If you've ever lived two lives, you'll know the weird part isn't forgetting the past.
It's choosing which parts are still yours.
🏀 Scene 1: The Challenge
The gym was empty again, just how I liked it after hours. Lights half-dimmed, only the sound of basketball against hardwood keeping me company.
I'd shot maybe twenty free throws when the door creaked open.
Ren Mizuhara stepped in, holding a ball of his own.
His shadow stretched long across the court like a memory refusing to fade.
"One-on-one," he said. "You and me. Now."
I caught the rebound and spun it in my hands. "What's this supposed to fix?"
He walked up, eyes dark and unreadable. "Everything. Or nothing. I don't care. But I need to know—if the person standing in front of me is still Akira Kajiwara."
My fingers twitched at the name.
"I'm not. Not completely."
"Prove it."
He stepped back, dribbled once. "Game to 11. One point per basket. Loser stops running."
I didn't know if he meant metaphorically or not.
Didn't matter.
I nodded.
He came at me fast, that Kansai style of offense—agile, deceptive, sharp.
The first point was his. A clean jumper from the elbow.
Second one, I took him off the dribble and slipped a layup beneath his hand.
We didn't talk.
We didn't need to.
Each drive was a question.
Each shot was an answer.
"Why did you leave me behind?"
Crossover.
"Why didn't you understand?"
Step-back.
"Why do you still haunt me?"
Hesitation drive. Spin. Bank.
The score ticked up.
5–4.
7–6.
10–10.
We stood at the top of the key, sweat dripping, breaths short, time forgotten.
Ren bounced the ball slowly, then looked up.
"You really aren't him anymore."
I blinked. "You sure?"
"Yeah. Akira wouldn't hesitate. But you—you're always choosing now. You think before you cut. You hesitate before you drive. You're not just playing to win anymore. You're playing to live."
Then he blew past me.
I reacted a split-second late.
But… I still chased. Lunged.
Blocked it clean.
We both landed hard. My knees burned from the floor.
We lay there, staring at the ceiling lights.
Breathing.
"You okay?" I asked.
"Nope," he said. "But maybe I will be."
I laughed.
"You'll make a good rival, Ren."
He chuckled too. "And you'll make a better friend this time. Try not to vanish again."
💘 Scene 2: Festival Night
A few days later, Haruko caught me just outside class.
"Hey, um… are you doing anything this weekend?"
She played with the hem of her sleeve, cheeks pink.
"There's a shrine festival. I thought maybe you'd come with me. Not as a date! Just… as friends. Or not. I mean—"
"Haruko."
She stopped mid-ramble.
I smiled. "I'd love to."
The festival was louder than I expected—bright lanterns, yakitori smoke in the air, kids chasing each other with candied apples.
Haruko wore a pale blue yukata with white plum blossoms.
She looked like the kind of person I would've drawn back in my past life, then erased because no real person should be that calming to look at.
"You okay?" she asked.
I nodded. "Just… taking it in. It's been a while."
We played a few games—goldfish scooping (I failed miserably), ring toss (Haruko won a mini basketball plush), and grabbed takoyaki from a booth manned by a very intense old man who yelled "PERFECT GRILLING" with every order.
As the sky darkened, the fireworks started.
I stood next to her on the temple steps, watching bursts of color light up the sky.
"Hey… Kudo," she said softly.
"Yeah?"
"Do you think you'll stay?"
"Where?"
"Here. With us. This school, this town… this life."
I didn't answer right away.
Not because I didn't know. But because I finally knew.
"I think… I already have."
She looked at me.
And smiled in that way that makes fireworks unnecessary.
🧠 Scene 3: Coach Knows
The next morning, Coach Anzai called me into his office.
That alone was terrifying.
The old man sipped tea slowly, watching me with eyes that saw more than they ever let on.
"You're adjusting well, Kudo."
I nodded, sitting straight.
"I've been coaching for a long time. Seen players come and go. But never have I seen one arrive like you."
He set his cup down.
"You're not just good. You remember things before they happen. You move like someone who's done all this before."
I swallowed.
"What are you really running from, Kudo?"
Silence.
Then I exhaled.
And told him the truth.
Not every detail, of course. But enough.
"My name… used to be Akira Kajiwara. I was from another life. Another team. I died. Somehow, I woke up here. With someone else's face. A second chance."
Anzai didn't react with shock. Or disbelief.
He nodded slowly.
"I once coached a player who swore his left hand belonged to a samurai in his past life. He couldn't shoot with it—but he could slice a watermelon in one hit."
I blinked.
He grinned.
"Truth is stranger than fiction, Kudo. And whatever your truth is… it's real to you."
He poured me tea.
"Just promise me you'll play this life out until the final whistle. No quitting early."
I nodded.
"I will, Coach."
"Good. Because the prefecture tournament's coming… and I have a feeling you're going to be our wild card."
📓 Final Thoughts
Ren stopped chasing me.
Haruko chose to walk beside me.
And Coach… he sees more than I knew.
This life isn't perfect.
But for the first time… I don't want to run from it.
I want to earn it.
One pass. One cut. One honest play at time.