Chapter 344 - 343: The Return of the Prodigal Son

Chapter 344: Chapter 343: The Return of the Prodigal Son

"Wait, Mitsui’s backstory? I’m really not feeling it,"

"And of course, Haruto-sensei pulls another one of his legendary cliffhangers. We get two minutes of a flashback, and then the episode just ends. This is torture."

"But looking at the end of episode twenty, it seems like Mitsui actually has some history. Was he really a basketball player in junior high? Apparently, he was the MVP three-point shooter for the entire prefecture back then."

"Then why the hell did he become a delinquent?"

"Life happened in high school, I guess. What else could it be?"

"Seriously though, what is the point of this plotline? The main story has completely stalled. This brawl in the gym has been dragging on for weeks now. Come on, Sensei!"

"I’m officially done with his pacing. It’s ridiculous."

"Why are you guys being so harsh on the anime’s direction? Personally, I think this arc is actually pretty intense."

"Why? Because we’re here for the basketball, obviously! The fighting isn’t necessarily bad, but it’s just not as captivating as the sports matches. That game against Ryonan was the peak of the series for me so far."

"It looks like this arc is finally wrapping up, though. Based on the viewership data, this violent streak probably alienated some of the viewers, but the impact wasn’t too massive."

"Whatever, it’s Haruto-sensei. His fanbase is loyal enough that people will stick through anything. If any other creator tried to pull a stunt like this and derail the plot for weeks, the ratings would have tanked long ago."

"I’m still holding onto the belief that he isn’t just messing around. There’s probably a huge payoff coming. Just be patient; we’re likely in for a massive surprise."

A few days later, another Saturday arrived.

Throughout the week, the wave of negative feedback regarding Slam Dunk had put a significant amount of pressure on Tokyo TV1’s primary channel. After all, if the reputation of the show continued to suffer due to online trolls targeting the Warrior of Love, it would directly affect the station’s advertising revenue. The executives were desperate to get through this stretch of the story as quickly as possible.

The staff already knew what was coming.

They had to receive the master tapes early for the censorship and review process before broadcast. Because of that, they were incredibly confident in the climax of Mitsui Hisashi’s character arc. In fact, many of the internal reviewers had been reduced to tears while watching the footage.

However, the flashback was exceptionally long, spanning nearly two and a half episodes. Last week only covered a fraction of it.

If they dragged it out for another two weeks with more cliffhangers, the media would likely pounce on the slow pacing and stir up even more drama.

After a consultation with Haru-Yuki Animation, they decided to make a bold move.

On this particular Saturday night, they would air episodes 21 and 22 back-to-back in a special one-hour broadcast.

Haruto didn’t have any objections to the plan. He was well aware that his fans were suffering a bit while following the weekly release.

While Slam Dunk was a masterpiece, the early pacing was notoriously slow. If they followed the original source material beat-for-beat, it would take nearly thirty episodes just to reach the Inter-High preliminaries.

In a typical seasonal anime, that many episodes would usually cover two full arcs. By the time Code Geass reached its twentieth episode, Lelouch was already on the verge of toppling an empire. Meanwhile, in Slam Dunk, they were still stuck in a gym brawl. Hanamichi had only played one practice match, and the official tournament wasn’t even on the horizon yet.

Since the production at Haru-Yuki Animation was already well ahead of the broadcast schedule, Haruto happily agreed to the double-episode special.

When the announcement was made a few days prior, the fandom erupted in excitement. Even those who had spent weeks complaining about the delinquent arc were thrilled. The fact that the ratings stayed above 6% despite the complaints proved that the audience still trusted Haruto.

Who wouldn’t want a double dose of their favorite show?

Fubuki was so dedicated to her Saturday ritual that she skipped lunch entirely.

She waited until 7:20 PM to order her takeout, timing it perfectly so that her food would arrive at 7:45 PM. She squeezed in a quick shower and settled in front of the TV by 7:56 PM.

The show hadn’t started yet, but she forced herself to wait. It was a habit of hers to eat her dinner while watching her favorite programs to maximize the sensory enjoyment. She knew it was a bit masochistic to starve herself for the sake of immersion, but she couldn’t help it.

She let out a small, self-deprecating laugh as she scrolled through her Haruto fan forums. The chat was as lively as ever. Even though many users were still nitpicking the pacing of the gym arc, Fubuki knew these minor complaints wouldn’t hurt Haruto’s status. He hadn’t built his legendary reputation on a single work, and it would take more than one slow-paced arc for him to fall from grace in the eyes of his supporters.

No matter how much they grumbled, their faith in his storytelling was absolute.

After glancing at the latest messages, Fubuki took a deep breath and opened her bento box.

She picked up a piece of beef with her chopsticks and savored the flavor as it hit her tongue. Right at that moment, the opening theme of Slam Dunk began to play.

