Inside the Himura High gymnasium, the moment Zaboru and Takehiko Inoue stepped in, several students and staff members immediately noticed them. At first, their expressions showed confusion. Two unfamiliar adults had entered during basketball practice, and one of them was wearing plain glasses, a wig, and a slightly worn-out jacket that made him look suspiciously ordinary.
"Excuse me, who are—"
Before one of the students could finish asking, his eyes shifted toward Takehiko.
The atmosphere changed slightly.
"Eh? Inoue-sensei?"
Some of the students recognized him almost immediately. Takehiko had visited before, partly because he had been interested in watching high school basketball, and partly because rumors about a strange red-haired player had reached him. Even though Takehiko was not the kind of celebrity who attracted loud crowds everywhere he went, among basketball-loving students and manga readers, his face was familiar enough.
Takehiko smiled modestly and bowed his head a little.
"Sorry for disturbing practice," he said gently. "We only came to observe for a moment."
The students relaxed after hearing that. Some nodded with excitement. Others whispered among themselves, clearly surprised that the creator of Slam Dunk had come again.
But Zaboru barely cared about any of that.
His eyes were already locked on the court.
Because there, in front of him, was something that made goosebumps crawl across his arms.
A red-haired boy was running back on defense with wild energy, shouting at his teammates as if he owned the entire gym. His hairstyle was a bold pompadour, his body was lean but powerful, and his movement had that strange raw explosiveness that could not be taught easily. He was rough. He was loud. He was still unpolished.
But the presence was unmistakable.
Zaboru stood still behind his disguise.
His lips slowly curled upward.
"It's really him…" he murmured under his breath. "It's Sakuragi Hanamichi."
Takehiko glanced at Zaboru quietly. He noticed the strange shine in Zaboru's eyes, but he did not interrupt. In truth, Takehiko understood that feeling. When he had first seen the boy himself, he had felt something similar. It was not exactly fear, but it was not simple surprise either. It was the uncanny feeling of seeing fiction and reality stand too close to each other.
On the court, the practice match continued. Himura A wore white shirts, while Himura B wore black. For a Japanese high school team, Himura's players were unusually tall. Most of them were already above 180 centimeters, and there were even one or two who looked close to 190. It was the kind of team that made scouts pay attention.
Yet even among them, the red-haired boy stood out.
Not only because of his hair.
Because of the way he moved.
A Himura A shooting guard received a pass near the wing, quickly squared his shoulders, and released a mid-range shot. A defender from Himura B jumped late but still managed to disturb the shooting motion. The ball flew slightly off balance.
"Rebound!" someone shouted.
The ball struck the rim hard.
For one split second, everyone's eyes followed it as it bounced upward.
The ball reached its highest point.
Then the red-haired boy launched himself like a rocket.
"YOOSHA!"
His voice exploded across the gym as he rose above the crowd, his right hand reaching the ball before anyone else could even react properly. He grabbed it with brutal timing, came down for only the shortest moment, then immediately jumped again before the defenders fully turned.
The rim shook.
The gym erupted.
He had slammed the ball back in with a putback dunk.
"YEAH!" the red-haired boy shouted, landing heavily and flexing his arms with shameless pride.
His teammates shouted in amazement.
"Hanamichi!"
"That was insane!"
"Don't get cocky, idiot!"
Zaboru grinned from ear to ear.
A quiet laugh slipped from his mouth.
"Hehehe…"
Takehiko looked at him again and smiled awkwardly. Zaboru looked like a child who had just found a legendary secret character in a game. But Takehiko could not blame him. Even now, after seeing this boy several times, he still found the resemblance unsettling.
The match continued for another ten minutes.
And the more Zaboru watched, the more amused he became.
Hanamichi was a menace on defense and hustle plays. His rebounding instinct was absurd. He chased loose balls like they had insulted his family. He boxed out with angry determination, jumped at ridiculous angles, and contested shots with the kind of stubborn confidence that made shooters hesitate. Whenever someone tried to drive into the paint, Hanamichi met them like a wall with legs.
But the moment he had to dribble, everything became a disaster.
The first time he tried to bring the ball up, he bounced it too high and nearly slapped it off his own foot.
The second time, he tried to cross over, but the ball hit his knee and flew sideways.
The third time, he attempted to drive through two defenders, grinned like a genius, then immediately lost the ball because he forgot there was a second defender.
"Damn it!" Hanamichi shouted. "That was just bad luck!"
His teammate yelled back, "It was not bad luck! You can't dribble!"
