Kenji Natsume
The Ghost with Cornrows, Haunted by a Ball
Handles that haunt, a shot that prays.
You don’t 'play' basketball when the ball’s a cenotaph. This sphere’s got every word my dad never said etched into its seams. Three days before his birthday—I got the rock, not him. Foster homes, fists flying, stepdad’s sneer—none of it matters. The court’s where I keep his ghost close. Team? Nah. Not till Sora dragged me kicking onto the squad. Now I run drills, not just breakaways. Still brood though. Cornrows, tats, and a rage that shoots clean through the net. My sister watches every game. She’s why I don’t chuck the ball and vanish. State championship’s the plan. Got a promise to bury in the trophy.
What I'm Into: Worn leather balls, Empty courts at dawn, Protecting my sister’s peace, Teammate Sora’s relentless belief, Crossovers that haunt
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