Winter began to appear on the peaks, painting the edges of the mountains that
surrounded the valley. The air became denser, and each breath left a trail of vapor that
it seemed to contain thoughts not yet spoken. Haruki was warm in a thick jacket
as she watched the new students run around the school's icy track in Aomori, the
the city where they would open the fourth headquarters of "Espíritu Samurai Basketball".
It was no longer just a workshop. It was a network. A seed that had germinated in different hearts.
Some came out of curiosity, others looking for belonging, but all, without exception, found
more than just a sport.
"How many registered this time?" asked Ami, sitting down next to him on the wooden steps.
? Seventy-three. Some arrived by train from two different prefectures.
? And to think that it all started with a drawing in crayons and an old notebook," he said, smiling.
Haruki nodded, though something deeper shone in his eyes. It wasn't nostalgia. Era
responsibility. He knew he was holding a torch that he was to pass on to others without the
flame will go out.
That day, like all the beginnings of the program, he organized a session without the ball. He made them sit on
circle, with blank sheets of paper and pencils.
? Today they are not going to run or pitch. They are going to write their biggest fear and their most absurd move.
Chapter 18: Where the Impulse Is Born
The boys looked at each other, confused. But one by one, they began to write. One
Fertile silence spread through the gymnasium. After half an hour, Haruki gathered them together.
? Now take their absurd move... and make it your next move.
Laughter erupted. Some drew impossible aerial feints, others described rotations in the
zigzag as they sang. But, between jokes, something emerged: unleashed creativity.
"And fear?" asked a girl with short hair.
? They'll put it in their left pocket," Haruki replied. They'll always know it's there, but they don't
they will use to slow down. They'll use it to remind themselves why it's worth trying.
Later, Ami found Haruki alone, going through each sheet one by one. He kept them with great
care in a folder labeled as ? Dreams in Draft?.
"Why do you read them all?" she asked.
? Because each one is a beginning. And I don't want to miss any of them.
That night, during the founding team meeting, Riku proposed something unexpected.
What if we do a national tournament? Not a competitive one, but one of innovation. Crazy plays,
Mixed teams, new rules. Basketball reimagined by boys.
Souta raised an eyebrow.
A kind of creative laboratory on wheels?
? Exactly. We give them total freedom. They design the rules. We observe and learn.
Ami did not take long to take out his notebook.
? Shall we call it ? The Tournament of the Future?.
Haruki looked at them, excited. I felt how the pieces were putting themselves together, as in those
plays that seemed to be born out of nowhere.
? Then? Let's prepare the momentum.
The following months were a whirlwind of planning. They traveled all over the country, collecting
ideas, inviting schools, contacting coaches and artists. In each place, there was talk of the
tournament as if it were a legend in the making.
April arrived. In a coastal city, the event opened with hundreds of participants. The teams
They had names like ? The Flying Samurai?, ? Wind Strategists?, ? Kaiju de Media
Court?. The rules were unusual: points for creativity, for collaboration, for movements
never seen before.
Haruki walked between improvised courts in squares, temples, beaches. Every game was a
manifest. Each play, a love letter to basketball as an art, not just as a competition.
On an outdoor court, a boy named Ren stopped him.
? Sensei, I made a move. Is it called ? The invisible leap? Can't you see? but when I do, the others
Stop.
And why do you think they stop?
? Because I stop first.
Haruki bent down and patted him on the shoulder.
? You have just described what many of us take years to understand.
That night, at the closing ceremony, the young people handed out a time capsule. Inside, its
rules, their drawings, their dreams. They buried her in the center of the stadium.
? "We'll open it in ten years," Ami said. To see how much we were able to imagine.
Haruki did not speak. He only observed the dirt covering the capsule. He didn't need to say anything. The
impulse
it was there. It no longer belonged to him.
When he returned home, he opened a new notebook. On the first page, he wrote only one line:
Chapter 18: Where the impulse is born.
And underneath, with a different ink:
? Let each player discover his own.?