"Shut up! My genius body was too fast for the ball!"
Zaboru almost laughed out loud.
Takehiko lowered his head, shoulders trembling slightly as he tried not to chuckle.
"He really is…" Zaboru whispered.
Takehiko smiled modestly. "Yes. That is why I was surprised too."
Hanamichi was rough, arrogant, ridiculous, and somehow full of charm. He did not yet understand basketball deeply, but his body already loved the game. His instincts were ahead of his skill. His pride was ahead of his fundamentals. His energy was almost too much for the court to contain.
After the match ended, Himura A won by a narrow margin. The players walked toward the side of the gym, drinking water, wiping sweat, and arguing about mistakes. Hanamichi did not look completely exhausted. He was breathing hard, but his eyes were still bright, as if he could play another match immediately if someone challenged him.
Takehiko and Zaboru approached the group.
Hanamichi noticed Takehiko first.
His face immediately lit up with arrogant familiarity.
"Yo, Ossan!" Hanamichi said with a grin. "Looks like your manga about me finally ended, huh? The ending was pretty good! I approve it! Hahaha!"
Takehiko gave a small, helpless laugh.
One of Hanamichi's teammates smacked him lightly on the back of the head.
"Idiot, Slam Dunk is not about you."
Another teammate added, "You only look like the main character."
A third one muttered, "Actually, you're more annoying than the main character."
The group laughed.
Hanamichi turned toward them with a sharp grin. "What did you say, you bastards?"
His tone sounded threatening, but everyone could tell he was joking.
Takehiko chuckled softly, though his expression carried a strange wonder. The arrogance, the posture, the reactions, the stupid confidence—it was all too familiar. Even though this boy was not Sakuragi, he had the same kind of ridiculous flame.
Zaboru's grin widened.
Even his demeanor is the same, he thought.
Then Zaboru stepped forward.
Hanamichi's eyes shifted toward him.
The moment he looked at Zaboru, his playful grin weakened slightly.
Even under the disguise, even with the wig, glasses, and worn-out jacket, Hanamichi instinctively felt something unusual. This man did not feel like an ordinary adult. His posture was relaxed, but not weak. His presence was quiet, but not small. There was something hidden behind him, something sharp.
Hanamichi narrowed his eyes.
"Who are you, old man?"
Zaboru laughed softly.
"Old man?" he repeated. "I'm not that old."
Hanamichi stood up.
The difference in height was not huge. Zaboru was around 186 centimeters, while Hanamichi was around 188. Standing face-to-face, they looked surprisingly close in size. But while Hanamichi had the raw power of youth, Zaboru had the calm weight of someone who had faced far more dangerous things than a high school basketball player.
Zaboru looked him up and down.
"What's your name and height, young man?" he asked casually.
Hanamichi crossed his arms proudly. "Taiga Hanamichi. Seventeen years old. Around 188 centimeters."
Zaboru's eyes widened for a tiny moment.
Taiga Hanamichi?
For real?
He almost laughed.
"Don't tell me this guy is some strange combination of Kagami Taiga and Sakuragi Hanamichi…" Zaboru thought, deeply amused. "This world is getting ridiculous again."
But he quickly regained his composure.
A mischievous grin appeared on his face.
He already knew exactly what kind of words would provoke this type of boy.
"Okay then, Little Tiger," Zaboru said lightly. "How about a bet?"
Hanamichi's eyebrow twitched. "Little Tiger?"
Zaboru smiled. "You look good at defense and hustle plays. Rebounding too. So let's test it."
The gym became quieter.
The students began paying attention.
Zaboru continued, "One-on-one. I'll be on offense. You defend. If you stop me from scoring even once, you win."
Hanamichi stared at him.
For a second, he looked insulted.
Then his grin slowly returned.
"Oho…"
Zaboru lifted the shoe bag he had been carrying on his back and opened it.
The moment the shoes inside were revealed, the boys around them froze.
One student's mouth fell open.
"Is… is that Air Jordan VI?"
Another student leaned forward, eyes shining.
"The same model Michael Jordan wore this year?"
"The shoes he won his first championship with?"
"No way…"
The entire group became restless.
Air Jordan VI was already expensive in Japan, but with Michael Jordan winning his first championship this year in this world, the shoes had gained even more mythical value. For basketball-obsessed students, seeing them in person felt like seeing a sacred item.
One of the boys whispered, "That could reach fifty thousand yen here…"
Hanamichi blinked.
He looked at the shoes, then at his friends.
"Is that good?"
His friends almost collapsed.
