Varsity Reunion

Disclaimer: I don't own Slam Dunk.

Chapter I

Just like that, Rukawa Kaede decided that America was the dream he never really wanted to have. It was a sheet draped over his real dream, a kind of mask that hid the more exquisite, alive thing underneath. He didn't need America, really. What he needed was to hold on to where he came from, to never forget his roots and the memories that tagged along with it. Thus did he dismiss the opportunity of his lifetime in exchange for sentimental values, exiting from the long-suffering ambition that he knew would see no fulfillment. Having done that, he started sending rejection notes to the big fry universities that insistently bugged him to enroll in their schools; instead, he signed up for a state university three miles south of Kanagawa. Like many things in his life, the origin of this choice remained a mystery. But to cap it partly, he loved the climate down there, which was close to icy. On several occasions he would sit on the porch of his dormitory room, glaring at the skies for hours on end until his room mate would remind him that he would have to need to warm down, lest he died of pneumonia.

Without difficulty, in his first year in college, he entered the basketball club while surviving a less-than-casual relationship with his team mates. His game shifted dramatically depending on how one preferred to view it. He had by then seemingly mellowed down on hard wood, playing only when necessary and shooting perimeter shots when circumstances started to squeeze tight around his team mates. Off court, his otherwise hard-to-ignore actions were under duress. He was always filled with thoughts nobody else succeeded in guessing as those around him started to brand him as that person "who kept to himself". Nonetheless, he was a star and his fangirls never diminished but in turn only increased by multitudes. As he left college for a career in basketball, another deluge of professional league offers came down to his doorstep. It was expected by everyone who knew him that he'd choose a decent team for himself. They were wrong once again; Rukawa repeated the same mistake and joined the Kanagawa Hurricanes, a national basketball team that always caught itself wallowing at the bottom of the standings. It never made an impression on the spectators until Rukawa came to the lot and with the similar idolatrous worship his high school fans lavished on him, the people of Kanagawa began celebrating the fact that they were too blessed to have someone like Rukawa.

He played the shooting forward position and let us add, with epic finesse. At twenty, he was exactly at the league's forefront and was fast becoming a game savior. But above everything he was the center of attraction whose presence was clamorously demanded by crowds and crowds of supporters. At twenty-one he was a candidate for the Most Valuable Player of the Year award among other things. He lost in that ballot race by less than ten votes to his ancient rival, Sawakita Eiji, which the media underscored by releasing articles that strongly implied he should start thinking of transferring to another, more able squad. Even as a free agent, in his twenty-second year, Rukawa held fast to Kanagawa Hurricanes. Nobody quite understood what possessed him to sign his name on that three-year contract. It was a trap of course, a hindrance to his development and excellence where basketball goals were concerned, and they could only keep on wondering what Rukawa's reasons were for voluntarily welcoming his ruin. More attention was given to the rumors that the Kanagawa team could hardly offer half of what other states had offered Rukawa. It wasn't until months later when the gossips died down, gradually, and the people accepted the fact that Rukawa's salary and the little justice his team did him were scarcely a business of theirs. Their guess was, as was anybody's, that Kanagawa was something very dear to Rukawa and its soil sacred.

Within the passage of years, seasons after seasons, Rukawa would strafe by Shohoku. Its new students would marvel at him, recalling his blank face on that team picture enshrined inside the Shohoku Basketball Gym. He still looked young and the same except for a few inches' addition in height. His hair hardly underwent changes as was evidenced by those perpetually unkempt bundles of strands that soared in each direction, thus the raven-hair title it earned for itself. His build was as defined as ever and his face empty, if not emptier. If one looked deeper and closer, he'd have noticed that grave, profound and somewhat melancholy expression that lingered obstinately in his eyes. It was like he was yearning for something that departed the place some centuries before, like no amount of miracle would overturn the situation and bring back whatever it was he was painfully longing for. But he continued longing nonetheless and would stop at nothing until his hurt out-sized himself and made him realize how much he had lost over the years despite his enormous worldly gains. While every other person in Kanagawa would've given everything to swap turfs with him; they didn't know that deep down, Rukawa felt like he had been dead for years, particularly since that wet, wind-ridden afternoon.

