*"Sanbetsu sanjitsu, tōgaimo shite mirubeshi."*
Three days apart, and you gotta look at someone with fresh eyes.
The legendary scout Marty Blake, dubbed the "Godfather of NBA Drafts," once said about college hoops: "When it comes to college basketball, you can't judge tomorrow with yesterday's lens.
Young players grow so fast here, you measure their progress by the *day*."
One moment, a prodigy can crash and burn.
The next, some no-name rookie can explode into stardom overnight.
That's the wild world of American college basketball.
Even the most seasoned NBA scouts wouldn't dare thump their chests and claim they can predict every young player's path with certainty.
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September. The first day of the new semester at Wake Forest University.
As expected, Zack, the reformed *yankī* who turned his life around, became the talk of the entire campus.
Before school started, Zack had already dropped his weight to 148 kilos and snagged the fifth and sixth stage rewards from the mysterious [*Yamagami*] system.
Compared to the "Zack" from the end of his freshman year, he was a different man.
Sure, he still had a long way to go before claiming total victory, but after shedding 32 kilos over the summer, Zack was brimming with energy. His body? Way more *shikkari*—tight and toned compared to the old days.
His face was slimmer, his waist narrower, and his muscles firmer. Add to that the campus newspaper's hyped-up coverage of his exploits at the Valley Cup streetball tourney, and suddenly, the guy once known as Wake Forest's shame had transformed into an inspirational *hīrō*.
On opening day, a bunch of students struggling with their own weight looked up to Zack like he was their *senpai*, begging for his weight-loss *hisshō* secrets.
Meanwhile, some curious female classmates, intrigued by his *rōdo to redemption*, dropped not-so-subtle hints that they'd love to "discuss life's deeper meanings" with him on a quiet, starry night.
Zack wasn't some clueless *bōzu*. He'd been around the block. So, after picking up on their signals, he made sure to grab the contact info of a few girls who matched his vibe.
"*Yappari*, life's all about *undō*," he grinned.
Unlike the old Zack—quiet, awkward, and prone to dodging problems—the Zack on this first day of school was a whole new beast. His classmates could feel the *kirakira* aura radiating from him, top to bottom.
In his past life, Zack was a king on the streetball courts, always vibing with people of all ages and personalities.
He had a silver tongue and a knack for listening, which meant he never ran short of *nakama* wherever he went.
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After the opening ceremony, the afternoon rolled around, and the Demon Deacons basketball team gathered for their first official practice.
Before training kicked off, the team held a traditional welcome ceremony for Chris Paul.
As Paul slipped on the Wake Forest jersey for the first time, Coach Prosser turned to his assistant and smirked, "Thank *Kami-sama* we snatched this genius point guard from UNC."
Overhearing Prosser's quip, Zack couldn't help but marvel at how fate plays its tricks.
If his memory served him right, Paul—a diehard UNC fan who grew up worshipping Michael Jordan—had dreamed of playing for the Tar Heels during his senior year of high school.
But UNC had already locked in another genius point guard, Raymond Felton, for the same position. So, after some tough decisions, Wake Forest became Paul's *Plan B*.
Still, even though missing out on UNC was a bummer, Paul's future career proved that his time at Wake Forest was like a *fenikkusu* rising from the ashes.
With the team's former star, Josh Howard, graduating over the summer, the Demon Deacons were a squad without a clear *rīda*.
Just like Zack remembered, on the first day of practice, Prosser declared Paul as the team's absolute core for the new season.
Everyone knows the point guard position—*ichiban* on the court—needs tons of game experience and ball possession to truly shine.
If Paul had gone to UNC, even if he outplayed Felton to become the starting *pointo gādo*, he'd never have the kind of absolute control he was about to get here.
On the practice court, to help Paul establish his *kenryoku*, Prosser set up a quick scrimmage—five minutes per half, offense versus defense.
Paul would play for both the white team and the black team, switching jerseys between halves.
Before the scrimmage started, Prosser laid down the law: "If anyone on the court ignores Paul's plays, my assistant will yank you off *sugu ni*."
Yup, you read that right.
For this 10-minute scrimmage, old man Prosser handed his tactical playbook straight to Paul.
Zack had already seen Paul's insane game sense during summer workouts, but watching a freshman direct his teammates like a seasoned *shōgun* still gave him a "damn, this guy's on another level" vibe.
"Zack, c'mere," Prosser called, his face all warm and *yasashī* as he waved Zack over. "You're sitting out this scrimmage."
Zack blinked, then froze, a big *hatena* mark practically floating over his head. Before he could protest, Prosser cut him off.
"Your top priority right now is mastering everything I taught you over the summer. Until our warmup game against UNC, you're training solo."
The Demon Deacons' first official game of the 03/04 season wasn't until mid-November, but to get the team in top shape, Prosser had lined up several preseason games. The matchup against UNC on November 5th was their final tune-up.
"Don't worry," Prosser continued, patting Zack's sturdy back. "Once you've fully absorbed my techniques, I'll throw you into team drills *pronto*. I'll even design a play to let you shine.
But for now, you've got bigger fish to fry. Keep dropping that weight before the UNC game. Oh, and your stamina needs work, too."
Zack let out a relieved sigh and nodded like an obedient *kohai*.
*Yosh*, so he was basically living the Sakuragi Hanamichi arc, huh?
Sure, he was itching to jump into team drills *ima sugu*, but Zack knew Prosser's advice was the real deal—straight-up *shinken* wisdom to keep him from stumbling.
Unlike the chaotic 3-on-3 Valley Cup streetball games, full-court 5-on-5 basketball was a whole different beast.
Zack might've shed over 30 kilos, but if he jumped into a real 5-on-5 game right now? Forget making an impact—he'd probably be gasping for air in minutes.
Prosser's call for solo training was all about *zenshin zenshin*—steady progress.
Realizing this, Zack felt a spark of confidence. In Prosser's eyes, he wasn't just some benchwarmer.
After all, not every Demon Deacon got one-on-one coaching from the *sensei* himself.
As the white and black teams geared up for their scrimmage, Prosser strolled over to the half-court where Zack was about to start his solo drills, a big grin on his face.
Seeing this, every player on the team knew: Coach Prosser had big plans for Zack.
"Am I really gonna be stuck guarding the water cooler this season?"
At that moment, Chris Ellis—the team's resident *yajū*—felt a pang of panic.
Sure, he'd just thrown down a nasty dunk off a crisp pass from Paul during the scrimmage, but when he noticed Prosser's eyes glued to Zack's solo workout, never once glancing their way, Ellis couldn't shake the cold, sinking feeling in his gut.
"Is that guy *really* that good?"
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*(Chapter End)*