Summary: Mitsui's dodging skills would be the envy of any NBA star…if only he'd learned them on the court instead of fleeing back alley bullies. Luckily, he's got backup who find street fights more appealing than practice drills.

#02 - THE UNLIKELY SAVIORS

The afternoon sun seared Mitsui Hisashi's neck as he darted down a narrow Kanagawa alleyway. Every discarded can, every fading mural, screamed danger. His old basketball bag thumped against his side with each ragged breath. He was late, and his pursuers wouldn't be far behind.

The alley was a claustrophobic tunnel, littered with overflowing trash cans and the fading remnants of street art. The stench of stale urine hung in the stagnant air. It was the type of place where a person could easily disappear. And someone, or rather someones, were watching him.

Mitsui's steps faltered when he saw them-three figures lounging against a cracked brick wall. The leader, a lean youth with a shock of bleached hair, wore a sneer more threatening than any weapon. Beside him, a mountain of a boy flexed tattooed biceps, the crude ink of dragons and skulls seeping across his skin. Their stares were like knives, cutting into Mitsui's resolve. Finally, completing the trio, a girl with bubblegum-pink hair toyed with a length of heavy chain, her boredom masking a simmering cruelty.

Mitsui's throat tightened. Stories of street gangs, whispered warnings-his gut churned. Was this how it ended? His basketball dreams crushed in a filthy alley?

"Nice bag," the leader rasped, flicking a battered lighter to life. The flame cast dancing shadows on his scarred face. "Something tells me it ain't got gym clothes inside."

Mitsui clutched the bag tighter. Every beat of his heart screamed for him to run, but his legs felt like lead. This bag, this faded red testament to countless hours of work... he couldn't just surrender it.

"W-what do you want?" Mitsui forced the words out, his voice shaking.

The leader sauntered forward, slow and predatory. "What do we want?" He tilted his head, a mocking grin twisting his face. "We want to see how fast a basketball star can run."

With a burst of adrenaline-fueled panic, Mitsui feinted right. The tattooed giant lurched in response, his bulk momentarily off-balance. Mitsui saw his chance and bolted.

"That's it! Run, little mouse!" The leader's taunts echoed behind him.

He ran. The alleyway seemed to stretch endlessly, shadows blurring into a tunnel of fear. His panicked breaths mingled with the pounding footsteps of his pursuers. He hurdled over a fallen trashcan, his sneakers slipping on wet grime. He squeezed through a gap between rusted dumpsters, feeling the rough metal scrape his arms.

The shouts behind him intensified, closer, hungry. He was running out of time, out of space. His lungs burned. He couldn't keep this up. Just as despair threatened to consume him, a familiar, raucous voice boomed through the alley.

"Seriously, why does this guy attract every lowlife in the city?"

Mitsui stumbled, heart pounding with a strange mixture of fear and hope. It was... could it be? He turned. There they were – Sakuragi's band of misfits-the Sakuragi Gundan-blocking the escape route of the thugs.

"Yo, Mitsui! Looks like your delinquent history is catching up," Ookuusu drawled, his tone laced with amusement.

"Man, and here I thought today could be workout-free," Yohei grumbled, but his knuckles were already white from cracking them.

Takamiya, eyes fixated on the fleeing thugs, sighed a world-weary sigh. "Well, looks like someone's buying me ramen tonight."

Mitsui felt a surge of gratitude wash over him. "T-thanks, guys."

"Get lost!" Yohei yelled at the thugs, his booming voice shattering the alley's gloom. "There's another route to the practice hall, Mitsui. Take it!"

Hope flared. Mitsui gave a breathless nod before dashing away. He heard the sounds of Sakuragi's gang descending on their pursuers-shouts, jeers, and the heavy thud of bodies colliding.

A ragged laugh bubbled in his throat. Whatever danger still lurked in Kanagawa, for now, he was safe. He'd live to play another day. Yet, as he fled, the bleached-hair leader's furious bellow echoed behind him:

"This ain't over, basketball boy. We'll find you!"

The threat was a dark promise, reminding Mitsui that the shadows hadn't vanished, only retreated.

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