Ace of the Bench

The sound of chirping birds slipped through the window blinds, brushing softly against Yuto's ears. For once, there was no alarm, no coach's whistle echoing through his mind, no tension humming in his muscles. Just peace.

He blinked slowly, the morning sunlight spilling across his desk, glinting off the silver edge of his alarm clock.

5:32 a.m.

He yawned, rubbing at his eyes. "Guess I overslept…"

Usually, he was already halfway through his morning training by now jogging through the neighborhood at 4:00 a.m. sharp, sweat glistening on his skin as he tried to keep up with the system's relentless pace. But today was different. There was no practice. No school.

Just Sunday.

Still, habit tugged at him. He swung his legs off the bed, the cool wooden floor biting at his feet. The system's soft chime flickered to life in his mind.

[System Notification: Morning Routine "Maintain the Flame"]

Objective: Begin the day with consistency.

Push-ups (x100)

Sit-ups (x100)

Stretching & Knee Focus (10 min)

jumping Jacks (×40)

Light Run (20 min)

Reward: +1 Endurance | +1 Discipline

Yuto smiled faintly. "Even on my day off, huh?"

He dropped to the floor and started his push-ups. The rhythm came naturally steady, controlled, each rep measured. Sweat began to gather at his temples as he moved through the sets. Sit-ups followed, his breath syncing with the faint hum of the system's timer.

He takes a 5 minutes break then start to do Jumping Jacks.

When it came time for stretches, he focused especially on his right knee. Slowly bending, then holding. Feeling the subtle strain beneath the joint not pain exactly, but tension. A quiet reminder.

"Still holding on, huh…" he whispered to it, pressing his palm against the knee like an apology.

After finishing, he laced up his running shoes and stepped outside. The morning air was crisp and gentle, mist hovering low across the street. He started jogging down the narrow lane that curved around the block, passing sleepy houses and closed shops.

Each footstep echoed lightly not the echo of competition, but of rhythm. Of peace.

He wasn't chasing speed today. Just motion. Just the feeling of being alive.

Twenty minutes later, he returned home, breathing steady, hair damp with sweat.

The smell of breakfast hit him the moment he opened the door the comforting scent of fried dumplings, eggs, and plantains sizzling in the kitchen. His stomach growled.

"Morning, Mom," he called, wiping his forehead with a towel.

"Morning, sweetheart," his mother replied from the kitchen, wearing a yellow apron and stirring a pot of porridge. "You slept in today."

"Yeah," he said, grinning. "My alarm didn't wake me this time."

His father's voice came from the dining table. "You deserve the rest, son. Yesterday's game wasn't easy."

Yuto nodded, still feeling the dull ache in his legs. "Yeah… but it was worth it."

His mom shot him a look. "As long as it wasn't too much strain on that knee."

He raised his hands defensively. "Promise. Light work only."

She smiled, but her eyes still carried that protective glint only mothers had.

"Go shower, then come eat," she said. "Breakfast will be ready soon."

"Alright."

He jogged upstairs, peeled off his sweat-soaked shirt, and stepped into the shower. Warm water cascaded over his back, easing the muscles in his arms and shoulders. He exhaled deeply, letting his mind drift.

Even though yesterday's match was just a practice, it still lingered in his thoughts the way the crowd had cheered, the pressure, the thrill of facing someone stronger. Renji's raw strength.

All of it replayed like highlights in his head.

He shut off the water, dried himself, and stepped into his room with a towel around his waist. The cool morning breeze brushed against his skin as he sat on the edge of the bed, lost in thought.

That's when his father knocked on the door. "Yuuto, you dressed?"

"Almost, Dad."

"Good. Got something to show you."

Yuto raised an eyebrow. "Show me?"

His father opened the door slightly, grinning as he held up two glossy tickets.

"Boom! Courtside seats."

Yuto blinked. "Wait… is that"

"Yep," his dad said proudly. "Jamaica Elite vs. the Tokyo Typhoons. Exhibition match. International series."

Yuto's mouth fell open. "No way. The Typhoons? They're actually here?"

His father laughed. "You think I'd lie about that? One of the best players in the world is playing today Akira Ishida. Guy's a beast. Your old man got lucky with these tickets."

Yuuto's heart kicked up a notch. Akira Ishida the legendary Japanese shooting guard who was known for his impossible three-pointers and calm, analytical style. The man was a walking highlight reel.

"Dad, how did you even get these?"

"Let's just say one of my business partners had an extra pair," he said with a wink. "Now hurry up, or we'll miss warm-ups."

Yuuto didn't need to be told twice. He threw on a white t-shirt, light jeans, and a navy jacket, then slipped on his sneakers.

Downstairs, his mom was plating breakfast steaming dumplings, scrambled eggs, callaloo, and fried plantains.

"Where are you two off to looking like that?" she asked.

