken aback, his anger still lingering, his eyes shifting from fury to confusion: "Jordan? Who's that? Which class is he in?"

Mr. Takeda almost choked. He took a deep breath and patiently explained, "Michael Jordan, from the NBA, is currently the strongest basketball player in the world, bar none. He's American, Black, and plays like he's flying."

Sakuragi blinked, still completely clueless. His understanding of basketball was practically zero.

Coach Takeda wasn't in a hurry and continued, "Jordan was amazing, wasn't he? But he also started by practicing the most basic dribbling and ball handling. He practiced step by step for many years."

He hasn't won a championship yet, and he's still working incredibly hard this year. You think a genius like him has to start from the basics? You think you can skip ahead?

Sakuragi didn't quite understand the word "champion," but he did understand the word "genius."

The teacher just said that Jordan is a genius, but also said that even geniuses have to start from the basics. Doesn't that mean that I am a genius too?

Sakuragi's anger gradually subsided, replaced by an awkward expression, as if he wanted to laugh but was too embarrassed to.

He scratched the back of his head and muttered stubbornly, "Then...then I'll practice."

Teacher Takeda chuckled inwardly, but nodded solemnly: "Practice makes perfect. Even geniuses are made through practice."

Sakuragi squatted down again, this time much more focused than before. He slammed the ball to the ground, caught it with his fingers, the ball bounced back, and he slammed it again. Once, twice, three times… the ball was still a little wobbly, but at least it wasn't flying away anymore.

Mr. Takeda stood by and watched, knowing exactly what was going on. For someone like Sakuragi, the best way to educate him was to simply go with the flow.

You can't scold him, the more you scold him, the more angry he'll become. You have to praise him, praise him to the skies. After praising him, he'll obediently practice on his own.

But more importantly, you have to make him believe he's a genius. Only then will he be willing to endure hardship.

On the sidelines, the four members of Sakuragi's gang watched for a while, and their smiles slowly faded.

Takamiya Nozomi yawned: "This is boring. Sakuragi didn't even get angry."

Da Nan also stood up, patting the dust off his pants: "I thought I'd see him rush over to hit Xiao Tian, ​​but he's just obediently dribbling the ball here."

Noma shook his head: "Let's call it a day, there's nothing interesting to watch."

Yohei propped himself up against the wall and walked towards the door, waving his hand without turning his head: "Let's go, let's go play Pachinko, we haven't played the new machine yet."

The four people left the stadium arm in arm, their footsteps fading into the distance. Sunlight streamed in through the doorway, casting four long shadows on the ground.

The sound of the basketball bouncing in the basketball court turned into a muffled "thud," fading into the distance.

In the basketball court, Sakuragi finished practicing his lunge dribbling, and a fine layer of sweat appeared on his forehead.

Takeda then taught him dribbling and running, emphasizing that the ball should be bounced to the side of the body, not chased after, and that the direction of the ball should be controlled by the body.

"Come on, give it a try."

Sakuragi dribbled the ball and slowly walked forward.

The ball bounced off his palm, bounced back, and bounced off again. At first, it was a bit awkward; he felt like the ball wasn't listening to him, either running forward or bouncing backward, chasing him all over the court.

But as I kept filming, that feeling from my dream came back.

The image of Kawamura Eiki dribbling the ball flashed through his mind—the short man bending over, the ball weaving between his legs at such a speed that his figure blurred.

The ball wasn't being slapped in his hands; it was stuck to him. No matter how he ran, he wouldn't lose it.

Sakuragi's hands unconsciously quickened their pace.

The fingers no longer bounce the ball stiffly, but touch it in a softer way. The palm is suspended in the air, and only the fingers exert force. When the ball bounces back, the fingers will slightly retract along the force of the ball, as if dissipating the force or storing up force.

Takeda narrowed his eyes.

This dribbling technique...

Sakuragi began to speed up, from walking to jogging, from jogging to running, turning, and making sharp turns.

The ball thumped against his hand, the rhythm getting faster and faster, but it never went far, always staying within his reach.

"Stop for a moment," Takeda called out to him.

Sakuragi stopped, clutching the ball, panting, sweat trickling down his forehead and nose.

"Sakuragi, you've really never played basketball before?"

"No," Sakuragi wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. "It was the first time yesterday in PE class."

Takeda was silent for two seconds.

"Next time, it's shooting practice."

He led Sakuragi to the free-throw line and handed him the ball.

"Aim your elbow at the basket, generate power with your wrist, and let the ball fly from your fingertips. Don't worry about whether it goes in or not, just get the motion right."

Sakuragi received the ball and stood at the free throw line.

