New Characters

The days ahead were filled with nothing but grueling training sessions.

Today, it was Shiro and Momoi's turn for classroom duty. They needed to clean up before heading to practice.

As they finished up, Momoi beamed with excitement. "Shiro! It won't be long before Aomine and Midorima face off! We have to invite Nijimura and Kawamura to watch with us!"

Her face radiated anticipation. Any matchup between members of the Generation of Miracles was always a thrilling event for her. She made it a habit to collect player stats from different schools, helping analyze opponents before every game.

Shiro nodded with a smile. "Yeah, for sure!"

...

Thud!

Out of nowhere, a thick book on advanced math problems landed right in front of Shiro. He blinked in surprise before bending down to pick it up.

At that moment, a glimpse of chestnut-brown hair entered his field of vision. A boy stood before him, carrying an oversized guitar case on his back. His features were sharp and well-defined—strong brows, a chiseled jawline, and a single mole resting on the bridge of his nose. When he looked down, his long, thick eyelashes cast shadows against his face.

The boy pressed his lips together, nodded slightly, and said,

"Thanks"

Shiro smirked, intrigued by his demeanor. He responded with a casual, "No problem"

At his level, Shiro had developed an instinct for recognizing fellow basketball players. There was something about this guy that stood out—an aura of raw potential. But strangely enough, Shiro had never seen him at the school's basketball practices.

"Hey, Shiro! What are you staring at?" Momoi waved a hand in front of his face, pulling him out of his daze. "He's already gone."

Shiro snapped back to reality, glancing around. Sure enough, the boy had vanished.

"What's up?" Momoi asked curiously.

"Nothing, just a gut feeling… that guy isn't ordinary." Shiro shook his head, then grabbed Momoi's hand. "Come on, let's go!"

"Okay!" Momoi nodded, still smiling.

...

Dusk painted the streetball court in gold, as if draping it in a veil of sunlight.

A tall, lean figure dribbled the ball, his movements fluid and precise.

In a flash, he executed a double crossover, broke past an invisible defender, and launched himself beyond the three-point line for a fadeaway jumper.

Swish!

The ball sliced through the air, tracing a perfect arc before sinking cleanly into the net.

Nearby, a bench sat with an untouched, pristine guitar case and a stack of thick math competition books—an odd contrast against the energy of the court.

Standing alone in the fading light, Xu Moyun's gaze was sharp, filled with focus and determination.

He dribbled between his legs, resetting his stance.

Then, with a shoulder fake, he shifted into a right-side fadeaway.

Swish!

Another perfect shot. His form was flawless, his mechanics smooth. Every move carried the precision of a well-trained athlete.

The ball rolled towards the edge of the court, stopping just at the entrance.

A hand reached down and scooped it up.

"We meet again."

After dropping Momoi home, Shiro had wandered by the court and caught sight of Xu Moyun's skills.

"Not bad" Shiro smirked, spinning the ball in his palm. Those moves—combined with that shooting accuracy — reminded him of Kawamura's level of play.

Xu Moyun barely reacted. He returned to the bench, wiped his sweat with a towel, and ignored Shiro's remark. His shirt clung to his body, drenched in sweat, but he seemed completely unfazed.

Shiro tilted his head. "Wanna run a one-on-one?"

Xu Moyun didn't even hesitate. "Not interested."

His tone was indifferent, almost dismissive.

Shiro chuckled awkwardly but sat down beside him anyway, bouncing the ball idly.

His eyes fell on the guitar case. "Is that yours? Looks expensive."

Xu Moyun didn't respond. Instead, he stood up, snatched the ball from Shiro's hands, and walked off without a word.

Shiro watched him leave, letting out a sigh. "Man, what's up with that guy…"

With nothing else to do, he picked up his own ball and started heading home.

...

Night fell as Moyun made his way back to his apartment complex.

He approached an old storage box tucked away near the entrance, carefully stashed his basketball inside, and then hurried up the stairs.

Standing at the door, he took a deep breath before quietly pushing it open.

"Mom, I'm home."

A warm voice called back from inside, "Welcome back! How was school today? Go wash up—dinner's almost ready."

Moyun's mother greeted him with a gentle smile, her eyes filled with affection. Their household still upheld traditional Mandarin conversations, despite living in Japan for years.

Both of his parents were Chinese immigrants. His father owned a successful restaurant, while his mother had dedicated herself to being a full-time homemaker.

To her, Moyun was her pride and joy. He was tall, handsome, a skilled guitarist, and consistently at the top of his class. The thought of his achievements always brought a smile to her face.

"Make sure to focus on your studies after dinner, okay?" she reminded him while setting the table. "You haven't been playing basketball, right?"

Moyun's footsteps briefly faltered, but he quickly recovered and shook his head. "No."

Just like in many strict Asian households, academics always took priority. Even though they had moved abroad, his parents' mentality remained unchanged — grades came first, and everything else was secondary.

His mother sighed in relief. "Good. Remember, your father works hard so you can have a better future. He's staying late at the restaurant again, so it's just the two of us tonight."

She turned back to the kitchen, setting the dishes on the table. "Come eat."

Moyun lowered his gaze, deep in thought. After a moment, he exhaled softly, then sat down to join her.