Alex scratched the back of his head and looked at Kazuki Kishino with an awkward smile.
"Uh… sorry about that. Really. Total accident."
He meant it. He hadn't tried to hit him in the head. He wasn't that kind of guy — and Masaru Makoto wasn't worth the provocation anyway.
But Masaru didn't see it that way.
To him, it was a direct challenge.
A slap to the face with a basketball.
He didn't say anything. Just stared at Alex in silence — not with anger, but with something more unsettling.
Doubt.
Before the game, Masaru had glanced at Alex's player profile from Coach Taoka's folder. The report had been short, even dismissive.
Started playing in second year of junior high. Less than two years of experience. The final assessment?
"May have potential. Needs time."
But what he'd just witnessed on the court made him question everything.
Is this what 'no potential' looks like?
The guy had out-jumped him like he was glued to the floor. He'd broken through Kishino's defense like it was made of paper. And then — even against his own full-on block — Alex had soared, twisted in the air, and thrown down a dunk that looked like something out of a highlight reel.
And after all that?
"Sorry, I'm a little rusty."
Masaru felt the floor shift beneath him. If that was rusted… what was polished?
Meanwhile, the red team was erupting with cheers.
Aida Hikoichi practically skipped toward Alex, beaming from ear to ear.
He'd been struggling just to get the ball past half court minutes ago — but now, standing beside this teammate, he felt like they could take on the whole league.
"With you on the court," Aida grinned, "it feels like nothing's impossible!"
Alex blinked, caught off guard by the praise.
They're celebrating like we just won nationals…
This wasn't a match with a trophy on the line. Coach Taoka wasn't looking at the scoreboard — he was scanning for something more important.
Talent.
This scrimmage wasn't about winning or losing. It was a battlefield of first impressions.
And Alex had just made one hell of an entrance.
On the sideline, Coach Taoka Moichi finally lifted his head from his clipboard, his brows furrowed in surprise.
"This kid… he's really that strong?"
He quickly flipped through the player sheets again, confirming what he already knew. Alex had only started playing in his second year. Barely two years of experience. And yet, he just dismantled two of Ryonan's top bench players like it was child's play.
Makoto Masaru and Kazuki Kishino weren't stars — but they were solid. Good enough to be reliable substitutes in most high school teams.
And now?
They looked like they'd wandered onto the court by mistake.
Taoka leaned back, expression changing.
At first, he thought this year's batch of rookies was hopeless. Now, one of them was turning that assumption on its head.
It wasn't a pleasant surprise — it was a revelation.
In the stands, the veterans of Ryonan were murmuring among themselves.
"Hey, didn't that move look… kinda familiar?"
"Yeah, it looked exactly like Sendoh's dunk earlier."
"Not kinda. It was identical!"
The one who said that was Koshino Hiroaki.
He should know — he was the one Sendoh had dunked on during warmups. And what Alex had just pulled off?
The same break. The same lift. The same finish.
It was like someone had taken Sendoh's move, cloned it, and played it back.
Koshino's eyes narrowed.
That wasn't coincidence… He copied him. On purpose.
The whispers reached Taoka's ears.
The coach's eyes sharpened. He hadn't been present during the earlier warm-up drills — he'd missed Sendoh's dunk. So he turned to Yuzumi, his assistant, hoping for clarity.
Yuzumi gave a serious nod.
"Yes, Coach. It was almost a perfect replica of Sendoh's move. Same timing, same rhythm — honestly, it even looked a little sharper."
Taoka's eyes widened.
He copied it… after seeing it once?
And if that was just an imitation…
Then what's his real ability?
His heartbeat quickened. Was this divine luck? A gift from the basketball gods?
Could Alex be… Ryonan's next Sendoh?
He quickly shook the thought away. Players like Sendoh didn't come around twice. That kind of all-around prodigy was a once-in-a-decade miracle.
Still…
Alex had just mimicked one of Sendoh's signature dunks in front of the whole team — and made it look effortless.
I need to keep watching. Closely.
Whatever the truth was, Taoka wasn't going to take his eyes off Alex now.
Everyone else on the court faded into the background — the other rookies, even Kishino and Masaru — irrelevant.
There was only one player worth watching.
Not far from the bench, Sendoh stood with his arms crossed, still chewing on a stick of gum, eyes locked on Alex's figure.
He tilted his head slightly and grinned.
"This guy… might actually be fun."