The gym buzzed with energy—fifty first-years packed together on the baseline, the air thick with anticipation. It wasn't just the noise of sneakers squeaking or basketballs bouncing—it was the weight of fifty dreams fighting for space.
At the far end of the gym stood Rin Tohsaka. Clipboard in hand, she looked over the crowd like a general surveying her troops. Her sharp blue eyes cut through the chatter, narrowing slightly as she began her silent assessment. Beside her, Kobayashi spun a basketball lazily in his hand, his casual posture a stark contrast to the cold focus emanating off of Rin.
Rin's icy gaze swept across the group like a knife, taking in each player with clinical precision.
Good. Average. Useless. Why did he even come?
Taro had seen that look before—the expression of someone who knew exactly what they were doing and didn't have time for dead weight.
Kobayashi broke the silence first, his smirk sharp and relaxed as always. "Here's the deal. Fundamentals first—dribbling, shooting, defense. If you think you're special, prove it when we scrimmage. If not, well, the door's over there."
No one laughed.
Rin tapped her pen against her clipboard. "We're watching everything. Not just how you play, but how you think. The court doesn't care about excuses."
Taro took a slow breath as the drills began.
"First drill, dribbling" Kobayashi announced, his voice casual but clear. "We'll see how many of you can handle the ball without looking like you're chasing a cheese downhill."
That earned a few nervous chuckles, but they died out quickly under Rin's cold stare.
Kobayashi stepped forward, his smirk turning into something sharper. "Watch."
He snapped his dribble into motion, the ball slamming into the hardwood with sharp, clean control. He weaved through the cones in a tight line, his movements fluid and efficient, the ball never straying far from his hand. By the final cone, he pushed forward, his speed accelerating as he closed on the rim.
The gym collectively held its breath as Kobayashi rose up in the air, his hand stretching above the rim before slamming the ball down into the hoop. The backboard rattled, and the ball hit the ground with a loud thud, rolling to the baseline as silence followed.
"That's the drill," Kobayashi announced, rolling his shoulders like he hadn't just shattered fifty first-years' confidence. "Dribble through the cones, stay low, keep it clean. If you screw it up, you've got no business being here." His smirk widened as he walked back to Rin. "Try not to embarrass yourselves too badly."
"Make a line and start the drill!" Rin called.
The first player stepped forward. He wasn't tall or particularly athletic, but he had the determined look of someone who believed they could make it.
The moment the whistle blew, the boy lunged forward with his dribble—and lost control immediately. The ball bounced off his foot, rolling toward the sideline as he scrambled after it. Rin's pen didn't even move; she simply looked away, her expression unimpressed.
"Next."
The second player was overly cautious. He worked through the cones at a snail's pace, his movements stiff and robotic as he dribbled. He managed to reach the final cone, his face bright red from nerves, before lumbering into an awkward layup that clanged off the rim.
Kobayashi clicked his tongue and muttered, "He's wasting everyone's time."
Rin made a single mark on the clipboard.
Then came Kaede Rukawa.
The moment he stepped forward, the energy in the gym shifted. At 182 centimeters, he stood taller than most of the other first-years, his athletic build and calm presence making it clear why he'd been scouted. The whispers started immediately.
"That's Rukawa, right?"
"He's supposed to be crazy good."
Rukawa ignored them. He didn't even acknowledge the players staring at him, his cold blue eyes fixed solely on the cones ahead.
The whistle blew.
Rukawa exploded forward, his dribbling tight and clean, the ball bouncing low to the ground. He weaved through the cones effortlessly, his footwork sharp and deliberate. There was no wasted movement, no hesitation. By the time he reached the final cone, he accelerated into a burst of speed, pulling up for a mid-range jumper.
Swish.
The ball fell cleanly through the net. Rukawa jogged back to the baseline without a word, his expression flat and unreadable, as if he hadn't just outclassed half the gym.
Rin's pen scratched across the clipboard with quick, decisive strokes. Kobayashi tilted his head slightly, his smirk fading into a more focused look.
Good.
The next few players barely warranted a glance.
One dribbled like he was afraid the ball might bite him, his movements awkward and jerky. Another sped through the cones so recklessly that the ball bounced out of control three times, leaving him chasing after it like a toddler.
