👤 Scene 1: The Challenger Arrives
It was after another long practice.
I was locking up the equipment room, wiping sweat off my forehead, when I heard it:
"Still clumsy with your left drive, huh… Akira?"
My blood froze.
I turned, gripping the doorframe.
A tall student leaned against the wall, sleeves rolled up, half-shadowed by the fading sun. Sharp jaw. Eyes like a storm that had seen too much.
"You're not Akira anymore… but you move the same."
I swallowed. "Who are you?"
He walked forward.
"Tetsuya Minami. Fukuda High. Shooting guard. Starter."
Then, colder:
"And the guy you left behind in your final game."
My heart pounded like a drumline.
Minami. Akira's rival. His teammate. His shadow.
The one he promised he'd face again—if he'd lived.
🕰 Scene 2: Flashback – Akira's Final Game
3rd year of middle school. Tokyo District Finals.
The gym was electric. Akira Shindai—No. 10—was leading his team by two points. 42 seconds left.
"You've got this, Shindai!"
Tetsuya Minami had just made a corner three. They were unstoppable together—yin and yang.
Akira knew what he had to do. He dribbled, faked, crossed. Passed to Minami. Cut back in. Got the ball again. He was going for it.
Then—
Pop.
A blinding pain. His chest.
The ball dropped.
He fell.
The crowd's roar turned to gasps.
The scoreboard froze.
Time stopped.
💔 Scene 3: In the Hospital
White walls. Beeping machines. A voice whispering through the fog.
"You overdid it again, Akira…"
It was Minami, sitting beside him.
"They said it was your heart. That it's always been weak."
Akira tried to speak. He couldn't.
"They said you might not play again. That it could kill you."
Silence.
"Promise me you'll stop."
Akira didn't answer.
🕯 Scene 4: Akira's Last Note
Three days later, Minami received a letter.
"If I don't wake up, and you ever see someone who plays like me…
Give them hell. I hate leaving things unfinished."
—Akira
🏀 Scene 5: Present Day – Kudo vs Minami
The court was empty. The sky had gone deep blue.
Minami tossed me a ball.
"You didn't keep your promise."
"I didn't—" I started, then stopped.
Because I realized…
He wasn't wrong.
I, Kudo Hirata, had inherited a past I didn't ask for.
But it was mine now. All of it.
"Then let me keep it now," I said.
He smirked.
"First to 11. Don't hold back."
⚔ The Game Begins
Minami moved like a phantom—tight crossovers, deadly fadeaways.
I countered with quick cuts and instinctive reads I didn't fully remember—but felt.
The court echoed with our shoes. Every point felt like a heartbeat.
9–9.
He whispered, "Show me you're really him."
I smiled.
"No. I'm not Akira."
"I'm Kudo Hirata. And this time—I finish the game."
Spin. Step-back. Jump.
Swish.
Game.
📓 Final Thoughts
As Minami caught his breath, he looked at me and nodded.
"You're not him. But maybe you're better."
I turned away, heart thudding—not from exhaustion, but from closure.
Akira never finished that final match.
But I did.
And something inside me stop hurting.