As dusk settled, the city streets glimmered with headlights weaving through traffic. Most office workers were clocking out, heading home to enjoy dinner with their families and wind down from another long, busy day.
Vroom—
A flash of white streaked down the avenue. The sleek, aerodynamic silhouette of a sports car roared past, the engine's guttural purr turning heads left and right.
After all, it's hard not to stare when a car that costs more than most people's apartments flies by.
Inside the car, Araki drove in silence, her focus steady on the road ahead. Beside her, Kota leaned back in the passenger seat with his eyes closed, looking as if he had drifted off.
It wasn't clear how long they'd been driving before Araki suddenly asked, "Where to?"
Her tone was casual, almost indifferent—as though nothing had happened earlier—but to Kota's ears, it felt different.
Normally, she would've driven him straight to the Shark Gym without asking. That question alone told him she was just looking for a reason to talk.
"Take me home, Miss Masako. I'm kind of tired," Kota murmured, eyes still closed.
Araki pressed her lips together, said nothing, and pressed the accelerator a bit harder.
"…Hey" Kota said after a pause. "Why'd you bring Chairman Kurikuni to meet me anyway? You could've just told him to leave."
He turned to the window, watching her reflection in the glass.
Her elegant face looked as composed as ever—a perfect, icy mask. On rare occasions, she'd let slip glimpses of emotion, but most of the time, Araki was just… unreadable.
"What are you thinking, Miss Masako?" he continued softly. "Should I assume you actually want me to join the Japan Basketball Association?"
His voice was quiet, but inside the car, it carried easily to her ears.
Araki's eyelashes flickered, but her face remained calm. "Why would you think that?"
"I already told you I don't like the JBA" Kota said lazily. "And the meeting with Kurikuni? That was totally his idea…"
Araki tried to keep her tone even—but then she saw Kota looking at her with that faint, teasing smile that said I see right through you.
His expression made it clear: Go ahead and pretend. Like I don't know when you're hiding something.
Kota clicked his tongue twice, resting his cheek in his palm and gesturing for her to continue her little act.
Realizing she'd been caught, Araki simply shut her mouth and focused on driving, pretending to be perfectly calm.
Kota didn't push further. He just stared at her side profile, chin in hand, the two of them locked in a strangely quiet standoff.
After a long silence, just when Kota's head began to droop from drowsiness, Araki finally spoke again.
"When are you leaving for China?"
"Huh?"
Kota rubbed his face and sat up a little. "Probably… about a month, I guess? Changing nationality takes time—paperwork, legal stuff. Ebi and Reiko said they'd handle it for me—"
"I'm not talking about that," Araki cut in.
"I mean after you graduate. How long are you planning to stay in China? When will you come back?"
Kota froze. He looked at her, but didn't say a word.
When his silence stretched on, Araki sighed softly, a hint of emotion breaking through her usual calm. She turned slightly, her voice faintly tinged with frustration.
"Do you really have to go? If it's just about basketball, Japan can already give you everything you need."
It was true.
He'd beaten Akashi twice. Even if Akashi had technically dominated him in one-on-one plays, the scoreboard didn't lie—Kaijō's victory stood as fact.
And Akashi, heir to one of Japan's three major conglomerates, could never truly pursue a professional athlete's path. His family's billions in assets waited for him—how could he tell his father, I want to play basketball?
If he did, his old man would probably curse him out, buy a basketball team on the spot, and tell him to "play with that instead." Being a team owner? Fine. Being a player? Not a chance.
As for the rest of Japan's players—none of them, at least for now, were point guards worth Kota's attention. That was exactly why Kurikuni had humbled himself enough to come personally, despite knowing he might be turned down.
It was the first time Kota had ever seen Araki wear such an expression, and it caught him off guard. His mind swirled with thoughts before one dangerously familiar line popped up.
If I don't play basketball… will you take care of me?
His lips twitched, ready to speak—but when his gaze met araki's serious eyes, he froze. Somehow, he just knew… if he really asked that, her answer would probably be yes.
Swallowing the words, he rubbed his nose and laughed instead.
"No can do. Ebi's probably losing his mind without me. They need a decent point guard in China—someone, you know, like me!"
A deep sigh echoed in the car. Kota didn't need to look to know it came from Araki.
"…We're here."
The car screeched to a sharp stop, its high-performance brakes biting hard. Kota lurched forward, barely kept back by his seatbelt.
"Hey! Miss Masako!"
He turned to protest—then froze.
Though she still gripped the steering wheel, Kota could almost see a drawn katana shimmering behind her calm facade. Her cold gaze sent a chill down his spine, and he wisely shut his mouth.
"…Drive safe" he muttered instead, and hurriedly got out.
But just as he was about to close the door, he paused.
He turned back toward her, taking in her composed yet razor-sharp aura, and drew a deep breath.
"Araki" he said quietly, "I'll come back."
"For me… Japan isn't a place without attachments. Even if there's a lot I hate here, there are still people worth coming back to see."
"So when I do—don't forget to come pick me up."
His tone was casual, but the trembling of his hand on the car door betrayed his nerves.
After nearly a year together, he could read Araki's moods better than most—but when she was angry, even he knew better than to test her.
One wrong word, and he'd be greeting that damned katana again.
Even that little farewell speech had taken all the courage he had left.
"I probably… won't get sliced for that, right?"
Kota gulped and watched her carefully.
In a year's time, Araki had drawn her sword on him at least eighty times—maybe more. Usually playfully, sure, but still enough that he'd developed his own evasive techniques.
Araki… even you can't land a strike on me now!
His leg muscles tensed, ready to dive for the ground and roll if she so much as twitched toward her weapon.
But Araki didn't. She only gave him a brief, icy glance and let out a small hum.
"…Close the door. It's cold."
"Huh? Oh, right."
He quickly shut it—too hard, apparently.
"Can you not slam my door like it's a taxi?" she snapped.
Kota froze.
"…I'm sorry" he muttered, bowing slightly.
Seeing him so obedient, Araki gave a faint snort and turned her head away. "Let me know when you're leaving. I'll drive you to the airport."
"Got it."
With his reply, Yako pressed the gas pedal. The engine roared, and the car shot forward like a silver arrow, kicking up dust as it disappeared down the street.
Kota stood there, watching the car shrink into the distance, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
"Damn, that car's fast," he said to himself.
"Tch. If I stayed in Japan… that car would probably be mine someday."
He grinned. "Hmm… worth thinking about."
After Kaijō's championship victory, the ripple effect online was massive.
First, there was that so-called "Prophet King"—a streamer who'd earned fame (and hate) by making bold basketball predictions. His final prophecy, "Rakuzan will crush Kaijō," had aged horribly.
Naturally, the internet exploded in mockery.
But hey, when you make a living as a content creator, you prepare for backlash before you even post. The man had already cashed in on the clicks and ad revenue—no amount of flaming could take that money away.
Give it a few weeks for the noise to die down, and he'd probably pop back up with another outrageous take, rake in the views, then vanish again.
A true veteran of the internet game.
Meanwhile, real life went on unaffected.
After a week of rest, Kota was ready for his second trip to China, accompanied by Reiko.
After a short farewell with Yako, he boarded the plane. Looking down at the mountain of gifts in his hands, he couldn't help but sigh.
They were all from Kise.
It had been Kota's birthday not long ago, but for reasons of his own, he'd completely disappeared that day—leaving the rest of the Generation of Miracles without a chance to celebrate.
Still, that didn't stop the gifts from pouring in afterward.
"Well then," Kota said, cracking a grin. "Let's see what these guys got me this time."