Fubuki ate slowly, barely taking two bites during the intro. Her eyes were glued to the screen, watching Hanamichi’s silhouette move to the rhythm. Even though she had seen this opening dozens of times, she still found herself completely mesmerized. This was another one of her quirks; she loved eating while watching, but she often got so distracted by the visuals that she forgot to chew.

As the song faded out, the story picked up right where the previous week had left off. Kogure Kiminobu, the vice-captain of the team, grabbed Mitsui Hisashi by his collar and screamed at the top of his lungs.

"How many times do you plan on snatching away my dreams before you’re satisfied? Answer me!"

When had Mitsui ever stolen Kogure’s dreams?

Fubuki looked confused, wondering if she had missed some vital piece of information in the last episode. However, she quickly realized that the story was shifting into a flashback.

Mitsui’s eyes grew hollow as he stared at Kogure, and the screen transitioned into the past.

Back in junior high, Mitsui Hisashi was the most sought-after three-point specialist in the prefecture. He had successfully led his team to the championship title. In the final moments of that deciding game, his team was down by two points. He was the one who performed a miracle, sinking a buzzer-beating three-pointer to secure the victory.

The animation beautifully captured his smooth, flawless shooting form. Fubuki’s eyes widened in shock.

"Wait, who is this handsome guy?"

The bright, athletic, and charismatic junior high Mitsui was a far cry from the long-haired, missing-toothed, brooding delinquent currently bleeding out in the gym.

As the flashback continued, it revealed that Mitsui had turned down offers from every powerhouse high school in the region to enroll at Shohoku. This choice baffled Fubuki. In the world of the story, Mitsui could have gone anywhere. If he wanted to pursue a career in basketball, the logical path would be to join a top-tier school, make a name for himself, and secure a sports scholarship.

Why Shohoku? It was a total mystery.

Fubuki pushed the thought aside and kept watching.

On the day of the club orientation, Mitsui, the prodigy, immediately clashed with Takenori Akagi, the physically gifted but unpolished freshman. During their first practice game, Mitsui used his superior skills to toy with Akagi, who had boldly declared that he would lead Shohoku to national dominance despite being a total beginner.

Fubuki chuckled at the sight of a young Akagi.

"The Gorilla was actually that bad back then?"

But the tone shifted quickly. During that game, Mitsui became so focused on competing with Akagi and trying to impress Coach Anzai that he suffered a severe knee injury.

By the time school had officially started, he was confined to a hospital bed.

"That’s just incredibly bad luck," Fubuki muttered around a mouthful of rice.

By now, she was completely immersed in the narrative. She was desperate to know why a boy who loved basketball so much that he sacrificed a scholarship at a top school was now trying to destroy his own former teammates. Had Akagi betrayed him? Had the team bullied him out?

The flashback continued.

While recovering in the hospital, Mitsui pulled out a photo of his championship-winning team from junior high.

He remembered that day, the pressure of being down by two points with the clock ticking. As the team’s ace, even he had begun to lose hope.

The mental strain was so great that he fumbled the ball, letting it roll out of bounds.

He carried the expectations of his four teammates on his shoulders. He knew everyone was waiting for him to do the impossible. He was the center of their universe; if he didn’t carry them, who would? But he was physically and emotionally exhausted. As he fell to the floor, watching the ball roll away, he prepared to give up.

At that moment, the white-haired Coach Anzai walked over. He picked up the ball and handed it back to Mitsui with a gentle, kind smile. He looked him in the eye and spoke the words that would change everything.

"If you give up, the game is already over. Don’t lose hope until the very end."

Fubuki felt a shiver run down her spine.

The production quality of this specific scene was leagues ahead of anything she had seen. Haruto had a knack for knowing when to trim the fat and when to expand on a moment.

The way they portrayed Mitsui’s transition from utter despair and self-doubt to the moment Anzai placed the ball in his hands was masterful.

It’s hard for people who haven’t hit rock bottom to understand why a single sentence can reduce a person to tears. It’s that feeling when you have completely given up on yourself, and someone stands up and says, "I believe in you." The emotional weight of that validation is impossible to put into words.

Buoyed by Coach Anzai’s encouragement, Mitsui found the courage to take the final shot and win the game. Fubuki felt a lump in her throat. It wasn’t an overwhelming wave of sadness, but a deep, lingering sense of poignancy.

Mitsui credited Anzai for the victory, and that was why he chose Shohoku.

He wanted to play for the man who saved him and help his team reach the nationals. It was a perfectly logical and heartwarming motivation. It gave his character a depth she never expected.

"Don’t give up until the very end..." Fubuki repeated. "How did this promising kid end up like this in just two years?"

If the station hadn’t decided to air two episodes tonight, the story would have cut to black right there. Fortunately, the title card for episode 22 flashed for only a second before the animation resumed.

