Chapter 2: This Era's Greatest Basketball Primer
My consciousness surfaced through a fog.
The first thing I felt was a nauseating queasiness.
A hangover sensation, like my body was a soaked rag sprawled out limp.
Yeah, I definitely drank too much last night.
Everyone kept insisting I'd become the best basketball player out there, so they put me on a plane—and that got me way too hyped for no reason.
"Agh, my head..."
The muscles in my temples throbbed like a heartbeat, pounding relentlessly.
Gotta go for a run. An hour should shake this off.
I waved my hand around vaguely, looking for a jacket to throw on and my phone... but something felt off.
Where the hell am I?
It was a pitch-black darkroom. No windows at all, no sunlight filtering in.
This wasn't my place, that much was sure. Even for a motel, it was weird—no windows usually meant basement level.
What the hell did I tell my agent to end up in a dump like this...?
I decided to head out and see. Light seeped through the door crack, making it easy to find.
Stepping out, I quickly realized this was a funeral home.
Did the death notice come in during the party?
If it was from some bigwig at the sports association and I had to go even blackout drunk, I could grudgingly understand. Looking down, I saw I'd been changed into mourning clothes.
"What the fuck. Why'd they tie this chief mourner band on me?"
Whatever. I figured I'd greet someone nearby and get the lay of the land. Heading to the altar room, I froze solid.
"...?"
My parents' portrait photos, side by side.
At first, I thought it was some sick joke.
But that made me realize fast this was real. No one would pull a stunt like this.
"Urk...!"
My head throbbed again.
Glancing over, I spotted an auntie tidying up food in the kitchen.
"Auntie!"
She flinched and glanced nervously at me.
"Oh, no, it's not... I wasn't gonna take it, just..."
"Take as much as you want. More importantly, what day is it today?"
"Huh...? Um... Third day of the funeral?"
"No, the date. Month and day."
"April 17th."
That matched. April 17th was the day after that party.
"What year April 17th!?"
"2013. You okay, kid...?"
"2013...! No, no way...!"
My legs buckled; I had to brace against the wall.
This has to be a dream.
But as if to prove it wasn't, the headache intensified.
As the hangover faded, I could finally face the situation coldly.
I don't know why, but...
I'd gone back in time.
To my senior year of high school, springtime.
Once I accepted that, I remembered why I'd gotten so wasted. Soccer teammates and underclassmen from the club had visited the funeral, and we'd poured it back. Sure, most of them weren't old enough to drink legally, but that didn't matter.
Parents' death. Especially a double suicide to spare their son the burden. You couldn't stay sane without borrowing some liquid courage.
"Haa..."
My heart felt heavy.
Scammed out of everything, saddled with billions in debt. Creditors, knowing I was one of Korea's top soccer prospects, hounded them relentlessly.
"Your boy's a soccer star—he can pay it back someday," they'd say.
The psychological toll must've been immense.
Not wanting to block my future, my parents left a note about renouncing inheritance and took the extreme way out.
"Money's just money, damn it."
Back then, I'd screamed about bankruptcy or other options. Now, I got it.
Most creditors were friends or acquaintances they'd been close to.
Being tormented by people like that... I could imagine the agony now.
"God really is a twisted bastard."
If you're sending me back, why not before they died? What's wrong with that?
Dumping me five days after, right in the funeral?
"Fuck you, you prick."
At least I got the cursing out.
Separate from that, though, I was grateful for the second chance.
"Alright, basketball it is, huh?"
Linking back to that party—yeah, had to be.
"Got it. I'll show you. How far the guy called body GOAT can go in hoops."
I knew zilch about basketball... but the thrill of a new shot filled me with the confidence I could do anything.
"First things first—gotta see Mom and Dad off right."
Last time, I'd been clueless and botched the chief mourner role. Not this time.
I greeted visitors, expressed thanks, checked funeral procedures.
Then, amid it all, a very welcome face appeared.
"Seojun. You holding up?"
"Coach Seong!"
My high school mentor, Coach Seong Jin-ho.
He patted my shoulder wordlessly and headed to the altar.
We had things to discuss, so I set out beef soup stew and sat across from him.
Coach gave a wry smile.
"Dunno if it'll comfort you... but pick yourself up. That's the only way your parents can go in peace."
"..."