"The international game," Yuuto said, barely hiding his excitement.

She smiled. "You and your father enjoy. Just don't eat too much junk food, alright?"

"No promises," Yuuto grinned.

They ate quickly, sharing small jokes in between bites, and then headed out.

The drive to the stadium was smooth, the morning sun painting gold streaks across the windshield. Kingston's streets buzzed with life people in jerseys, fans waving flags, vendors selling water bottles and peanuts.

As they pulled into the parking lot, the energy was electric. You could feel the excitement in the air the kind that only came before a big match.

"Looks packed already," Yuuto said, eyes wide.

"Wouldn't expect anything less," his father replied.

Inside the stadium, the noise hit them like a wave. Thousands of voices blending together cheers, chants, laughter. The air smelled of popcorn, sweat, and anticipation.

They found their seats close enough to see the players warming up. The gleam of the court lights reflected off polished hardwood, banners fluttered above, and the echo of bouncing balls filled the arena.

"Whoa…" Yuto whispered, eyes locked on the court.

There he was Akira Ishida, number 11, moving across the court like liquid lightning. Every dribble was smooth, every shot effortless. His jump shot arced perfectly, swishing clean through the net again and again.

"Man's a machine," Yuuto muttered.

His father chuckled. "You can learn something just by watching him."

Yuto leaned forward, studying every movement his footwork, balance, rhythm. The way he scanned the court before making even the simplest pass.

Then the opposing team came out Jamaica Elite, wearing green and gold uniforms. The crowd erupted with cheers.

The announcer's voice boomed through the speakers.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the Kingston International Arena! Today, a clash of titans the Tokyo Typhoons versus Jamaica Elite!"

The lights dimmed, and spotlights swept across the court. Music blared as both teams lined up for introductions.

Tip-off came fast.

The ball flew upward.

The Jamaican center leaped first, tapping it back to his guard. The game was on.

Fast breaks, crossovers, no-look passes it was pure motion. Jamaica Elite played aggressively, using strength and speed to pressure the Typhoons. But Akira… he was on another level entirely.

He moved like water.

At one point, he caught the ball at the three-point line. A defender lunged too slow. Akira pivoted once, twice, stepped back, and drained the shot. The crowd roared.

Yuuto's jaw dropped.

"That form…" he murmured. "It's perfect."

He leaned back, eyes shining. Every play made his blood hum, every moment reminding him why he loved basketball in the first place.

The score stayed tight throughout the first half Jamaica leading by five at halftime. During the break, music played and cheerleaders performed routines that kept the crowd alive.

Yuuto's father handed him a soda. "Good game so far, huh?"

"Yeah," Yuto said, not taking his eyes off the court. "They're incredible. I want to move like that one day."

His father smiled. "Then keep training smart. Not just hard."

Yuuto nodded.

The second half was war.

Tokyo came back fierce. Akira Ishida lit up the court, threading passes through impossible gaps, pulling up from beyond the arc swish.

Yuto couldn't look away. It was like watching poetry in motion.

But Jamaica Elite didn't back down. Their captain, a forward named Leon "Blaze" McKnight, countered every move, driving straight through defenders like a storm.

The last minute came tie game, 190–190.

Tokyo had possession. Akira stood at the top of the key, eyes calm.

He dribbled once. Twice.

Then crossed left right step back.

The defender jumped.

Akira rose, releasing the shot as the buzzer screamed.

SWISH.

The arena exploded.

Typhoons win.

Akira didn't celebrate wildly. He just smiled, nodded to his team, and pointed toward the crowd in respect.

Yu

Ito stood up with everyone else, clapping until his hands stung. "That's what it means to be one of the best…"

After the game, they stopped by a local food stand outside the arena jerk chicken, festival, and cold drinks. Yuto couldn't stop replaying the match in his head.

"You really liked it, huh?" his father said.

"Liked it?" Yuto laughed. "It was perfect. Every move, every play it's like he knew what was going to happen before it did."

"That's experience," his father said. "Discipline. And years of work."

Yuuto nodded slowly, eyes distant.

"Yeah… I want to reach that level."

His father smiled, clapping him on the shoulder. "Then keep going. One day, you'll be the one inspiring others."

That night, back home, Yuuto sat on his bed again, the crowd's roar still echoing faintly in his mind.

The system flickered softly before him.

[System Notification: Observation Complete]

Quest Triggered – "Eyes of the Court"

Objective: Analyze the playstyle of a higher-level player.

Reward: Skill Unlock – Court Vision (Lv.2)

He blinked in surprise.

"Court Vision…?"

A faint warmth spread through his head like clarity sharpening his senses. The system pulsed once, then faded.

He smiled, lying back against his pillow, the faint ache in his knee forgotten.

Tomorrow, practice would start again.

But tonight, he'd let himself dream.