Back in the hospital, Mitsui was obsessed with returning to the court. He wanted to get back to practice, bond with his team, and lead them to the Inter-High. His desperation was palpable.

He ignored the doctor’s warnings and checked himself out as soon as he could walk, rushing back to the team. But his body wasn’t ready. He reinjured his knee, and this time, the damage was catastrophic. He was sidelined for an entire year.

While Mitsui was stuck in rehab, Akagi took charge of the team and entered the qualifiers. Without their ace, Shohoku suffered a humiliating defeat. Mitsui, leaning on his crutches, watched from the stands as his teammates struggled and failed while he could do absolutely nothing to help.

Even when his injury finally healed, he couldn’t bring himself to return. Some environments are impossible to re-enter once the social dynamic has shifted. Fubuki understood this all too well.

The guilt of missing the season, the feeling of being replaced by Akagi, and his self-loathing drove him away. He fell in with a bad crowd and started fighting just to feel something. That was the tragic reality behind Mitsui’s fall from grace.

"Mitsui... deep down, you still want to play basketball, don’t you?" one of Mitsui’s delinquent friends asked quietly after hearing Kogure tell the story. Even his fellow thugs had stopped fighting, moved by the tragedy of their friend’s past.

Mitsui lashed out in shame, striking his own friend. He couldn’t handle the truth being laid bare.

"If that’s how you really feel, then come back and play with us!" Kogure said, his voice filled with a desperate kindness.

Mitsui responded with a slap to Kogure’s face.

"Basketball was just a way to kill time. I quit because I lost interest, that’s all!" he screamed.

Fubuki looked at the screen, her gaze softening. The hatred she had felt for Mitsui earlier in the arc was evaporating. If she were in his shoes, would she have had the strength to go back?

"It has nothing to do with me!" Mitsui yelled again, his frustration reaching a boiling point.

"You’re the one who’s trapped in the past, Mitsui," Kogure said, his voice dropping to a whisper of disappointment.

Suddenly, a knocking sound echoed through the gym.

"It’s me. Open the door." The calm, steady voice of Coach Anzai filtered through the wood.

Fubuki’s heart skipped a beat.

She knew what this meant. Mitsui didn’t care what Akagi or Kogure thought of him, but Coach Anzai was different.

How could he face the man he admired most in this state?

Mitsui froze, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and shame. He slowly turned toward the door.

The animation flashed back one last time to that moment in junior high when he had been ready to walk away from the court. The parallels were unmistakable. Back then, he was about to give up on a game. Now, he was about to give up on his entire life.

Coach Anzai entered the gym and looked at the disheveled, bloodied, and broken Mitsui. He adjusted his glasses, his gaze as warm and gentle as it had been three years ago.

As the background music swelled, Fubuki felt her nose sting. This was incredible.

How did a messy gym brawl turn into something so emotionally resonant?

Mitsui’s tough exterior shattered. He had taken beatings from Hanamichi and Miyagi without flinching, but one look from Anzai brought him to his knees. He didn’t say a word at first, but his eyes told the whole story. He collapsed onto the floor, tears streaming down his face, sobbing uncontrollably.

"I..."

"I want to play basketball."

That single, simple sentence broke the dam. The emotional tension that had been building for the last forty minutes finally exploded. Fubuki burst into tears.

Coach Anzai was Mitsui’s salvation. If he had walked away from that game in junior high, he would have only lost a trophy. But if he didn’t find his way back to the gym now, he would lose his soul.

Mitsui’s love for the game and his devotion to Anzai were so pure they transcended his pride. It’s easy to talk about turning one’s life around, but it’s incredibly hard to admit your mistakes, call yourself a fool, and start over from scratch. Mitsui couldn’t do it for his peers, but he could do it for the man who believed in him when no one else did.

The entire arc finally made sense. All the pieces fell into place.

Who said this arc was meaningless filler? Who said Haruto was just stalling for time? Who claimed he had lost his touch and was relying on cheap violence to keep people watching?

They were all wrong.

This single scene elevated the entire series. It transformed Slam Dunk from a simple sports anime into a story about redemption and the human spirit.

Fubuki grabbed a tissue to wipe her eyes, but she couldn’t stop the sniffles.

Her beef had been sitting on the table for nearly an hour, forgotten. She didn’t have the heart to finish it now. She needed to share this feeling.

She opened her fan group, and it was pure chaos. Everyone was reeling from the emotional impact of the episode.

As the ending credits rolled, the audience felt like they were waking up from a dream, realizing they had been completely captivated for the entire hour.

It was nearly nine o’clock, but for anime fans across Japan, the night was just beginning. Every forum and chatroom was at peak capacity. Within thirty minutes of the broadcast ending, Slam Dunk’s rating on major review sites shot up to a staggering 9.5. It was a legendary comeback that would be talked about for years to come.

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