"Good? You idiot! Those are insanely expensive!"
"Those are Jordan's shoes!"
"Even if you don't understand, just understand this: they are worth more than your entire brain!"
"Hey!" Hanamichi snapped.
Zaboru chuckled.
"You can wear them too," Zaboru said. "They're probably close to your size."
Hanamichi's eyes sharpened.
The bait had landed perfectly.
"So if I stop you once, those shoes are mine?" he asked.
"Yes."
Hanamichi grinned.
"Fine then, old man. Let's go."
Zaboru smiled. "Good."
The students quickly cleared space. Even the coach did not immediately stop them, partly because Takehiko was there, and partly because the atmosphere had become too interesting to interrupt. Everyone wanted to see what would happen.
Zaboru stepped onto the court and casually removed his jacket.
Then he pulled off the plain outer shirt he had worn over his clothes.
The moment his upper body was revealed through his sleeveless training shirt, several students went silent.
Zaboru's body was ripped.
Not bodybuilder huge, but dense, athletic, and terrifyingly well-trained. His shoulders were broad, arms defined, chest powerful, and core visible even under the fabric. It was the kind of physique that made it clear he did not only play around with sports. He trained seriously.
Hanamichi's eyes widened slightly.
But only for a moment.
Then he grinned even harder.
"So you're not just some random old man."
Zaboru dribbled the ball once.
The sound echoed across the gym.
"No," Zaboru said with a calm smile. "I'm not."
The first possession began.
Hanamichi crouched low, arms wide, eyes sharp.
For a raw high schooler, his defensive stance was surprisingly intense. His reaction speed was good. His reach was annoying. His athleticism was obvious. Against most players his age, he would have been terrifying.
But Zaboru was not most players.
Zaboru started with a slow dribble.
Hanamichi watched him carefully.
Then Zaboru shifted his weight.
One hesitation.
One low crossover.
Hanamichi reacted explosively, but too aggressively.
Zaboru slipped past him like water.
Before Hanamichi could fully turn, Zaboru had already reached the rim and finished with a Heavy dunk..
The ball dropped through the net.
The gym went quiet.
Hanamichi froze.
Zaboru caught the ball as it bounced back.
"One," he said casually.
Hanamichi's face twitched. "That was warm-up!"
Zaboru smiled. "Then warm up quickly."
The second possession was worse.
Hanamichi pressed harder, determined not to let him drive. Zaboru calmly backed him up, turned his shoulder slightly, then spun into a long fadeaway jumper. Hanamichi jumped with all his power, his hand reaching high, but the ball had already left Zaboru's fingertips with perfect arc.
Swish.
The students gasped.
Takehiko's eyes widened.
He had expected Zaboru to be athletic. He had expected him to know basketball. But this was different. Zaboru's movements were too polished, too experienced, too comfortable under pressure.
"This is…" Takehiko murmured. "He is really good."
The third possession made the entire gym shout.
Hanamichi adjusted again, now trying to read Zaboru's rhythm. His eyes were burning. His pride had been touched. He wanted one stop. Just one.
Zaboru bounced the ball slowly.
Then suddenly exploded forward.
Hanamichi moved with him.
For a moment, it looked like he had stayed in front.
Then Zaboru planted his foot, pulled the ball back, and crossed again.
Hanamichi's balance broke.
His foot slipped.
He stumbled backward, nearly falling.
The gym exploded.
"Whoa!"
"He broke him!"
"Hanamichi got cooked!"
"Shut up!" Hanamichi shouted, face red with anger.
Zaboru calmly stepped back and shot from mid-range.
Swish.
Hanamichi stared at the floor, then at Zaboru.
For the first time, his confidence looked shaken.
But Zaboru did not stop.
Possession after possession, he destroyed him.
He drove past him.
He faked him into the air.
He finished under his arm.
He used footwork so sharp that Hanamichi kept biting on the wrong movement.
He posted him up, bumped once, turned, and scored with a soft hook.
Then Zaboru's grin became sharper.
Until now, he had been beating Hanamichi with skill, timing, footwork, and experience. He had crossed him, faked him, spun around him, and scored over him with movements Hanamichi could barely understand. But Hanamichi was still clinging to one thing.
His body.
His pride.
His physical power.
So Zaboru decided to challenge that directly.
He bounced the ball once, slowly, almost lazily.
Hanamichi crouched lower, breathing hard, sweat dripping from his chin. His eyes were burning with frustration, but his stance still carried stubborn confidence.
"If it's strength and jumping, I won't lose," Hanamichi muttered.