"Why did he even come?" Rin muttered under her breath, drawing a single line through the name on her clipboard.
Kobayashi sighed, spinning a ball on his finger as the next hopeful stumbled through the drill. "They are doing their best at least"
"Next!" Rin called.
The whistle blew, and Ryota Watari started dribbling through the cones.
At first, he was all over the place. His dribble was loose, his shoulders too relaxed, like he wasn't taking it seriously. He spun the ball behind his back unnecessarily, catching it on the wrong bounce. It almost slipped out of his grip, drawing a frustrated sigh from Rin as her pen hovered threateningly over the clipboard.
"Focus!" Kobayashi called, his tone sharp but not unkind.
Watari reset. His grin slipped, replaced by something quieter—serious.
The difference was immediate.
His movements snapped into rhythm, his dribble tightening as he glided through the cones. It wasn't as clean as Rukawa's performance, but it was smooth—effortless it looked like he was moving to music only he could hear or something like that. At the final cone he accelerated to the hoop and made a reverse layup.
"Better," Kobayashi muttered, tilting his head as if reassessing.
Rin marked something on her clipboard but said nothing.
Taro watched him, his amber eyes narrowing slightly. Watari was inconsistent—his mistakes too obvious—but when he focused, there was something there.
Raw potential, Taro thought, exhaling slowly as the line moved forward
Taro stepped forward next. The whispers returned—quiet, skeptical. His size was impossible to ignore.
"Bet he'll fumble it."
Taro tuned them out. He crouched low, his broad shoulders relaxed as he waited for the whistle.
When it blew, he started moving.
Taro didn't do anything fancy. There were no spins, no tricks, no unnecessary flair. His dribbles were tight and deliberate, the ball staying close to his palm as he worked through the cones with quiet focus.
He didn't lose control. Not once.
By the time he reached the final cone, Taro finished with a clean, simple layup. No flash, no wasted motion.
He jogged back to the line without looking at anyone, ignoring the quiet murmurs that followed him.
Kobayashi raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning faintly. "Doesn't drop the ball. That's something."
Rin's pen scratched across her clipboard, a single, firm note.
Good.
After a couple of more people attempted the drill, the final whistle for the dribbling drill blew, and Rin's pen tapped once against the clipboard, breaking the silence.
"Next," she called, her voice clipped and commanding. "Defense and offense. 1-on-1."
"In this test," Kobayashi announced, clapping his hands together. "We're running one-on-one. Two lines—one under the hoop, the other at mid-court. Defense starts under the basket, offense starts at half-court. You score, great. You miss, good defense. After you've played, you switch lines, simple enough?"
The murmurs started immediately—some excited, others nervous. Taro rolled his shoulders, feeling his muscles settle as he moved toward the line under the hoop. He knew what this was. Drills were fine, but this—this was where players proved themselves.
Rin stepped forward, her clipboard tucked against her chest. "We're looking for control. If you panic or waste your chance, don't expect to impress anyone."
Her gaze swept over the crowd. "Move."
The lines formed quickly, splitting players into offense and defense. The first two stepped up, the whistle blew, and the drill began.
It didn't take long for Rukawa to command attention again.
When his turn came, the gym fell quieter, players craning their necks to watch. His defender was a lanky first-year with decent size, but the moment the whistle blew, it was over.
Rukawa's first step was electric—fast and explosive, his body leaning low as he surged forward. His dribble was fluid, the ball an extension of him as he crossed over and slipped past the defender in a single motion.
"He too quick…" someone muttered.
At the rim, Rukawa elevated like his feet had springs, twisting midair as his body contorted around the defender's outstretched arm. He finished with a high-arcing layup that kissed off the backboard and dropped through the net.
He wasn't perfect, though. On his next attempt, he tried a sharp turn into a fadeaway jumper he leaned back in the air even further than Taro thought possible, and finally he shot, but the ball bounced off the rim with a loud clank. Rukawa landed rougly, his icy expression flickering with irritation for just a moment before jogging back to the half-court line.
