About thirteen years ago was the first time I met him. We were both kids, so young and eager to learn the game our fathers loved—basketball, Kogure thought to himself.
Miyazato, my father, and Hisashi used to play streetball back then, usually three-on-threes. The scorching summer sun beamed down on the cracked concrete court, casting long shadows as the game unfolded. A warm breeze carried the sharp squeak of sneakers and the dull rhythm of the ball bouncing.
"Hisashi, over here!" Miyazato called as he freed himself, quickly cutting toward the top of the key. His jersey clung to his back, drenched in sweat.
Hisashi passed the ball to him with a swift chest pass that thudded into Miyazato's palms. Hisashi then darted through the key, his footfalls quick and deliberate. Miyazato returned the ball with a bounce pass that Hisashi caught in stride, stopping just behind the arc.
He planted his feet, bent his knees, and released the ball with a clean flick of his wrist. The orange sphere rotated smoothly in the air before slicing through the net with a crisp swish.
"Nice assist, Miyazato," said Hisashi, his breath slightly labored.
"Nice shot, Hisashi," Miyazato replied as they fist-bumped, their palms clapping with a slap.
The opposing team checked up the ball and restarted play. Hisashi immediately slipped behind his defender, drawing a switch. He passed the ball to a teammate and hustled over to set a screen. His strong frame connected solidly with the defender, allowing Miyazato to slide past.
As the ball found Miyazato again, he didn't hesitate. He pounded the ball once, took two long strides, and soared toward the hoop. His sneakers squeaked loudly on takeoff, and then there was only the rush of air before his body slammed the ball through the hoop with a resounding thunk. The backboard shook slightly on impact.
"We're really cooking today—eighteen to zero. It's game point time," Hisashi smirked, chest heaving slightly.
Miyazato passed the ball to him with a quick spin. Hisashi dribbled low, crossing between his legs with sharp snaps of the ball. He stepped back behind the three-point line, his shoes sliding slightly on the dusty pavement.
A defender lunged forward, but Hisashi's high release point and unorthodox grip let him shoot cleanly over the outstretched arm. The ball arced high, rotating slowly before dropping through the net with surgical precision.
"And that's game. Better luck next time, guys," Hisashi said, grinning as he rolled his shoulders.
"Hisashi, you didn't have to put in that much effort. Those guys didn't even get a chance to score," Miyazato chuckled, wiping his forehead.
"You're one to talk. There was no need to dunk the ball back there," Hisashi shot back, chuckling. "And yeah, I know, but my son's here today. I can't let these old geezers show me up."
"Hey! Who the hell are you calling a geezer?" one of the opposing hoopers barked, still catching his breath.
"Hahaha, sorry, my bad," Hisashi laughed, holding up his hands.
"Your dad is truly amazing, Tetsuo," Kogure said, his voice filled with awe as he sat on the edge of the court, legs bouncing.
"Yeah, he is. I'm so glad he's my father. I have to say, your father isn't half bad either. I mean, he can dunk—that's so cool," Tetsuo replied, wide-eyed.
"Man, I can't believe you're retired already. You still play like you never left," Miyazato said, bending over to catch his breath.
"You think so? I guess I still have some juice left over from my prime," Hisashi laughed, ruffling his own hair.
"Yes, you definitely do."
After sharing a laugh with his friends, Hisashi looked over at Tetsuo, who was beaming. He walked over and lifted his son into the air, spinning him slightly.
"How was that, Tetsuo? Your old man is the best, huh?" Hisashi asked, holding him high.
"Yeah, Dad, you're the best! I'll train hard until the day I become number one in Japan, just like you did!"
"And I'll be there to support your dreams all the way."
"Well, I have bad news for both of you. I'm going to be number one in Japan. There's no way I'll let anyone beat me—not even you, Tetsuo," Kogure declared with narrowed eyes.
"We'll see about that. There's no way I'll lose to you," Tetsuo shot back, fists clenched.
"And why is that?" Kogure asked.
"Because my father is way better than yours at basketball," Tetsuo said bluntly.
"You may be right, but I'm a way better teacher than this numbskull," Miyazato interjected with a smirk.
"Uncle Miyazato, is that true?" Tetsuo asked curiously, glancing between the two.
"Well, he isn't wrong. I'm not the greatest teacher," Hisashi admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
"See? You'll definitely never beat me," Kogure grinned, bouncing on his heels.
"Alright, guys, save all of that for later. It's getting late, and you both have school tomorrow, so let's get going," Hisashi said, stretching his arms.
"Hey, Hisashi, I'm going on a week-long business trip, so keep an eye on Kogure for me," Miyazato said, grabbing his bag.
"Yeah, I know. We already talked about this yesterday."
"Oh, okay. See you soon then," Miyazato said as he left.
"Alright, you guys rest up well. The earlier you sleep, the earlier you rise," Hisashi said as he closed the bedroom door gently behind him.
"Tetsuo, are you awake?" Kogure whispered from the top bunk.
"Yes, I'm awake," Tetsuo replied, staring at the ceiling.
"Let's work hard and become the best players in this country," Kogure said softly.
"Yes, definitely. I'll work hard."
The next morning, a warm sunrise bathed the quiet street in golden light. Tetsuo was already running ahead, backpack bouncing.
"Kogure, hurry up! We have to get there as early as possible so we can practice!" Tetsuo called back, panting slightly.
"Come on, why do you always have to run to school?" Kogure groaned, dragging his feet.
"Because it's more thrilling that way! Plus, we get more time to train."
"Why am I even following this kid? I'm a year older..." Kogure muttered, adjusting his bag.
The boys arrived at the old outdoor court, still slightly damp with morning dew. Their shoes squeaked faintly as they stepped onto the concrete.
"Alright, let's start practicing. Let's do some layups," Tetsuo said.
Kogure passed the ball to Tetsuo, who took two long strides and laid it gently off the glass. The ball kissed the backboard and dropped through. Tetsuo passed it back, and Kogure followed up with another. They kept at it, back and forth, breath rising in the cool air, their movements becoming sharper with each repetition.
After several rounds, they moved to shooting practice. The sound of the ball bouncing echoed through the quiet court.
Even at that age, Tetsuo was an exceptional shooter. His form was compact and efficient, and each shot was accompanied by the sharp snap of his release. He adjusted his stance, then fired—swish. Again—swish. Using his father's unique shooting grip, his fingertips guided the ball effortlessly.
Tetsuo and I were friends ever since we were kids. Our fathers were former high school teammates and later rivals at the international level. His father, Hisashi Kawaguchi, was famous—one of the best basketball players in the country.
We both attended Nagoya Elementary School, but since it didn't have a basketball team or a court, we practiced at an old outdoor court near the school, both before and after class.
We were members of the junior under-thirteen basketball club in our district. Tetsuo and I were the youngest on our team, but we were starting members—far better than our peers. As you can imagine, the media was infatuated with Tetsuo. He was the talk of every sports channel, not only because of his skill but also because his father had once been the number one player in Japan.
Tetsuo and I dominated every kid our age, even those older than us. His signature move—the step-back three-pointer—was deadly, and he was an unstoppable scorer. Far better than I was back then.
He proved it every time we played one-on-one.
I have never won before, but I came close on multiple occasions.