“Gu Jin, how about I go play some video games with you?” Sendo looked at the silent young man beside him, trying to suggest something to help him relax.
Gu Jin shook his head, his voice low: “Sendo, let’s go back to Hiroshima.”
“Go back?” Sendo was slightly startled, a little surprised by his sudden decision.
“Mm.” Gu Jin nodded, his tone carrying an undeniable certainty, “If we buy tickets now, we might even make it back for the afternoon practice.”
“Gu Jin, are you really okay?” Sendo frowned, looking him over worriedly, “There’s no need to rush back. There’s still some time before the game.”
“I’m fine.” Gu Jin lowered his eyes, making it impossible to read his emotions.
Sendo looked at him like this and sighed inwardly: “Gu Jin, I don’t know how to comfort you, but don’t force yourself.”
Gu Jin looked up, a hint of confusion flashing in his eyes before they darkened again. He said softly, “I’m not forcing myself. What else do I have left to lose? Perhaps… only basketball.”
His words were as light as a sigh, but they weighed heavily on Sendo’s heart.
“Alright.” Sendo didn’t insist further, just patted his shoulder, “I’ll go buy the tickets.”
At the afternoon practice court, when Gu Jin’s figure appeared at the door, the Ryonan Team members were visibly stunned—no one expected him to return so quickly, and so punctually.
Even more surprising was that Gu Jin’s condition was exceptionally good. Or rather, it was unusually good.
He didn't say any extra words, changed into his jersey, and plunged into training. Running, passing, shooting, every movement carried a fierce determination, even more desperate than usual practice.
Shimamura Yoko had already requested three days off from Taoka Moichi that morning and was still in Kanagawa.
Gu Jin seemed tireless, sprinting again and again, jumping again and again, until the last dunk fell, he seemed to have completely exhausted his strength, falling heavily onto the floor.
He lay there, his chest heaving violently, gasping for air, sweat streaming down his cheeks, soaking the floor beneath him.
The training court was silent, only his heavy breathing, exceptionally clear in the empty stadium.
Taoka Moichi walked over slowly and crouched beside him.
“Gu Jin, take a break.” He waved his hand, signaling the players still packing up on the sidelines to leave. Soon, only the two of them remained in the training court.
“Coach, I’m fine.” Gu Jin remained lying, his voice hoarse from the intense exercise.
“Gu Jin, don’t force yourself anymore.” Taoka Moichi’s voice softened slightly, carrying a hint of imperceptible tenderness.
Gu Jin stared at the ceiling and suddenly asked softly, “Coach, if we win the championship this time, will I have fulfilled my promise?”
“What do you mean by that?” Taoka Moichi’s heart skipped a beat, and he suddenly realized, “Are you leaving Ryonan?”
Gu Jin shook his head, still lying on the floor, his eyes empty: “I’m leaving Japan.”
“Leaving Japan? Going back to your home in China?” Taoka Moichi pressed.
“Home?” Gu Jin let out a low laugh, full of self-mockery, “Where is home?”
This light, airy sentence pierced Taoka Moichi like a needle.
“Why do you have to leave?” he pressed, his tone urgent.
“My residency permit was originally arranged through Uncle.” Gu Jin’s voice was very soft, but every word was clear, “Now that he’s a wanted criminal, it probably won’t be long before I’m deported.”
Taoka Moichi listened, his brows furrowed tightly, then he said in a deep voice: “You don’t need to worry about that. If you’re willing, I can adopt you. As long as you don’t want to leave, no one in Japan can force you to go.”
Gu Jin suddenly turned his head and looked at Taoka Moichi, who was crouching beside him.
The Coach’s hair was a little gray, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were particularly clear under the training court’s overhead lights, but the seriousness in his eyes was more intense than ever.
“Coach…” Gu Jin opened his mouth, his voice suddenly catching in his throat.
He had thought he had long been abandoned by the whole world—abandoned by his parents, his only reliance was his Uncle and aunt, who turned out to be escaped criminals;
Yoko, who grew up with him, also cut ties with him completely because of these matters.
He was like duckweed floating on water, unable to grasp any place to land.
But Taoka Moichi, at this moment, said he wanted to adopt him.
His eyes suddenly welled up, and the tears he had held back at K楠 noodle shop could no longer be contained.
Gu Jin turned his face away, wiping his eyes hard with the back of his hand, but tears still streamed through his fingers, burning his skin.
“You…” He sniffled, his voice terribly hoarse, “You don’t have to do this…”
How could he be worthy?
Seeing him like this, Taoka Moichi felt a little relieved—it was good that he could cry, better than holding it all in.
He reached out and patted Gu Jin’s shoulder heavily, not saying anything soft, only: “Less talk. Get up, the floor is cold. We haven’t won the championship yet, if you collapse now, I won’t forgive you.”
Gu Jin didn’t move, just lay there, tears hitting the floor, spreading into a small wet mark.
But the empty place in his heart felt like it was slowly being filled with something, warm and cozy.
It turned out… he wasn’t truly alone… Inside a secret base in Kanagawa, the air was so heavy it could almost be wrung out.
“Onodera Ritsu, I want an explanation!” The speaker was a senior police officer in plain clothes, with a solemn demeanor. He tapped his finger heavily on the table, his gaze sharp as a knife, directed straight at the person opposite him.
Onodera Ritsu—the man known as “Chief Ono” in Kanagawa Prefecture—stood at rigid attention, his face devoid of his usual composure, his brows tightly furrowed: “Yes, sir. I will immediately dispatch more personnel to quickly investigate who is deliberately pushing this matter and bringing up the old case from back then.”
“I suspect ‘he’ has exposed his identity, or… has been targeted and is starting to be suspected.”
The senior police officer said in a deep voice, with a hint of imperceptible worry in his tone.
The long line they had laid out was now suddenly disrupted, and the variables were too great.
“Then… should we activate the contingency plan early?” Onodera Ritsu asked hesitantly, his eyes full of a request for instruction.
Once the contingency plan is activated, it means that many years of previous planning may have to completely change direction, or even face uncontrollable risks.