"Training starts back up next Monday. I know your head's a mess, but that's exactly when sweating it out and moving helps."
"...About that, Coach. I'm quitting soccer."
Silence fell.
Coach furrowed his brow, stunned.
"...Did I hear that wrong?"
"You heard right. I'm done with soccer. I'll submit my withdrawal form Monday at school."
"What the hell kinda bullshit is this, you crazy son of a—! Wait, no. Fine. I get it! Your parents passing hits hard. Heard about the sad story from the kids. But Seojun, is this how you handle it? Quitting soccer!? Last week you were talking big—Asian Games gold next year, Olympics after, then stirring shit at the 2018 World Cup!"
World Cup. Hearing it reignited past fire.
Truth was, my passion for soccer lingered.
When I first realized I'd regressed, my initial thought was—divine will or not, why not crush it as a soccer player this time?
But I gave up quick.
I knew my limits.
Soccer IQ just ain't there.
Soccer intelligence comes innate and acquired.
Born with it, or built through training and matches.
Which weighs more? Overwhelmingly the latter.
Talent isn't everything—far from it. Top players (minus outliers) start with similar gifts. When talent evens out, it's the built-up smarts that decide.
I lacked that.
Prime youth years wasted on brute-force body soccer.
Now with pro experience, maybe it'd change...
But no innate talent either. For a striker, finishing instinct is key.
Can't cover that in round two.
Switch to central mid or center back? Then all my built-up IQ goes to waste.
A regretful sigh slipped out.
"I get where you're coming from, Coach. But this is my serious decision."
"..."
Feeling my resolve, he frowned.
Then, gravely:
"...Fine. Say you quit soccer. What then? Study for college entrance now? You know the quadratic formula? Functions? Lucky days? Who's Jeomsuni?"
"Who's Jeomsuni? Anyway, I do have plans besides studying."
"Ha! Let's hear it."
I answered boldly.
"I'm switching to basketball."
"Basket what?"
"Basketball. Hoops."
"..."
Silence.
"So, Coach... could you write a rec letter for a school with a basketball team?"
"You play hoops in middle school or something?"
"Nope. Never touched it. You know I've only done soccer."
"And now you wanna join the basketball team as a total newbie? Senior year?"
"Yep."
Coach scratched his head.
"...Come to think of it, Seojun, a baseball senior applied to join during break. Wanted to try soccer. Turns out he'd never played. What do you think?"
I shot back instantly.
"What kinda brain-dead idiot does that?"
"..."
"..."
"..."
Silence again.
Then:
"Cut the crap and get your ass to school by next week, punk!"
Coach stormed off fuming, but when I insisted on the withdrawal form, he came around—calling me Thursday while I was at the law firm for inheritance renunciation procedures.
He'd arranged a tryout.
His voice over the phone dripped with doubt about why he was bothering.
"Ah...! Thank you, Coach!"
[Eat lunch on your own. Don't be late.]
"Got it!"
He wasn't seriously backing my basketball switch.
Probably just to slam me with reality and talk me back.
Fine by me. Doesn't matter—I've got a shot at the team. But...
I blanked for a sec.
I know jack about basketball. What now?
I didn't even know the rules. Vaguely: no three steps with the ball, dunks exist, three-pointers.
Players? Limited knowledge.
Michael Jordan, LeBron James, Steph Curry, Kobe? Something like that. And...
Living in Europe, I knew Doncic, Nowitzki, Wembanyama.
And.
Nikola something from Serbia was big too. Can't recall...
Anyway.
Needed basketball basics now.
YouTube's not big yet...
Then I spotted a Michael Jordan poster on the law firm's wall. Told me the lawyer was into hoops.
"Hey, lawyer guy."
"Yeah?"
I admitted I was a total newbie wanting to learn basketball. He grinned and said straight up:
"Perfect—there's a killer intro book for that!"
"A book?"
Learning sports from a book? Absurd to me.
I'd wanted game highlights or training vids.
"You've got time while waiting. Read that. Hold on, I'll grab it."
"Right now?"
"Bought it for decor, it's in storage."
Decor basketball primer?
Why became clear quick.
Thud! Slam Dunk manga (all 24 volumes) plopped in front of me.
Lawyer grinned confidently.
"This is this era's greatest basketball intro."