He looked up at the basketball hoop; the metal ring gleamed silver under the light, and the net hung motionless.

That scene from my dream resurfaced.

Kawamura Eiki stood outside the three-point line, received the ball, jumped, and shot—his movements were as fluid as flowing water.

Sakuragi mimicked that posture, slightly bending his knees, raising the ball, tilting his wrist back, pressing his fingers on the creases of the ball, aiming his elbow at the basket, jumping up, and shooting.

The ball slipped from his fingertips, spinning in the air as it flew toward the basket.

"clang!"

The ball hit the neck of the rim, bounced up, fell back down, spun around the rim a little, and rolled out.

He's forging iron, but his posture is correct.

Takeda's eyes lit up.

"Again."

Sakuragi retrieved the ball and returned to the free-throw line.

Come again.

"clang!"

It still hit the rim, but in a slightly more accurate position than before.

Come again.

"clang!"

The ball hit the inside of the rim, bounced up, tumbled twice on the rim, and then rolled out.

With each shot, fragmented images flashed through Sakuragi's mind: Kawamura Eiki running on the court, catching the ball, shooting, over and over again. Those images seemed etched into his mind, so clear they didn't seem like a dream.

After throwing a few more balls, a clearer picture suddenly appeared.

In my dream.

The basketball court was more than ten times larger than the small, run-down gym at Wako Junior High School. The lights were blindingly bright, and the stands were packed. Kawamura Eiki stood beyond the three-point line, received the ball, released it, and the ball swished through the net.

Then the scene changes.

The short guy was practicing alone; he was the only one in the huge gymnasium.

The sound of the basketball hitting the floor echoed hollowly, one shot after another. He shot one, ran to retrieve the ball, shot again, retrieved again.

While throwing the ball, he counted aloud: 487, 488, 489...

Practice shooting hoops a thousand times every day.

Sakuragi's hand paused for a moment.

A thousand times?

He looked down at his hands, then at the basketball hoop.

The person in my dream, Eiki Kawamura, practices shooting hoops every day, shooting a thousand balls.

"Sakuragi? What's wrong?" Takeda walked over.

"It's nothing." Sakuragi shook his head, raised the ball, and continued shooting.

There was another "clang".

But Takeda stood to the side, watching Sakuragi shoot, his eyes growing brighter and brighter.

He has been coaching basketball for so many years and has seen many beginners.

When most people first start shooting, their movements are all crooked and awkward, with elbows turned outward, wrists stiff, and no idea how to release the ball.

Even after a month of practice, you might not be able to execute a standard shooting motion.

But Sakuragi is different; his form was correct from the very first ball.

Although the ball didn't go in, the angle of the elbow, the force of the wrist, and the point of contact with the ball at the fingertips were all correct. Some of the details of the movement were even more standard than what he taught.

This wasn't taught; it was innate. He seemed to know how to automatically adjust his aim and exertion posture to make himself more comfortable.

Or rather, it's something he can't explain.

"Sakuragi, you have a really good understanding."

Takeda couldn't help but speak up, "You grasp things instantly. There are some things I haven't even taught you yet, but you already know them on your own."

After shooting dozens of balls, Sakuragi hugged the ball, panting, his vest collar soaked with sweat.

"Really?" he asked.

"Really." Takeda nodded seriously. "You're the fastest learner I've ever seen. The feel of dribbling, the shooting form—things that others need months to practice, you've got right away."

He couldn't help but add, "Sakuragi, you're a fucking genius."

Sakuragi's lips curled up.

That feeling came again, like a cat whose chin has been scratched, a tingling sensation running through my entire body from my neck to my back, my eyes narrowing into slits, and I almost making a gurgling sound in my throat.

He took a deep breath, raised the ball, and aimed it at the basket.

One more goal.

"clang!"

He still didn't make it, but he didn't care anymore.

The teacher said he was a genius.

The teacher said he picked it up quickly.

The teacher said he understood it immediately.

These words are more pleasant to hear than anything else.

Sakuragi picked up the ball and shot it again. Sweat flickered from his forehead, glistening in the light. A small patch of sweat had already dripped onto the wooden floor, but he showed no sign of stopping.

The only sounds in the stadium were the thuds of basketballs hitting the ground and the clanging of metal hitting metal, one after another, with a clumsy but persistent rhythm.

Watching Sakuragi practice, Takeda Hiromitsu knew he had struck gold. If Sakuragi trained properly, with his height advantage, he and Oda could form a duo and perhaps defeat that guy from Tomioka Junior High in the upcoming junior high basketball prefectural tournament starting in June.