[KNB] Chapter : 12

Soon, all the first-year students had assembled.

In the foreground of the broadcast, Shirogane addressed the newcomers, his face solemn as he explained Teiko’s basketball philosophy.

“Victory. In every game. No exceptions.”

It sounded impressive.

“This school’s on another level.”
“That’s a lot of people—what, at least a few dozen?”
“This ain’t one of those run-down clubs… this is top-tier.”
“I’ve never seen a squad this stacked. Even the gorillas are tearing up.”

Noticing the flood of reactions, Pan chimed in from his stream:

“This really is different from what we’re used to. Remember Slam Dunk? Sakuragi’s team—Shohoku High—was basically bottom-tier for years.”

“That underdog-to-champion arc is usually the default setting. You start at zero, work your way to 100. It’s the classic formula because it resonates with the audience.”

But… why does it resonate?

Because in real life, only a few ever taste true success.
The average person relates to the struggle.

That’s why so many sports anime deliberately give their protagonists weak, overlooked teams—then show them grinding their way up through effort, teamwork, and perseverance.

It’s inspirational.
It gives hope.

But as Pan pointed out—sometimes, it’s just an illusion.

“Let’s be real,” he continued, “Shohoku was never actually weak. Akagi was the best center in Kanagawa. Rukawa was a once-in-a-decade prodigy. Mitsui? An MVP-level guard. Even their so-called ‘rookies’ were monsters.”

“And don’t even get me started on Prince of Tennis—every school had a lineup of straight-up geniuses.”

So, in a way, Teiko flipping the script wasn’t just bold—it was refreshing.

From the very first scene, they weren’t pretending to be underdogs.

They told the audience: We’re already elite.

But if they’re already that strong…
What’s the hook?
Where’s the drama?

With that question lingering, Pan followed the plot.

The story quickly established the dominance of Teiko’s second-string team, who demolished nearly every group of freshmen that dared to challenge them.

Then came the moment everyone had been waiting for—

Kuroko’s entrance.

The atmosphere shifted.

Pan—and the entire audience—perked up.

They knew what was coming: Kuroko, with his hidden talent, would rally the team for a stunning upset. That’s just how it always goes.

But instead of jumping straight into the action, the scene gave us something... different.

“You seem nervous,” Han said, stretching with perfect calm. “Aren’t you excited? We’re about to play.”

Kuroko hesitated.

“Sorry, Suichi-kun… the upperclassmen are too strong. Aren’t you nervous?”

Han chuckled, pale blue eyes glinting confidently behind his lenses.

“Me? Of course not.
Because I’m the strongest.”

“Q da!!!”
“He dropped the line! Let’s gooo!”
“With a name like Han, of course he came pre-loaded with swagger.”
Pan laughed, momentarily stunned.

“I… I think I’m in love with this guy’s attitude.”

It wasn’t what he expected.

Up until now, the spotlight was clearly on Kuroko. Everyone assumed he would be the one to shake the court.

But now?

The attention had shifted—Han had just stolen the show.

And when his sunglasses were confiscated by Nijimura, the crowd burst into laughter. The moment was electric.

Finally—the game began.

Pan instinctively sat up straighter in his chair.

Five seconds in.

BANG!

The basketball hit the floor with a crack, and every viewer’s eyes widened in shock.

What had just happened?

The camera cut to a second-stringer, Yuta Yamanaka—the same player hyped earlier as the MVP of the second string’s opening match.

But his possession had just been intercepted.
By none other than Han.

Clean. Instant. Brutal.

And because this was an anime, the post-production didn’t hold back.

The screen blacked out at the moment of impact. A flash of light, the sound of a blade being drawn—

Then white sliced through the darkness.

When the image returned to normal, Yamanaka’s pupils were shaking, and the ball was gone.

Everyone—characters and viewers alike—just stared, mouths wide open.

“O”-mouths across the board.

Then came the narration.

“Han. Twelve years old. First-year student at Teiko Middle School.”

“Unlike Tetsuya Kuroko, he isn’t just a basketball enthusiast.”

“Two years ago, at age ten, he witnessed legendary swordsman Yanagi achieve a flawless 100-win streak in competitive kendo. That moment changed him forever.”

A few days later, Han stepped into the neighborhood dojo, curious about the sword arts.
What followed was nothing short of jaw-dropping.

Within a month, he had built a foundation in kendo that would take most people years to establish.
By then, he was already moving on to formal training.

After three months, he’d completely mastered the style taught by the dojo’s master.

At the six-month mark, the dojo head found himself with nothing left to teach. Han had reached the limits of the curriculum.
Undeterred, he turned to self-study—diving deep into the legendary techniques of Yanagi Shidai, the Tenth-Generation Sword master.

At the end of his first year, Han withdrew from the dojo entirely.

He traveled alone to Hokkaido, determined to challenge Yanagi himself.

The result?
A crushing defeat.

But that defeat taught Han a painful truth:

"No matter how perfectly you imitate another’s techniques... it’s still a copy. A shadow of the original."

And so, he changed course.

He began forging his own path—developing his own brand of swordsmanship.
Six months later, he returned to Yanagi’s dojo for a rematch.

He lost again.

But this time... Han walked away smiling.

The reason?

"My body simply hasn’t caught up to my skill," he said.

Years later, Yanagi Shidai would look back on that second match and say:

“Fighting him was like being dissected alive.”
“Han… a genius whose talent surpasses even my own.”

Hissss~

When the narration ended, viewers on the stream—and Pan—were utterly stunned.

“Yo, this guy’s straight-up OP.”
“No way… 11 years old and he’s already slicing up a master Swordman??”
“Hold up—he started kendo at 10 and challenged a master at 11? Isn’t he supposed to be playing basketball now?”

After processing the timeline, the audience felt even more overwhelmed.

“Man, the 2D world is way too busted!”

—

Meanwhile, at a cozy little coffee shop...

Han, who currently worked part-time as a human vase to attract female customers, blinked at the screen.

He, too, could see the live comment feed.

“Wait, when did I get all this backstory?”

“Newbie bonus content. You forgot?” Usagi replied, licking its paw like this was all totally normal.

“What kind of bonus drops a full-on samurai saga into my résumé?”

“You’re not gonna tell me you thought the skill came without its own stats, right?”

“Is that... normal??”

“Of course it is.” Usagi flicked its tail, smug.