Han had already left Teikō.
With the new semester still a week away, school hadn't officially started yet.
Now that the enrollment issue was resolved, a new problem cropped up:
"Where the hell am I going to get money?"
A beat of silence.
"Looks like I'll have to find a part-time job."
In Japan, part-time jobs were pretty common—even junior high students often balanced school and work. You'd see young part-timers everywhere: waiters, clerks, assistants.
And sure enough, just as he was thinking about it, Han passed a cozy café with a "Now Hiring" sign in the window.
Without hesitation, he stepped inside.
"Welcome! Do you have a reservation?"
A girl—probably around 18—greeted him with professional courtesy the moment he walked through the door.
Han, hands tucked casually into his pockets, scanned the place. The vibe was decent—clean, ambient, well-maintained. He nodded approvingly.
"I saw the hiring notice on your door. I'm here for an interview."
The girl blinked.
An interview?
She gave him a strange look. This guy didn't look like someone hunting for a part-time job. If anything, he looked like a cocky, rich playboy who'd strolled in to buy the café on a whim.
Cool shades. Designer clothes. Casual swagger.
Who wears sunglasses indoors for a job interview?
Still, she kept her politeness intact.
"If you're here to apply, you'll need the owner's approval. Please follow me."
"Lead the way."
Han followed her through the café and into the back kitchen.
It was a café, sure—but you can't run on coffee alone. Food prep was underway, clattering pans and the rich smell of baked goods hanging in the air.
"Boss! Someone's here for an interview!"
A woman turned around at the call—presumably the owner—and her eyes immediately locked onto Han.
Her reaction was instant.
Even with the sunglasses, she could tell this kid was a look-er.
"Hold up… Take off those glasses."
Han shrugged, then removed them with a practiced flair.
A pair of pale blue eyes stared back at her—clear, sharp, and unmistakably aristocratic.
A second ago he looked like some cocky trust-fund brat. Now? He could pass for a young noble.
"Hello, I'm here to—"
"You're hired!"
She practically pushed the waitress aside and strode forward, eyes fixed on Han's face like a gemstone appraiser.
"...Just like that?"
"Yup. Start tomorrow."
Han raised a brow.
"Isn't this a little too casual? Don't you want to test my skills or anything?"
"Can you make coffee?"
"Nope."
"That's fine. You'll learn. What's your name?"
"Han Suichi."
"Ooooh! What a name. So bold! So powerful!"
Han: "..."
He had so many questions.
Was this a café or a boy-host club?
What was with all the intense face scanning just now?
Still, he held back his snark.
"So, where's Little Han from?"
Little? I'm not little—I'm well above average where it counts!
"Where am I from... not local, that's for sure."
"Parents?"
"Not here."
Or in this world, for that matter.
"So you're on your own?"
"For now."
"Do you have a place to stay?"
"Not yet. I was going to look for one after this."
By "look," he meant borrowing a little cash from some conveniently placed low-level thugs—rich with bad attitude and destined to lose.
That's what he'd done on his first day here, anyway. The system didn't exactly come with free meals and housing.
"Actually," the proprietress said thoughtfully, "there's a small apartment behind the store. I used to live there back when I was still working full-time, but now that I have a child to look after, I haven't used it in ages. If you need a place, I can rent it to you for now."
Is this café always this generous?
Han glanced over at the waitress beside him, only to find her looking utterly pitiful—eyes glassy, lip trembling, the picture of someone on the verge of tears.
Instantly, his thoughts took a wild detour.
"Boss... I'm sorry, but I'm not for sale. My virginity isn't on the table!"
"What virginity?! I don't want that—I want your youth!"
"Apologies, but my youth is just as sacred!"
Panic bubbled up in him. He was seriously considering bolting.
All he wanted was a part-time job—when did this turn into a sugar mommy negotiation?
The proprietress gave him a long, exasperated look.
"What nonsense are you imagining, you little idiot? Just listen for a second. My café is near a school, so most of our customers are students. You get what I'm saying now?"
"Not really."
"Tch. I need your face, okay? That's what I'm hiring."
She reached up and playfully pinched his cheek, her eyes narrowing as if admiring a work of art.
"If I were twenty years younger, I'd chase you like hell until you finally gave in and became my boyfriend."
"Well, I suppose I can handle being eye candy for the public," Han said with a dramatic sigh.
"Glad we're on the same page. Now, which school are you attending?"
"Teikō."
"Perfect—it's nearby. Here's the deal: your working hours start after school and go until 10 p.m. One day off per weekend. Four days off per month. Sound good?"
"Sure," he replied with a shrug. "Sounds manageable."
And just like that, Han had even managed to sort out his living arrangements.
Inside, though, he was already calculating how to survive on four days off and whether he could use those to "borrow" from the local criminal economy again.
That Night.
After getting an advance on his salary from the kind-hearted boss lady and picking up some daily necessities, Han flopped onto an unfamiliar bed with a sigh of contentment.
He stared at the ceiling, one arm resting across his forehead.
Not bad at all. Met a good Samaritan on my first day here. Talk about a lucky start."
He had accepted it now—this world wasn't a dream. He was in it, body and soul. And soon, he'd be stepping into the spotlight, living a life not unlike Truman's from The Truman Show—a man watched by the world, his every move on display.
Thankfully, this wasn't exactly that. The cameras weren't on him yet.
No, they revolved around Kuroko—the invisible shadow of the Generation of Miracles.
But something about that felt… off.
"Hold on," he muttered, turning to lie on his side. "If I'm going to become the king of popularity, how can I let Kuroko's Basketball stay as Kuroko's? Shouldn't it become Han's Basketball?"
With a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, he got up, sat at the desk, and began scribbling notes for his character—the persona of Gojo Satoru, reimagined in the world of high school basketball.
He'd watched enough anime to know the blueprint.
There were countless beloved characters out there—but in the world of sports anime? That's where passion truly exploded.
Take Mitsui Hisashi, for example—the fallen genius turned redeemed warrior from Slam Dunk. His arc had captivated an entire generation. That fierce return from the edge? Classic.
But Kuroko no Basket operated on a different level.
Sure, it had its emotional highs—but what truly set it apart was its flair, its spectacle.
When Aomine Daiki first stepped into the Zone, fans were left stunned. That overwhelming power, the elegance in every impossible move—it wasn't just exciting; it was beautiful.
In this world, talent reigned supreme. Hard work? Grit? They were nice ideas, but against the Generation of Miracles, they barely mattered.
Even the main team, Seirin, who bled and fought for every point, couldn't truly stand up to that kind of raw, freakish ability. It took another cheat-code duo—Kuroko and Kagami—to even put up a fight.
And so, Han understood the game he was playing.
If he wanted to rise, to matter—he needed more than hard work.
He needed character.
He needed presence.
He needed power.
"To capture attention in this world," he whispered to himself, "you've got to shine. Not just with skill—but with identity."
A strong, memorable personality. A presence that couldn't be ignored. That was the key to becoming truly popular.
And he was ready to steal the show.