The Kaminari High bus pulled into the massive, glass-fronted complex of the North District Arena. It was a cathedral of basketball, humming with the sound of hundreds of squeaking soles and the distant, rhythmic thunder of balls hitting hardwood.
As the team stepped off the bus, the atmosphere shifted. This wasn't a local gym; this was the Internationals. Scouts with tablets stood near the entrances, and rival teams in sleek, neon-trimmed jerseys looked them over with predatory curiosity.
Teru stepped out, shielding his eyes from the sun. "Man, this place is huge. Look at the size of the guys from South Tech. They look like they were grown in a lab!"
The bus hissed as its suspension rose, freed from its heaviest load. Akami Kazu stepped onto the pavement, his crimson "Game Day" durag tied tight. In his hand, he held the empty, grease-stained paper bag—the final remains of the three-layered melon pan.
He didn't look at the scouts. He didn't look at the giant scoreboard. He just crumpled the bag into a perfect sphere and tossed it into a trash can from twenty feet away with a flick of his wrist.
Swish.
"My glucose levels have reached the optimal threshold," Akami rumbled, his voice vibrating in the chests of everyone nearby.
"The salted butter has successfully lubricated my joints. I am no longer in hibernation."
Inside, the Kaminari team took over half of Court 4. The scouts had gathered around the neighboring court to watch a flashy dunker from the North Representative team, but a sudden, heavy BOOM drew their attention toward Kaminari.
Akami hadn't even taken off his warm-up jacket. He had simply walked to the paint, caught a ball with one hand, and performed a standing vertical jump that seemed to defy the laws of physics he had just mastered on his exam.
He didn't dunk hard; he dunked heavy. The entire backboard assembly groaned, the rim vibrating at a low frequency for five seconds after he landed.
"Akami-kun," Mio said, walking up to him with her stopwatch. "The scouts are watching.
Save some of that for the actual whistle."
Akami turned to her, his amber eyes glowing under the arena lights. "Mio-san, that wasn't an exhibition. That was a metabolic test. The melon pan provided a 15% increase in explosive power compared to the strawberry milk alone."
He looked across the gym at their first-round opponents, a team known for their lightning-fast transition play. They were staring at him, their faces pale.
"They look fast," Teru whispered, bouncing on his heels. "They're like gazelles."
"Gazelles are high in lean protein," Akami muttered, his stomach letting out a low, predatory growl. "But they are easily disrupted by a change in climate. Tell the
Captain to change the strategy. We aren't playing a transition game today."
He adjusted his durag and stepped onto the center circle, the floorboards seemingly bowing under his weight.
"Today," the God of the Buffet rumbled, "we are playing an extinction event. I am still... very hungry."
The whistle for the tip-off didn't just start a game; it sounded like a dinner bell.
The opposing center for North Tech was a two-meter-tall string bean nicknamed "The Crane." He had wingspan for days and a vertical that had scouts leaning forward in their plastic chairs. He looked at Akami—who was currently standing in a trance-like state of "caloric preservation"—and smirked.
"Hey, big man," the Crane whispered as they lined up at center court. "Hope you brought a ladder. I'm playing above the rim today."
Akami didn't blink. He didn't even look at the guy's face. His gaze was fixed on the Crane's midsection.
"Your center of mass is inefficient," Akami rumbled, his voice sounding like two boulders grinding together. "You have the bone density of a breadstick. A light breeze from the North District would snap your radius."
The referee tossed the ball into the air.
The Crane exploded upward, his fingers grazing the leather at its apex. But he didn't feel the ball. He felt a displacement of air.
Akami didn't jump high; he jumped through the space. His massive hand snatched the ball out of the air before the Crane could even tip it. He landed with a bone-shaking thud that made the water bottles on the sidelines dance.
"Teru," Akami muttered, landing on his feet and immediately firing a chest pass that nearly took Teru's ribs out. "Execute. I'm burning 12 calories a second. We finish this in the first half."
The First Quarter: The "Buffet" Defense
For the next eight minutes, the North District Arena witnessed a statistical anomaly. North Tech, a team known for their "Flash-Fire" offense, couldn't get within three feet of the basket.
Every time their point guard tried a drive, they ran into a wall of navy-blue jersey and black silk. Akami wasn't even running; he was shuffling. He moved in small, geometric increments, perfectly calculating the shortest distance to intercept the ball.
BLOCK. REBOUND. OUTLET PASS.
"He's not even sweating!" Mio shouted from the bench, her pen flying across her clipboard. "He's maintaining a steady heart rate of 110. He's treating their offense like a slow-moving conveyor belt at a sushi restaurant!"
