The Shinwa High courtyard was abuzz with students gossiping about the basketball team's 60-56 loss to Rakuto Military Academy days ago, their robotic precision still a sore topic in the halls. Kenji leaned against a vending machine, his bandaged finger aching from Rakuto's point guard's ruthless jab. His phone buzzed with another Kurogane Sports text from Ami: "Photoshoot rescheduled. 6 AM tomorrow. Be perfect." The modeling contract was suffocating, especially now that Hana's notebook had exposed a chilling truth: Kurogane might have killed his father, Saito, over a '98 streetball debt. The school's whispers about Kenji's billboard ads—plastered near the cafeteria—only deepened his unease.
Haru caught up with him after dodging a pop quiz in computer class, his tablet glowing with excitement. "Kenji, I got into Kurogane's public marketing server," he whispered, glancing at passing students. "They're pushing you as 'Saito's heir'—ads, streetball promos, the works. It's creepy how much they mention your dad."
Kenji's jaw tightened, the tragedy of Saito's death—murder, not a car crash—still raw. "They're using me to clean their name," he muttered. "Hana's right. We need answers. You sure about this Taro guy?"
Haru nodded, adjusting his glasses. "He's our shot. Ex-Kurogane bookkeeper, says he's got dirt. Meeting him tonight at the arcade. You in?"
Kenji hesitated. Sneaking around Kurogane could end his modeling career, his basketball dreams, even his school life if Ami found out. But the thought of Kurogane exploiting Saito's legacy—and Hana's scribbled "murder?"—pushed him forward. "I'm in."
That evening, the team gathered at Neon Blitz Arcade, a rundown haven near school where the air hummed with claw machine jingles and burnt popcorn. It was a slice of life escape from midterms and Rakuto's lingering sting. Tatsuya Nakamura challenged Riku Sato to a basketball arcade game, tossing a coin with flair. "Bet I sink more shots than you, Speedy!"
Riku, clutching a melon bread swiped from the school cafeteria, scoffed. "I'd smoke you if this game wasn't rigged!" His mismatched shoes tapped furiously, but he avoided jumping for the high score, his brother's dunking accident a silent weight.
Kaito Hattori hovered nearby, apologizing to a kid after bumping a claw machine. "S-sorry! My fault!" He bowed, earning a laugh from Akira, who was dominating air hockey and dodging homework questions from a teacher earlier.
Kenji leaned against a Pac-Man machine, trying to blend in, his school uniform still creased from a long day. Haru nudged him, whispering, "Taro's in the back. Let's move." They slipped past the neon chaos, leaving the team's laughter behind.
In a dim corner, Taro—a scrawny man with twitchy eyes—sat at a broken pinball machine, clutching a USB drive. "You're Saito's kid," he muttered, scanning the arcade. "Kurogane's got plans for you. Your modeling? It's not about sneakers. They want your name—Saito's legacy—to legitimize their streetball empire."
Kenji's stomach churned, the mystery deepening. "Why me? Why now?"
Taro leaned closer, voice trembling. "Saito crossed them in '98. Refused to throw a game. They made him pay. Now they're using you to rewrite history—make Saito their hero, not their victim. This—" he slid the USB to Haru—"has encrypted files. Mentions Hiro, his teammate. Be careful. They're watching."
Haru's eyes lit up, but a crash interrupted—Riku's claw machine toppled a prize stack. Tatsuya's voice rang out: "Yo, Speedy, you broke it!" Riku's retort—"I didn't jump, I swear!"—drew a crowd, and Kaito's apologies echoed, bowing to everyone. Kenji stifled a laugh, the comedy cutting through his tension.
Haru pocketed the USB, muttering, "Tatsuya's gonna get us banned." His grin faded as he checked his tablet. "Kenji, I found a file in Kurogane's logs—buried deep. It links your dad to someone named Morita. Our Morita."
Kenji froze. Coach Morita, tied to Saito's death? The tragedy of his father's loss hit harder, tangled with school pressures—classmates' stares at his ads, a looming math test. "What's it say?" he asked, voice tight.
"It's password-locked," Haru admitted. "But if Morita was in '98, he might know why Kurogane's obsessed with you."
The arcade's noise faded as Kenji processed it. His modeling contract wasn't just control—it was a scheme to own his father's legacy. He glanced at the team: Tatsuya arguing with Riku over the broken machine, Kaito offering to pay the owner. Their chaos grounded him, but school and Kurogane's grip loomed.
"Guys, chill!" Akira called, dragging Tatsuya back. He caught Kenji's eye, sensing trouble. "You okay, man? You've been off since Rakuto."
Kenji nodded, but his mind was on Taro's warning. Kurogane was watching—maybe even at school.
That night, Kenji sat on his apartment's fire escape, a basketball spinning in his hands. The Rakuto loss and school gossip about his modeling ads swirled, but Saito's death—murder?—cut deepest. Had Saito died protecting Hiro? His phone buzzed—Ami, scheduling another shoot before school. He tossed it aside, resolving to crack the USB with Haru.
A shadow moved across the street, too brief to identify. Kurogane's eyes were everywhere. The investigation was on, but so was the risk.