[KNB] Chapter : 18

"Who’s the cat? Me?"
Han glanced at the scrolling barrage, smirked, and shook his head.
He slid off his sunglasses, folded them with care, and stepped onto the court with quiet determination.

With a flick of his fingers, he closed the barrage window.

No distractions.
Not today.

This was his first official appearance—and he was going to give it everything.
He wasn’t just here to play.

He was here to win.

The match began.

The format followed international regulations: four quarters, ten minutes each, forty minutes of play.

A temporary referee from Teikō’s second-string squad stood in for the officials—not ideal, but at least the numbers were even.

The whistle pierced the air. The basketball soared skyward.

Kawasaki’s center stepped up with swagger. He was ready to teach these “rookies” a lesson.

Known as one of Kanagawa’s Four Great Centers, his stats from the previous season—13 points and 10 rebounds per game—spoke for themselves.
A towering presence, athletic and aggressive, he idolized David Robinson and carried himself like it.

“Listen up, rookie. Basketball isn’t about who’s taller!”

With a confident leap, he swung at the ball.

Smack!

…

Wait.

Where was the ball?

For a heartbeat, he stood there, confused—hands out, empty.
His eyes darted around, and then he saw it:

The basketball was already in Murasakibara’s hands—effortlessly tapped to a teammate.

One of Kanagawa’s top centers had just been cleanly out-jumped by a first-year.

Murasakibara stared at him, unfazed.

“Huh? What’d you say again?”

The Kawasaki center turned red.

“You… just wait!”

Teikō gained possession.

Without hesitation, they shifted into a full-team press, setting up for their signature positional offense.

Nijimura—the team’s core—received the first pass and immediately drove forward.

Though listed as a power forward, Nijimura moved with the agility of a shooting guard, his footwork slick, his balance unshakable.

A sharp step-back left his defender stumbling.
With grace and power, he surged into the paint—

—only to be met by two Kawasaki defenders, closing in from both sides. A third, previously beaten, looped around behind him.

A triangle trap.

But this wasn’t panic. This was strategy.

Shirogane had built Teikō’s offense around Shūzō's versatility—his eyes, his passes, his explosive drives.
And now, just like last season, the whole court moved in rhythm with him.

As Kawasaki's three-man trap formed, the other four Teikō players scattered—each targeting an open lane.

The defense had overcommitted.
A tiny crack opened.

That was all they needed.

From the corner, Teikō’s shooting guard—left completely alone—caught Shūzō’s crisp pass.

Splash.

3–0.

Teikō drew first blood.

“Clean as ever,” someone from the stands whispered.

Kawasaki’s bench didn’t flinch.

They’d anticipated this.

They knew this was a warm-up game, and they knew exactly who Teikō was.

“Stick to the game plan. Stay calm.”

“Yes, sir!”

Their players responded in unison, their eyes sharp with conviction.

This year was different.

Kawasaki was at its peak. All five of their core players were in their second year.
Next year, they’d be scattered across high schools.

This—right now—was their last shot at glory.

They’d sacrificed everything for it.

Even love.

One player hadn’t replied to his girlfriend’s texts in days.
Basketball was all that mattered.

"That tiny ball over there? This one’s way bigger. Smart people know which to pick."

Kawasaki took possession and quickly passed the ball to their offensive core—Ayumi Yoshizawa, their starting shooting guard and the player Coach Shirogane had warned about earlier.

When Han first heard the name, his mind wandered:

"Yoshizawa Ayumi? Wait—does he have a sister?"

Meanwhile, Ayumi, seeing that Han was assigned to guard him, smirked inwardly.

“Lucky me. It’s just a rookie. This one’s a freebie.”

No hesitation. He exploded forward with a lightning-quick first step, changed direction, and went straight for a mid-range pull-up jumper.

“Too easy. Kid’s too green.”

Ayumi grinned in his mind, already imagining the ball sailing through the net. After all, he wasn’t new to this. It had taken him an entire year to rise from benchwarmer to starter—and not because of his offense, but because his defense had finally matured.

That was the typical rookie problem: decent attack, paper-thin defense. Easy to beat, easy to break.

But then—

Cold.

A sudden chill surged down his spine.

And then—nothing.

His hands… were empty.

"What the—?"

He looked down just in time to see a slender, pale arm slice between his hands like a blade, cutting through his grip and stealing the ball cleanly.

“That’s it?”

Han’s voice was casual—almost bored.

“My coach made you sound like a big deal. You’re really no different from Yamanaka Yuta.”

Yamanaka—who had been clapping on the sidelines for Han just moments ago—froze.
That backhanded compliment cut deep.

Even though the words came from lips smiling at 30 degrees, they stung with 100 degrees of shade.

Nijimura quickly snatched up the loose ball. Han had already spun around and raised his hand, calling for the pass as he dashed up the court.

Ayumi snapped out of his daze and chased after him.

His face burned.
He’d laughed too hard before the game. Now it felt like karma was sprinting ahead of him—wearing sunglasses and mocking his pride.

Just as he was catching up, Han abruptly stopped, pulling off a sharp hesitation.

Ayumi braked hard, nearly stumbling.

And then—boom.

Han burst forward again, slicing past him in a blur.

The crowd buzzed.

Even Coach Shirogane found himself clapping involuntarily.

"Such instincts… such control…"

Han’s talent couldn’t be hidden—like fireflies in the night, his brilliance glowed in motion.

“With this one,” Shirogane thought, “I won’t even need to recruit anymore.”

Now under the basket, Han gathered himself, soared into the air—

—and slammed the ball through the hoop with a one-handed dunk that echoed through the gym.

Kawasaki Dai-fuzoku had just been introduced to the new generation of Teikō.

And Han?

He wasn't just playing the game.

He was owning it.