"Coach, I'm back from the light jogging exercise with the first years," said a Yokonan student standing at two hundred and one centimeters tall. His sneakers scraped softly against the polished wooden floor as he entered the gym. The warm air smelled faintly of sweat and fresh rubber. Sharp inhales and exhales escaped him steadily, his breathing rhythm echoing lightly in the high-ceilinged room.
"Oh, Keichiro, welcome back," Coach Arimoto said, voice calm but edged with relief. The faint buzz of fluorescent lights hummed overhead.
"Keichiro, thank God you're back," Eiji called out, hurrying over. His sneakers squeaked sharply as he stopped beside the tall captain.
Keichiro slapped him on the head. The sharp smack echoed briefly across the gym. "Ouch, that hurts! What was that for?" Eiji rubbed the side of his head, wincing as a bead of sweat slid down his temple and dripped onto his jersey.
"That's Captain to you, first year. Don't you dare cross the line," Keichiro said, voice low and rough, steady breath marking his words.
"Yes, Captain!" Eiji shouted, his voice cracking with nervous energy, heart pounding in his ears.
"Where are the first years?" Coach Arimoto asked, eyes flicking toward the court's edge. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, making the warm air feel thick and sticky with humidity.
"They're stretching outside now. Want me to call them?" Keichiro offered.
"No, that won't be necessary," Coach said, nodding.
Keichiro's gaze turned toward the court, where the rhythmic thump-thump of basketballs bounced alongside sharp squeaks of sneakers. Players shouted instructions, and whistles pierced the noise. The smell of old sweat mixed with the sharp tang of fresh rubber filled the space.
"So you're playing a practice match? Against which school?" Keichiro asked, stepping closer to the sidelines.
He scanned the opposing team carefully. Only six players. The gym's metallic air stuck in his throat. His eyes narrowed. "What the hell is going on? How are the scores so close if Kayano and Kogure were playing? The team they are up against must be tough," he muttered under his breath.
Coach Arimoto sighed. "Don't ask me. They truly disappointed me today. If it wasn't for Kogure and Kayano, we wouldn't even have scored this much. They're the reason we're leading."
Keichiro pulled a metal chair from the sideline. It scraped sharply on the floor as he dragged it and sat heavily. The leather creaked beneath him. He leaned forward, fingers laced, eyes fixed on the game.
"So what will you do, Captain? I thought you'd join the game," Eiji asked, voice low but hopeful.
"There's no way I'm playing this game. I only finish what I start. You guys have to man up, take over, and win it yourselves," Keichiro said, voice firm and steady.
"But, what if we lose? What if we don't win?" Eiji's voice wavered.
"There's no room for failure at Yokonan. We'll win. I'm certain of that."
Keichiro's gaze dropped to the scuffed court lines. Dust motes floated lazily in the shafts of sunlight. The familiar sound of sneakers squeaking filled the air once more.
"So, Yukio is still at Toshigawa, huh? Well, that somewhat explains why our team is having difficulties maintaining the lead," Keichiro muttered under his breath. His voice was barely audible over the echoing thump of the ball bouncing and the sharp squeak of sneakers sliding on the polished wood.
Nearby, voices stirred.
"Looks like Keichiro is back. Is he going to play?No, I doubt it. Knowing him, he won't finish another man's job," Yukio whispered to himself, eyes locked on the court.
"Keichiro Yamada, captain of Yokonan High and the starting center. If he were to join now, we'd definitely lose," Nanaho said quietly, leaning forward on the bench. The soft rustle of fabric accompanied her words.
"That guy is huge. Is he part of their team?" Haruko asked, surprise sharpening her tone. The faint scent of freshly laundered jerseys hung near her.
"Listen, everyone. These are the final and most crucial moments of the game, and we are down by three points. We will receive the ball at the start of the quarter, so we must use this to our advantage and try to take the lead. I know that it's tough and all of you must be tired, but I want you to fight with all your might until time runs out. Let's give it our all and beat Yokonan!" shouted Yukio.
Everyone responded with a resounding "Yes!" The voices rang out, echoing off walls as their sneakers scraped the court with urgency.
"You can do this, everyone. I believe in you," Haruko whispered to herself, eyes narrowing, breath steady despite the growing heat and humidity in the gym.
"Come on, guys, this victory will be the one that counts. Please win," Shino said quietly, voice barely audible over the familiar mix of sweat, leather, and wood.
