He remained silent for a longer time, his gaze lowered.
He seemed afraid to look at the former MVP who was drinking water with his head tilted back on the sidelines, looking exhausted but smiling, and bragging to Kawamoto.
After a long silence, he slowly said in a self-reproachful tone, "Although he was the MVP in junior high school, in my opinion, his skills and physique weren't outstanding on a larger stage. That was my honest thought back then... no, until he was injured and left."
Anzai's Adam's apple bobbed, and his voice began to tremble uncontrollably.
"I was there when he was injured and taken away from the basketball court in an ambulance. I also know all about it—that he later grew his hair long, became self-destructive on the streets, and hung out with delinquents."
Tears welled up again, but this time with a different, overwhelming regret than when I mentioned Yazawa earlier.
The tears at this moment were even more turbid and more stinging; they were a belated expression of guilt.
"I know how much bitterness, resentment, and bitterness he felt. He resented basketball, he resented himself, he resented fate... and perhaps, he also resented me, his coach who ignored him."
"I watched him fall, watched him struggle, watched him use arrogance and violence to mask the emptiness in his heart. I knew everything, but I... did nothing."
Anzai looked up; his face was already wet with sweat.
"I told myself he was no longer a member of the basketball team. I told myself he gave up on his own."
I told myself that a heart that is already dead cannot afford to invest extravagant emotions in another person.
He let out a bitter laugh that was utterly self-deprecating, and his tears flowed even more profusely.
"Back then, I actually used the word 'luxury' to describe my care and support for a lost disciple... I actually felt that extending a helping hand to him was a waste of emotion..."
"It's not that I'm without feelings, Kawasaki. It's that I... dare not have any."
His voice was so low it was almost inaudible, yet every word was filled with anguish.
"After Yazawa, I was afraid. I was afraid of seeing hope dashed again, afraid of ruining a child again because of my teaching."
"I shut myself off, building high walls with calmness, objectivity, and the theory of talent, locking away the heart that still ached for its disciples in the deepest corner. I thought this would prevent me from getting hurt again, but I didn't know that this would freeze those who came near me first, and cause them to... die of heartbreak first."
"I owe that child an apology. No, more than an apology. I owe him two years of my life, I owe him the right guidance, and I owe him the hand that should have been extended when he was in his most desperate moment."
Anzai took off his glasses, covered his eyes with his hands, and tears kept seeping through his fingers.
This old man, who always greeted people with a smile like that of Maitreya Buddha, was now crying like a helpless child.
He repented for the indifference he had deliberately ignored, which had almost led to a terrible mistake.
Do you know what the first thing he said when he came back, knelt in front of me, and spoke?
"Coach, I want to play basketball!"
"At that moment, besides feeling gratified, I felt an overwhelming sense of shame."
"What right do I have to bear his confession and pleas?"
"The one who should be kneeling down is me..."
Kazumi Kawasaki was already heartbroken as he listened, imagining the torment his teacher had endured over the past two years.
Seeing the old man break down and cry, I couldn't stop my own tears from flowing.
He finally understood that the burden his teacher carried was far heavier than anyone could imagine.
It took Anzai a long time to calm down.
He wiped away his tears, but the redness and swelling around his eyes and the tear stains on his face were still clearly visible.
He looked at Mitsui again, his eyes filled with guilt, but finally with a hint of relief and gentleness.
"Fortunately... he came back. Relying on the embers of his own heart that had not been completely extinguished, he climbed back on his own."
"This dead heart..."
Anzai gently pressed his chest.
"It seems... that his return has forcibly injected some vitality into the area."
"It made me feel like maybe I could still do something for him, at least to make up for some of it."
I took a deep breath to calm myself down.
Anzai continued.
"Perhaps this change is also because Kawamoto Kazuki appeared earlier than expected."
For the first time, Anzai's voice was filled with barely suppressed excitement.
"That child... he's different. I can't understand him at all."
"It's as if an ancient beast slumbers within him; his physical and dynamic talents are perfect, his technique is incredibly solid, and his composure and tactical execution are beyond what one would expect for his age. More importantly, his eyes..."
"It wasn't the burning passion or confusion often seen in teenagers, but a calm that comes from knowing what you want to do and being confident you can do it. I don't see the ceiling that's common among young Japan basketball players in him."
He wiped away the tears that remained in the corners of his eyes, but new tears welled up again.
But this time, the tears seemed to wash away some of the weariness.
"He was like a bolt of lightning tearing through the darkness, awakening my heart that had been dormant for many years. Watching him, I felt as if I had returned to the awe I felt years ago in Montreal, watching those European and American high-flyers play in the sky."
"But this time, the shock came from our own land, from a Japan boy!"
Anzai glanced at the blond-haired boy still arguing with Sakuragi in the distance, her eyes softening with anticipation.
"Now, with Sakuragi and Nango joining the mix... just when I was completely disheartened and ready to spend the rest of my life with regrets, they appeared one after another."
"One possesses monstrous immediate combat power, one has a dreamlike offensive talent, and one possesses the most primal and savage physical potential..."
His voice choked with emotion, yet it carried an almost devout gratitude. "This must be... Yazawa. It must be that child who saw this useless old man in heaven and begged the gods for this opportunity on my behalf."
"He was telling me, 'Teacher, don't give up, there's still hope for Japan basketball, is there anything else you can do?'"
Anzai's shoulders twitched slightly, and he let out a low whimper.
That wasn't sadness, but rather an emotional outpouring that had been building up for far too long.
It is the thrill of hope rekindling, the ecstasy and disbelief of an aging person grasping the tail of their dream again.
After a long while, he looked at Kazumi Kawasaki and said slowly and clearly, " Kawasaki."
"This old man... these old bones of mine, perhaps they really can still burn brightly one more time."
" Koichiro Nango, if you can bring him to Shohoku."
"I, Mitsuyoshi Anzai, swear on all the experience of my more than thirty years of basketball career and the rest of my life—"
I will give my all, without reservation.
"Him, Sakuragi, Kawamoto..."
"Train all three of them into true basketball players that would make Yazawa proud even in heaven."
"This is the last, and possibly the only, chance in my life to reclaim hope."
Please.
Anzai stood up and bowed deeply to his former student.
Kazumi Kawasaki was already in tears.
He looked at the teacher before him, who had once been full of vigor and spirit, but now had white hair and had straightened his back again.
The last trace of hesitation in my heart vanished.
He immediately stood up, helped Anzai up, nodded vigorously, his voice choked with emotion but firm:
"Yes, teacher! I understand!"
Leave everything to me!
"That kid from Nango, and our dreams... we're entrusting them all to you!"
The regrets and tears of an era seem to have found a foothold for continuation and redemption at this moment.