Rin's pen hovered as she watched him, her gaze thoughtful. Kobayashi muttered something under his breath, tilting his head as Rukawa reset.
"He's good, but he's forcing it," Kobayashi said, loud enough for Rin to hear. "Trying to play like someone else."
Rin marked something down.
Watari was next.
He looked confident as he stepped up, rolling his shoulders and flashing a grin at no one in particular. His defender—a shorter, scrappy kid—planted his feet, eyes locked on Watari's every move.
The whistle blew, and Watari started his dribble.
It was clear he had the natural rhythm others lacked, the ball moving fluidly between his hands as he stepped into his drive. But halfway in, his focus wavered. He hesitated—just for a second—and the defender pounced, knocking the ball loose.
"Damn it," Watari muttered, jogging back to the line with a sheepish grin.
On his next attempt, he managed to get past his defender with a quick crossover, his dribble smooth and controlled. But at the rim, he rushed the shot, the ball bouncing off the backboard awkwardly.
Kobayashi clicked his tongue. "He's overthinking it."
Rin's gaze flicked to him. She didn't say anything, but her pen made another mark.
Watari jogged back to the baseline, his grin tighter now, though his eyes burned with quiet frustration.
When Taro stepped forward, the murmurs returned. His size alone drew attention, players turning to see how the "big guy" would handle himself.
Taro ignored them. He took his position at half-court, his broad shoulders relaxed but ready.
The whistle blew.
His defender—a stocky first-year that wasn't close to him in size—squared up immediately, arms wide. But Taro didn't hesitate.
His first step was slower than Rukawa's, but deliberate. He pushed forward, backing the defender down like a battering ram, his dribble steady and low. The defender grunted, feet sliding backward as Taro's strength overwhelmed him.
When he reached the paint, Taro planted his foot and pivoted smoothly, turning into a soft hook shot that dropped cleanly through the net.
"He has it too easy," someone muttered.
Taro reset at the baseline, stepping into defense this time. When his opponent tried to drive, Taro barely budged. He cut off the angle with one step, his presence swallowing the smaller player's space. The shot never even hit the rim.
On offense again, Taro added variety. He caught his defender leaning too far forward and took a quick step around him, finishing with a floater that arced perfectly over the outstretched hand.
"Not bad," Kobayashi said quietly, smirking as he leaned closer to Rin. "He's playing to his strengths."
Rin said nothing, her pen moving steadily.
The gym cycled through players, the results mixed. Some struggled to keep their dribble alive. Others panicked and forced bad shots. Rin's pen flicked with ruthless efficiency—notes, crosses, quick judgments.
Useless. Average. Forgettable.
Rukawa continued to shine, his drives fast and fluid, his jumps explosive. He missed more than once—forcing shots when he didn't need to—but no one questioned his talent.
Watari kept stumbling. He looked good when his rhythm was right, spinning past defenders or threading tight spaces with his dribble, but his finishing was inconsistent. The frustration was starting to show, his easygoing grin slipping into something tighter, more fragile.
And then there was Taro.
Each time he stepped up, he dominated. He used his strength to bulldoze through defenders, his movements deliberate and unshakable. When he couldn't overpower someone, he slowed down, pivoting smoothly into clean floaters or hooks.
It wasn't flashy. It wasn't fast.
It was unstoppable.
By the time the whistle blew to end the drill, the energy in the gym had changed. The murmurs weren't skeptical anymore.
"Guy's a beast."
"Did he even miss?"
Taro exhaled, sweat dripping from his chin as he stepped back into line. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths, but his amber eyes stayed focused, scanning the court as Rin and Kobayashi spoke quietly between themselves.
Rukawa glanced at him from the other line, his cold blue eyes narrowing faintly. He didn't say anything, but the look was clear: I see you.
Taro didn't react.
Good. Keep watching.
As the players gathered back at the baseline, Rin made a final mark on her clipboard. Her gaze swept over the first-years, lingering on a few—Rukawa, Watari, Taro.
"Scrimmages are next," Kobayashi announced, tossing the ball into the air and catching it with a practiced ease. "Let's see what you can really do when it counts."
Taro cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders as he stepped forward.
The warmup was done.
Now it was time to play.