At this juncture, it would be wise for the reader to recap what we know about our main character, Mitsui Hisashi. At this particular summer, he was drawing to the end of his last year at Shohoku High. Having come back to the basketball team in a most spectacular manner, drawn by a mingled scorn and yearning jealousy of the rapidly ascending club, he cut off all ties with bad company as he chopped off his locks, and pitched in with the shooting skills that had distinguished him as MVP in earlier years. They had proven extremely useful in the Inter Highs, and, contrary to what the king had said, Mitsui was once again embraced by the sport which he had firmly believed was forever barred to him.
Of the old Mitsui, only the dogged tenacity – on which his bad reputation was firmly built on, because of one incident where he had intervened between the then-reigning delinquent king and an honest mailman – remained. That, and his loyal gang, made up of juveniles ostracized for their thuggish appearances and rough mannerisms.
Contrary to a large part of the regular student population, the summer holidays were not a time of rest for the basketball team. With the conclusion of the championships, they were continuing to train at least three times a week for the winter season. Akagi was deliberating over whom the baton of leadership should be passed to once he left high school, in what would be a more than honourable discharge, and he would drive a hard task of his successor, especially with the recent triumphs in mind.
As such, Mitsui knew he would be occupied at least to this extent for this break – a great improvement over the recent past, which consisted of picking on neighbourhood runts, trying to avoid the second-smoke from his friends (one of the lasting vanities of the fallen middle school player), and generally taking up space without good reason or purpose. It wasn't a period of life to be proud of, so Mitsui fell to the new activity with refreshed gusto and energy, and was gratified to see himself improve.
It was at one of the early trainings after he rejoined the team, when everyone had been very focused on the Kanagawa tournaments, that something that otherwise would have been unremarkable stood out. The weather at that time was not as warm as the present moment. Nevertheless, the smell of hard work, copious perspiration mingled with the slight acrid scent of the basketballs, accompanied the echoing sounds of dribbling and rubber-soled screeches.
The chamber of the court was as sacred to the team as a church to the faithful. Mitsui reveled in the machinations of their drills and movements, and especially the gratifying swish of the net with every goal. There was little if no talk in this vault. The flying orange spheres spoke of synchrony and symphony, and the waterfalls of sweat and the hush of expelled breath sounded to him as serene as a brook rushing through a twilit forest.
They were practicing a box-on-one formation in a game setting, when some disturbance by the gym doors arose. The strategy ended badly, according to Akagi, who accepted nothing less than paragon, and they gathered to the bench for a water break before he would expound on the exercise. All of them were panting fit to burst, and were at a loss for words for a full minute.
It was into this lull that a girl entered through the gym doors, which had been pushed ajar. She struggled with a full bucket of water, with a mop clamped under the other elbow, looking well foolish because that arm was strapped across her chest, fingers to collar, in an elevated arm sling made out of a neatly folded bandage.
For a second, Mitsui thought that he should go over and help her, but then Ayako and Haruko accosted her from the other side of the doors. The girl shook her head, but Ayako took the bucket from her and carried it towards the raised stage area at the far end of the hall, forcing her to trot in her footsteps.
"I was supposed to clean up today," Sakuragi said. This freshman was tall, solid, and endowed with a crown of striking red hair that gleamed in the light – a crown that could offer the most spectacular headbutts. As Haruko came closer, he turned to her as if attracted by a magnet, smiling helplessly.
She greeted them and set down a small bag on the bench. "I know everyone is training very hard, so I brought some granola bars for you to charge up. Sakuragi-kun, you are always hungry after training." Haruko was the sweetest, gentlest creature, and her voice was as lilting as any little songbird's. Her skin was fair, her bob of ebony hair as soft as silk, and her eyes shone with a bright and artless light.
"Haruko-chan!" Sakuragi immediately seized a couple of the offerings. "You can cook so well," he said through his stuffed mouth, trying to grin at the same time, which gave him a distended, clown-ish appearance.
Haruko laughed behind a raised hand.
"I can bake a little," she admitted.
Akagi approached, towering more than six feet tall, and boxed Sakuragi on the head.
"No eating on the court!" He pointed at the crumbs that Sakuragi had sprayed onto the ground as he whipped the bag of food out of reach. "Clean that up now. And no more for you."
Sakuragi got onto his knees and grumbled that it was impossible that Akagi was related to Haruko, at which the former had no compunction in boxing him again so that Sakuragi glared peevishly at the offending bits of fruit and nut scattered on the hardwood.
"Haruko-san, what was Ayako doing?" Miyagi asked.
The boy had his hooded eyes fixed on the manager as she walked back towards them, and he brushed two hands through his high fade, fixing his dark curls into place. Of those present, he probably knew what Mitsui had been through best, being quite a fighter himself. A diamond stud winked from one of his earlobes.
"She's telling Kasumi-chan how to clean the gym. Kasumi has been told to clean the premises," Haruko explained. A few freshmen acknowledged that they recognised her by her injury, but none of them besides Haruko knew her well.
Ayako joined them presently, the full-figured second year team manager. She wore her usual snapback cap with her long curly hair tucked back into a ponytail.
"Sakuragi, you will not have cleaning duty today," she said.
"That's work for team members, no?" Mitsui remarked. "And she is injured."
With reasonable dexterity, however, Kasumi was now swiping the ground vigorously, leveraging the top of the mop's handle with a couple of fingers of her injured limb. She was fully concentrated on her work, her eyes resolutely downcast.
"What's wrong with her arm?" Sakuragi piped up, still on all fours on the ground.
Miyagi whapped him sideways, quick as a viper. "Rude, Hanamichi."
Ayako nodded with approval, for her stiff clipboard was out of hand's reach at that moment, and Miyagi grinned without restraint.
Disgusting, this Ryouta, Mitsui thought. He was obviously besotted.
"It was an honest question," Sakuragi said petulantly, as he rubbed his head, "Ryo-chan, don't be too careless with this tensai or Shohoku will definitely lose without this secret weapon." – which earned him another resolute whack.
"For a few weeks, Kasumi will take over these duties as detention," Ayako said, ignoring the ruckus.
There were glances of surprise exchanged between the boys, while Haruko twitched in discomfort at their apparent curiosity.
Mitsui set down his Pocari Sweat. "What did she…"
But Akagi cut through the conversation with a rallying call, and Kasumi was put aside for the moment as training resumed.