Zaboru heard him.
His smile widened.
"Good," Zaboru said calmly. "Then stop me with that body you're so proud of."
The gym became completely silent.
Hanamichi's teammates froze.
Even Takehiko unconsciously held his breath.
Zaboru suddenly moved.
It was not a normal drive.
The first step was so explosive that Hanamichi's eyes widened before his body could react. Zaboru crossed the ball low from right to left, not with flashy streetball movement, but with brutal efficiency. The ball snapped across the floor like a whip, and Hanamichi's hips turned half a second too late.
Still, Hanamichi refused to be beaten.
He forced himself back into the lane, using his long legs and raw athleticism to recover. For a moment, it looked like he had caught up. His body moved on instinct, chasing Zaboru toward the left side of the paint.
"Got you!" Hanamichi shouted.
Zaboru did not slow down.
Instead, he accelerated.
The moment Zaboru planted his left foot near the paint, the floor seemed to crack beneath him. His body rose upward with terrifying power, not simply jumping, but exploding into the air. His core stayed perfectly balanced. His shoulders remained firm. His eyes never left the rim.
Hanamichi jumped too.
He jumped with everything.
His pride, anger, athleticism, and humiliation all gathered into one desperate attempt to block him. He stretched his arm as high as he could, his palm reaching for the ball, his body colliding with Zaboru in midair.
But the instant their bodies met, Hanamichi understood something horrifying.
Zaboru did not move.
Hanamichi was the one who got moved.
The impact hit him like a wall. Zaboru's core was too strong, his balance too solid, his momentum too violent. Hanamichi's chest bumped into him, but instead of stopping Zaboru, it only made Hanamichi's own body twist backward in the air.
For the first time, Hanamichi's physical gift failed him completely.
Zaboru rose through the contact.
His arm cocked back.
Hanamichi's eyes widened in absolute disbelief.
Then—
BANG!
Zaboru slammed the ball through the rim directly over him.
The sound exploded across the gym like a gunshot.
The rim bent violently.
The backboard shook.
Hanamichi's hand missed the ball by inches, and his body, unable to handle the collision, was thrown off balance. He landed badly, stumbled backward, then fell onto the wooden floor with a heavy thud.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Nobody moved.
The entire gym looked frozen.
Hanamichi sat on the floor, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, staring up at Zaboru like his entire understanding of strength had just been destroyed.
He had not merely been dunked on.
He had been erased at the rim.
His teammates were speechless.
This was Hanamichi, the guy who bullied rebounds out of the sky, the guy who overwhelmed other students with jumping power, stamina, and reckless physicality. Seeing him lose by skill would have been one thing. Seeing him get outsmarted was embarrassing enough.
But this was different.
Hanamichi had challenged Zaboru with his body.
And his body had lost.
Completely.
One of his teammates whispered, almost in disbelief, "No way…"
Another swallowed hard. "Hanamichi got overpowered…"
Even the coach did not say anything.
Takehiko stood near the sideline with his hand covering his mouth, his eyes wide with quiet shock. He had seen Hanamichi's explosiveness before. He knew how abnormal the boy was for his age. That was exactly why the scene felt so unbelievable.
Zaboru was not just more skilled.
He was stronger.
More balanced.
More complete.
Zaboru hung on the rim for only a brief second, calm and controlled, as if he had not just crushed the pride of Himura High's most athletic player in front of everyone. Then he released the rim and dropped lightly to the floor.
The ball bounced away.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Each bounce sounded painfully loud in the silence.
Zaboru looked down at Hanamichi, still wearing that relaxed smile and don't say anything
Hanamichi clenched his teeth.
His face burned red.
Not from anger alone.
From humiliation.
Because everyone had seen it.
Everyone had seen him fly up with confidence.
And everyone had seen him fall.
His eyes were full of surprise, anger, confusion, and something deeper.
Realization.
He could not guard him.
Not even close.
Every time Hanamichi thought he understood the movement, Zaboru changed the rhythm. Every time he tried to use his athleticism, Zaboru used timing. Every time he tried to overpower him, Zaboru used skill. It was like trying to catch a shadow that knew exactly how his body worked. And now in pure physicall Zaboru still bully him.
Hanamichi clenched his fists.
"Damn it…"
Zaboru picked up the ball and smiled calmly.
"You have good instincts," he said. "Your jumping power is excellent. Your second jump is fast. Your rebounding timing is already special But jumping high doesn't matter if your body breaks in the air."
Hanamichi looked at him.
