On the court, Haizaki Shogo had finished tidying his backpack and was preparing to leave with the rest of the team.
Walking at the rear, he suddenly turned his head, glanced toward where Kuroko Tetsuya stood, and whispered in a voice only he could hear:
"Generation of Miracles… First blood!"
On the team bus, the entire Fukuda Sogo squad was caught in a wave of excitement, joy, and laughter.
Even the usually stern and strict Coach Ichiro Kudo had the corners of his mouth lifted in satisfaction.
Yes, Fukuda Sogo had already secured their advancement.
The next two games no longer mattered—they became practice matches, opportunities for Coach Kudo to train players and for others to gain experience on the court.
Amid the chatter and laughter of his teammates, Shogo and Shimizu Rena stepped off the bus, parting ways with the rest.
"Shogo-kun, are you going to fencing practice this afternoon?"
Shogo shook his head. Though he still had energy, he was exhausted—fatigue not from his body but from mental strain.
"Tomorrow afternoon then. Let's go together. Now, let's grab something to eat."
"Sure, Shogo-kun!"
Holding hands with the beautiful Shimizu, Shogo led her into a Western-style restaurant.
No fancy arrangements—after pulling out a chair for her, Shogo lazily sank into his own seat, waiting for the food.
A perfectly cooked steak, a bottle of refreshing yogurt, and a plate of pasta—a balanced meal. Shogo finished quickly and escorted Shimizu home.
It wasn't that he didn't want to continue having fun with her.
It was simply that he was truly, deeply tired. Not a fatigue that could be measured in sweat or sore muscles, but a weariness rooted in the mental tension of the game.
Throughout the match, Shogo had acted brash and flashy, showing off and pulling off audacious plays.
But who could understand that, at every moment, he was vigilant—watching for whether the lights and shadows on the court might try to pull off some unpredictable trick.
After all, facing the protagonist of his memories—the child of fate—Shogo had to remain cautious.
Now, however, the result was clear. Shogo realized something important:
The past was fading. Everything must be based on the living, breathing world before him—the real, tangible world.
On the train home, watching the cityscape slip past, Shogo finally felt that life wasn't some dreamlike illusion—it was real, solid, and present.
Back at home, after rubbing his soft little belly, Shogo greeted his mother and collapsed onto his bed, sinking into a deep sleep.
The small dog lay obediently beside him, silent and still.
Everything was utterly quiet—like the calm before dawn, like the ashes of a fire settling, like the darkness where seeds germinate underground.
He slept long and deeply.
When Shogo finally opened his eyes, it was already 8:30 a.m. the next day.
Seventeen full hours of sleep—so long that even Shogo couldn't believe it. His brother and mother had checked on him twice, each time reassured by the steady, even rhythm of his breathing.
Seeing breakfast on the table, Shogo devoured a medium-sized fried egg in one bite.
"Mother, yesterday's match was tiring… I just fell asleep."
His mother said nothing, only asked if he wanted another egg.
Shogo shook his head. After breakfast, he took the dog out for a walk.
He carried his blunt long spear, prompting a peculiar look from his mother.
At the park, Shogo tied the dog aside and began practicing punches, followed by a set of spear techniques, vigorous and fierce.
Unfortunately, without a machete, he couldn't practice sword forms. Grumbling, he led the dog back home, the old folks around staring in awe.
Next came a shower and a change of clothes.
Dressed in casual wear, Shogo returned to the living room just in time for lunch.
After finishing the meal prepared by his mother, he slung his sports bag over his shoulder and headed out.
Walking to the city center, not only to warm up but also to aid digestion after the large meal.
At the fencing hall, neither Shimizu nor the alluring Coach Miyazaki had arrived yet.
So Shogo dragged the head coach, who had just eaten, to the practice platform, and they began sparring amid the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of swords cutting through the air.
Three consecutive rounds, each nine minutes, twenty-seven minutes of high-intensity training left both Shogo and the head coach panting.
"I can't keep up with you young ones anymore. Go find someone else to spar with. I need a break."
"You're the coach… a man. You can't quit."
"Get lost. Whether I can or can't isn't your business."
At that moment, a crisp, sharp voice rang out:
"I don't know about the coach, but I know you can't do it."
It was the sleek-haired Miyazaki-sensei, fully changed and standing on the floor, taunting Shogo.
How could Shogo, after admitting weakness to another man, ever accept that?
"Come on, Coach Miyazaki. Let's have 300 rounds of combat!"
The words were said, and regret instantly followed—because Miyazaki leapt onto the platform, drawing her rapier, ready to duel.
My god! Shogo had just finished an intense sparring session, and less than two minutes of rest had passed.
He couldn't possibly say he wasn't capable now—that would be a huge embarrassment.
Donning his mask, Shogo tossed out a boast under Miyazaki's mischievous gaze:
"Come on then. Let's see how long it takes before you beg for mercy."
The boast was grand, and the result harsh. In the first round, Shogo barely managed to fend off the sleek Miyazaki-sensei.
By the second and third rounds, high-intensity anaerobic maneuvers left his whole body aching and exhausted.
His movements lagged behind his mind—pain searing every inch except where the metal armor offered some protection.
The sleek coach showed no mercy, ruthlessly attacking Shogo.
Finally, the last round ended. Shogo removed his mask, ignored greetings, and collapsed flat on the floor, gasping for air.
From the side came a familiar giggle, giggle, giggle.
Of course, it was Shimizu Rena, enjoying the show as Shogo was mercilessly toyed with by Coach Miyazaki.
Even Miyazaki herself was winded, but compared to Shogo, she looked calm and collected.
Shogo rolled off the platform, leaving the space for the two beauties to spar and teach.
Lying on the edge of the platform, he began appreciating their graceful, explosive display—like a combination of serenity and sudden, wild energy.
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