By the end of the quarter, Kaminari was up 24-8. Akami had 12 rebounds, 6 blocks, and 0 points. He hadn't bothered to shoot yet.
Time-Out
Akami slumped onto the bench, draped in three towels. His "Game Day" durag was slightly damp, but his eyes were sharper than ever.
"Akami! Why aren't you scoring?" the Captain yelled, exhilarated but confused. "You've got the Crane in a blender! Take it to the rim!"
Akami slowly looked up. He reached into his gym bag and pulled out a small, plastic-wrapped item. It was the final, bite-sized corner of the salted butter melon pan he had saved for "emergency stabilization."
He popped it into his mouth and chewed with profound, silent intensity.
"I was waiting," Akami rumbled, his voice regaining its tectonic bass.
"Waiting for what?"
"For the butter to hit my bloodstream," Akami said, standing up. He looked at the scoreboard, then at the North Tech team, who were huddling in a state of visible panic.
"The defensive phase is over. My body has processed the complex carbohydrates. Now..."
He adjusted his durag, pulling it so low his amber eyes were two glowing slits in the shadow.
"I am going to show them why the North District should have charged me more for that bread."
The second quarter whistle blew, and the atmosphere in the arena shifted from a basketball game to a nature documentary.
Specifically, the part where the apex predator stops playing with its food.
Akami didn't wait for the ball. He established position in the low post, his back to "The Crane." The North Tech center tried to front him, digging his knees into Akami's hamstrings, but it was like trying to push back a tectonic plate.
"Teru," Akami rumbled, his voice low and vibrating against the hardwood. "The lob.
Calculate the arc for a 3.5-meter apex. Don't make me jump higher than necessary; I'm saving glycogen for the post-game commute."
Teru didn't hesitate. He flicked the ball toward the rafters.
Akami rose. It wasn't a jump; it was an ascent. He caught the ball with one hand at a height that made the scouts' tablets drop to the floor. The Crane was still on the way up when Akami was already on the way down.
BOOM.
The rim didn't just snap; it shrieked. Akami landed, the basket still trembling in his wake.
He didn't celebrate. He didn't flex. He simply turned and began a slow, rhythmic jog back to the defensive end.
"Two points," Akami muttered. "Estimated cost: 45 calories. Worth it for the structural dominance."
By the middle of the third, North Tech had abandoned their "Flash-Fire" offense and moved into a "Survival-Based" retreat. They were triple-teaming Akami, three players hanging off his arms like remoras on a whale.
Akami ignored them. He was in the Flow State of the Buffet.
He drove to the lane, spinning past two defenders with a Euro-step that looked like a glitch in the physics engine—the same move that had gone viral, but now powered by North District salted butter.
"He's... he's accelerating!" Mio shouted from the sidelines, her stopwatch clicking frantically. "His heart rate is actually dropping as his speed increases. He's achieved peak metabolic efficiency!"
Akami leaped from the dotted line. Three North Tech players jumped with him, a wall of desperate arms.
"Inefficient," Akami rumbled in mid-air.
He didn't go through them. He adjusted his center of gravity—a maneuver that should have been impossible for a man his size—and glided under their outstretched arms for a reverse layup that kissed the glass with the gentleness of a powdered donut.
Kaminari 88, North Tech 42
As the siren echoed through the arena, Akami remained standing in the paint. He was drenched in sweat, his crimson durag now a deep, dark maroon. He finished the game with 42 points, 28 rebounds, and a look of profound, existential emptiness.
The scouts were swarming the Kaminari bench, but Akami was looking at the exit.
"Akami! You did it!" Teru yelled, leaping onto Akami's back. "You're the MVP of the opening round! The 'God of the Buffet' just ate the #1 seed!"
Akami slowly reached up and peeled Teru off his shoulders. He turned to Mio, his amber eyes glazed.
"Mio-san," he whispered, his voice a dry, tectonic rasp.
"I know, I know," she said, already pulling a thermal bag from under the bench. "You burned through the melon pan, didn't you?"
"The butter... has been depleted," Akami rumbled, his knees finally buckling as he sat heavily on the bench. "I am currently a hollow shell. My internal sensors are detecting a 4,000-calorie deficit."
He looked at his Food Map, which was now damp with sweat. He pointed a trembling finger at a small icon of a grill near the arena.
"That... wagyu-don shop. The one with the charcoal-seared fat. If we do not reach it within twelve minutes... I will begin to photosynthesize."
Mio laughed, shaking her head. "Pack it up, boys! The 'God of the Buffet' needs a tribute, or he's going to eat the bus tires!"
...
To Be Continued.