"And your fundamentals are terrible," Zaboru continued. "Your footwork is raw. Your dribble is bad. Your defensive pressure is too emotional. You bite on fakes too easily. You rely on your body because your body has always saved you."
Hanamichi's jaw tightened.
Some of his teammates became quiet.
Zaboru's words were sharp, but they did not feel cruel. They felt accurate.
Takehiko watched silently, his expression softening. This was not merely a grown man showing off against a high schooler. Zaboru was teaching him. Harshly, but seriously.
Zaboru stepped closer and offered Hanamichi his hand.
"Well played, Hanamichi-kun," Zaboru said with a grin. "But remember this."
Hanamichi stared at his hand.
Zaboru continued, "You may think you're a genius. Maybe you are. But in this life, you're not the only genius. There are geniuses out there who train harder than you, study more than you, suffer more than you, and become monsters because they refuse to stay only talented."
Hanamichi's eyes widened.
Zaboru's smile became calmer.
"There is always a sky above the sky."
The gym fell silent.
Hanamichi stared at Zaboru for a long moment.
Then his grin slowly returned.
Not the arrogant grin from before.
This one was different.
Hungrier.
"Okay then…" Hanamichi said, gripping Zaboru's hand and pulling himself forward. "I'll train harder."
His voice rose.
"I'LL TRAIN HARDER AND BECOME A MONSTER TOO!"
His teammates immediately started clapping, laughing, and shouting.
"That's the spirit, idiot!"
"Learn how to dribble first!"
"Yeah, monster of turnovers!"
"Shut up, you bastards!"
Zaboru laughed.
He liked this kid.
He liked him a lot.
That fighting spirit, that shameless confidence, that instant hunger after being crushed—it was exactly the kind of flame that could become something huge if guided properly.
Zaboru walked back to the shoe bag, picked up the Air Jordan VI, and tossed them toward Hanamichi.
Hanamichi caught the box clumsily, eyes widening.
"Eh?"
"Wear them," Zaboru said.
Hanamichi blinked. "But I didn't stop you."
"I know."
"Then why?"
Zaboru smiled. "Because I changed the condition."
Hanamichi stared at him.
Zaboru pointed at the shoes. "Next year, I want to see Himura win the Japan championship. Wear those and show everyone what kind of player you can become. Understand?"
For a moment, Hanamichi was quiet.
Then he hugged the shoe box tightly and grinned with ridiculous confidence.
"Of course! Just watch me, old man! I'll win the whole damn thing!"
His teammates laughed again, but this time there was genuine excitement in their voices.
Takehiko watched the scene with a soft smile. His eyes looked slightly emotional. It was strange. He had created a character inspired by reality, and now reality had somehow answered him with another boy who carried that same burning spirit.
Zaboru put his disguise back properly and walked toward Takehiko.
"He's really interesting, Take-san," Zaboru said.
Takehiko nodded modestly. "Yes. He is rough, but… there is something special there."
"There is," Zaboru said, smiling.
Then, as if he were talking about buying groceries, he added, "I think I'll buy an NBA club in near future."
Takehiko froze.
"Eh?"
Zaboru continued casually, "If Japan produces players like him, they'll need a real path. Not just admiration from far away. A proper route. Training, scouting, support, maybe exchange programs. If I own an NBA team, I can create that chance directly."
Takehiko stared at him.
His expression became completely flabbergasted, but in his usual reserved way. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again. He lowered his eyes, smiled helplessly, and let out a quiet sigh.
"Boss…" he said softly. "You really say things on a different scale."
Zaboru looked at him. "What?"
Takehiko chuckled, still overwhelmed. "Most people would say, 'I hope Japanese players can enter the NBA someday.' You say, 'I will buy an NBA club.'"
Zaboru thought about it for a second.
Then he laughed.
"That does sound a little crazy."
"A little," Takehiko said politely.
Zaboru grinned. "But possible."
Takehiko could only smile and shake his head.
That was Zaboru's "casual" after all.
The two left the gym together after thanking the coach and greeting the students briefly. Behind them, Hanamichi was already opening the shoe box with trembling excitement while his teammates surrounded him like he had obtained a holy relic.
Outside, the AE86 was already waiting in front of the school.
Kugo and Yuuya stood nearby with serious expressions, guarding the car as if they were protecting national treasure.
Takehiko saw them and became quiet again.
Then he glanced at Zaboru.
Zaboru only smiled like everything was normal.
Takehiko sighed softly.
Yes.
This was definitely Zaboru's normal.
To be continued.
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