"Why do you play basketball?"

　　"Actually, my goal is to become a coach, but it seems I don't have the talent for it, so I can only choose to play in the NBA."

　　"Some people say you're a soft inside player who only shoots from the outside."

　　"Which loser who lost to me said that? Sounds like a fat guy. Tell him, without me, he'll never win a championship."

　　"Why did you skip college and go straight to the NBA?"

　　"If even one American university had offered me a full basketball scholarship, I wouldn't have become the greatest shooter in history so soon."

　　……

　　The synopsis is weak, so let's leave it at that—a basketball story starting in the mid-1990s.

Chapter 1: You Only Have One Year Left to Live

　　"Remaining lifespan: 366 days. Usable lifespan: 365 days."

　　He stared at the screen in front of him that no one else could see—almost transparent, but he could read the contents clearly. When he thought about closing it, the screen disappeared. As he pondered this thing, it immediately reappeared.

　　After experimenting several times and pinching himself hard—since he couldn't believe any of this—each time hurting so much he twitched, finally, after his thigh was probably bruised, he was sure this meant something.

　　He only had 366 days left to live?

　　But what did "usable lifespan" mean? Could lifespan be "used"?

　　But 366 days... He felt the pain in his thigh, and instead of being upset, he was incredibly excited. The first time he pinched himself and felt pain, he knew something unimaginable had happened.

　　Being able to move his hand so freely was already something from "two years ago." Back then, while he could still move, he donated his body—so that even after death, he could contribute to society, to help research this incurable disease. Being able to feel pain was also something from "over half a year ago"!

　　Although excited, he decided to set this aside for now and study it later. Right now, he needed to figure out where he was.

　　He definitely wasn't in a hospital—he was on a main road.

　　But this was absolutely not the city where he'd worked for years, nor his hometown, not even in his home country. He needed to analyze: was this abroad, or another world... A few minutes ago, when he opened his eyes, he was no longer on a hospital bed, but sitting at a bus stop by the road. When he got up and looked to the right, he saw the entrance to an apartment building.

　　Looking at this old apartment, memories about the building suddenly surfaced in his mind.

　　"This is an apartment that's over 20 years old. The landlady is a tough Black lady. If any drug dealers or punks dare come in here to bully students, she dares to pull a gun and shoot them.

　　For international students, this living environment is as good as it gets... International students?"

　　Just as this question popped up, a brown-skinned girl passing by greeted him: "Alex, what are you standing here for? Doesn't the men's basketball team have practice this afternoon?"

　　She spoke in English, but he actually understood her. Instantly, memories of previous interactions with her surfaced in his mind.

　　This was April Clark, a member of the school's women's tennis team—a warm and enthusiastic Latina girl, the first girl he met in America, and someone he was fairly familiar with—"Three years to get a little familiar? What have I been doing? Alex, is she calling me? That should be... My English name seems to be Alex..."

　　A flash of memory confirmed she was an acquaintance, so he replied, "I'm not feeling well, taking a day off..."

　　April Clark didn't doubt him and said, "You really should rest more. You've been training too hard lately. Paul already told me about you. You don't need to worry—if you keep practicing like this every day, your body won't be able to take it. And your grades are so good—even if you don't get a basketball scholarship, you can still get into a great college."

　　As she said this, more recent memories surfaced in his mind. But he focused on the most recent things about her. With his work experience, he knew that centering the conversation on the other person was always right.

　　The school paper had written that she was one of the top amateur female tennis players at the school and was about to compete in the city tournament. He paused, then said, "Hey, it's just how things are for me. How about you, April? Can you win first place in Los Angeles?"

　　This usually withdrawn guy actually took the initiative to say more! April Clark was surprised. Looking closely, he no longer had his usual shy, timid expression, but seemed especially cheerful. He was already tall and handsome, and now his masculinity really showed.

　　"The city tournament? I hope I can win the Los Angeles championship before I graduate high school. This is my last big competition. I don't have the talent you and Paul have. I never thought about becoming a professional athlete. If I can't get into college, I'll go learn to fix cars!" As she said this, April Clark got a little excited—high school was finally almost over!