One day, as if somebody just pulled hard at his leash, he finally gave in to the urge to get inside his old alma mater. Instinctively, as was his habit to yawn during class hours and to upset his teachers, he led himself to the gym which, thanks to Shohoku alumni's generous donations, including Rukawa's, had been renovated often enough to lend it a stylish, modern-based look. Doubtless it was an expensive building. He stepped inside after removing his shoes. As the soles of his feet touched the floor, he failed to recognize the familiar sensation he frequently felt during those times when Ayako would order the freshmen around to mop it again and again until it gave off a ridiculous yellow shine. He felt upset and yet, how irrational was it to be upset? He was expecting to feel the same thing he felt eight years ago when there was a pervading homeliness inside that stadium. Now, there was only a domineering sense of alienation as if the very floor would spit him out anytime. Of course, it was no longer the wooden floor that he used to polish, painstakingly, every day. There was no point in seeking to feel at home with it any longer.

It took a few moments before he could come to himself. The people inside, the current Shohoku team members who all ranged from fifteen to eighteen years of age, didn't bother to swipe away the bedazzled expression on their faces. One or two had dropped their jaws as an applause commenced, slow and faltering at first and earnest at last. It had been so long ago since someone so popular announced his presence in that place. It was Rukawa Kaede, the superstar of the decade, coming back to check on his old school. He nodded and declined pleasantly to make an impromptu speech; but so as not to disappoint the kids, he told them that dreams do come true. He didn't mention that his didn't. Or at least, he didn't find ultimate joy during the course of his professional career.

He then circled around the court, once in a while raising his eyes to the bulletin boards on the furnished wall. At one point, as if in an utterly amazing coincidence, his eyes rested on a group shot. He recognized himself immediately and almost simultaneously, he remembered exactly when the shot was taken. It was right after the game against Sannoh, seven years ago. He was a freshman and so were Sakuragi and a few others. The first line-up was stationed up front where they would have to kneel on the floor while the makeshifts stood not far behind. The proud smile on their countenances was priceless and reflected, even, what each team member felt about one another. There was a great trust between them, so obvious at first sight that it made Rukawa's heart go weak. How come they couldn't stay that way for all eternity? Why choose to part from something so inexplicably beautiful? He continued staring at the picture, careful not to miss anything in his observation. His eyes traveled from left to right, naming each player along the way. Akagi was gone, Miyagi was gone, Sakuragi was gone and Mitsui was no more. For all Rukawa knew, unbelievable as it was, Mitsui had long ago killed himself. And yet, why was everything so mixed up? How come Mitsui had so little to say when he left and why was he strangely clutching his diploma so hard? Surely, suicidal maniacs don't just hold on to their high school diploma as though they were clinging for life? Rukawa's throat tightened and an impulse to swat his head for such horrid thought enlarged itself inside him. He had no right to think about Mitsui that way, not when he knew he'd have done anything in his feeble power to get him back. He then left the place, hankering for something else to occupy his mind with.

Shortly after that incident, he met a journalist named Kira Umino. She was twenty-two, pretty, accomplished, smart and knew how to pull at anyone's heartstrings. Rukawa was no less fascinated by her than the rest of the country. She was a celebrity, a powerful entity in the media chamber at such a young age. When she did an article about Rukawa, the latter noticed that there was something magical about her, something he was willing to have for any price. He kept quiet about his feelings until one day she asked him out. She said it was high time they went out. Yes, he replied. It was high time he took advantage of his good looks and status. They clicked in an instant and things didn't just stop at courting; they got better and better as time matured. After two years of dating and professing their love to one another, they got married in a little church somewhere in Kanagawa. To be married in Kanagawa was Rukawa's request; he wanted the simplicity the city offered and the peaceful reception of the public. Nobody dared oppose the match; it was perfect and was assured to end happily ever after, if it would end at all. In a few months, Rukawa decided to take off from Kanagawa, finally, and to throw away the bitter regions of his past to make way for a wonderfully constructed conjugal life. It was a nice bargain, after all.

The couple took residence in Osaka, a high end city fitted for their fame. Rukawa signed for the Osaka Cagers and took things from there. At twenty-five, he was considered the best player in Japan and won the MVP award for the national league. At twenty-six, he was running for the same honor twice in a row. His wife was as supportive as any wife could be; she was devoted, loving, responsible... nobody would've risked throwing cynical comments on Rukawa's nearly uxorious attitude toward the wife. They were happy and that was all that mattered. In fact, he had never been happier all his life.

That is, until an interruption took in the form of a phone call. It was Kiminobu Kogure. After exchanging long and seemingly deathless how do you do's, Kogure got around to informing Rukawa of the upcoming Shohoku Basketball Team Grand Reunion. The party would boast of a perfect attendance. Yes, a perfect attendance, down to the last bench warmer of the batch. It would be held at the Kanagawa Golf Club near the Prefecture's Bay. It would be held five days hence.

"Don't forget to bring your beautiful wife, Rukawa."

"I won't, Kogure-sempai." Rukawa replied. Of course, he didn't expect his marriage to come unnoticed.

TBC