At the beginning of the fourth and final quarter, Yukio inbounded the basketball to Hayato. The leather ball thudded sharply against Hayato's palms. The seams pressed into his fingers as he dribbled forward, his sneakers squeaking sharply against the polished floor.
Kayano stepped up immediately to guard him. Their breaths came in sharp bursts. Sweat dripped from their brows and stung their eyes.
"Not this time, Kayano, I'll pass you for sure," Hayato said as he crossed to the left. His shoes skidded slightly on the court.
Kayano slid his feet quickly, tensing muscles. But Hayato shifted to the right, and Kayano stumbled briefly; his sneakers scraped loud and harsh.
Hayato spun out of Kayano's path. The soft swish of his jersey accompanied the rapid move.
"No way. When did he find the time to get so technical? Wasn't he in the hospital for a long time?" Kayano thought, chest heaving, sweat shining on his temples.
Hayato shot a wide-open floater. The ball left his fingers with a soft whoosh. Silence fell briefly before the satisfying swish as it dropped cleanly through the net.
"Whoa!!! He went head to head against Kayano, one on one, and he scored," a student shouted, excitement ringing out.
"Nice shot, Hayato! That's the way," Nanaho clapped softly, the sound crisp in the thick air.
"Alright, everyone, let's stop their offense," Hayato said, voice steady despite pounding heart.
"Yes!" came the collective shout, and the players scrambled to their defensive positions, sneakers squeaking urgently.
On the next possession, Kayano dribbled the basketball upcourt. The thump-thump of the ball hitting the polished floor echoed rhythmically under the gym's high ceiling. Hayato stepped up immediately to guard him, sweat dampening his jersey and dripping from his chin.
Kayano tried to shake him off with his dribbling skills. The ball slapped sharply against the wood as he crossed between his legs, then shifted pace with quick feet. But Hayato stayed firmly in front, stance low, muscles tense.
"Looks like their point guard is giving his all. There are only a few players that can hold their own against Kayano, a prodigy and master at his role on our team," Coach Arimoto thought quietly. His eyes never left the court, watching every move. The faint hum of the gym's ventilation mingled with the shouts and squeaks around him.
"Not bad, Hayato, if you're going all out, then so am I," Kayano said with a smile, breath visible in the cool gym air.
Kayano crossed through his legs continuously, the ball pat-pat-patting against the court, confusing Hayato. Then, suddenly, he froze. His muscles coiled, and with an explosive push, he sped toward the rim. His sneakers squealed sharply as he drove forward.
"God damn it," Hayato thought, breath catching, sweat trickling into his eyes.
Kayano took his two steps and went for a layup. The ball felt heavy in his hands; the seams pressed sharply against his fingertips.
But suddenly, Tetsuo came from behind and blocked the shot. The ball ricocheted off the rim with a loud thunk. The whistle blew sharply, piercing the tension.
"Foul, reaching from behind, black number eleven," the referee announced firmly.
"That was the right call, Tetsuo. Let him shoot some free throws," Nanaho said quietly, exhaling slowly.
"That's his first foul all game; he's really good," Haruko added, voice steady but full of respect.
Kayano stepped to the free-throw line. The gym quieted instantly, save for the faint buzz of the overhead lights. Sweat dripped down his forehead, stinging his eyes. He bounced the ball twice—the thump-thump rang loudly.
The ball left his fingers with a clean swish, cutting through the air.
"Ensure that you make the other one," Kogure whispered, eyes fixed on the ball.
"Hey, Captain, Takahiro, Tetsuo. Brace yourselves for the rebound; he'll definitely miss," Noboru said boldly, smirking.
"What did you just say?" Kayano demanded, tension thickening.
"I'd advise you to shut your mouth with that dumbass free throw form you got," Ryuu sneered.
"I don't argue with people who get dunked on," Noboru added, his smirk widening.
"If you haven't realized, this game isn't about you. You are trash. The main players on your team aren't even trash-talking as much as you. All you're doing is barking when you can't even bite, so stay quiet" barked Ryuu
" I'll show you who's trash," Noboru said, muscles tensing as he prepared to run. His sneakers gripped the court hard.
Kayano shot the second free throw. The ball left his hands with a hesitant whoosh and bounced loudly off the rim. It spun wildly before settling on the floor.
Noboru darted towards the other hoop, shoes squeaking sharply.
After Yukio and Kogure jumped fiercely for the rebound, Tetsuo's fingers brushed the ball first. The basketball thudded firmly into his hands.
Tetsuo passed immediately to Noboru. Noboru caught it cleanly and drove for a layup. The ball hit the backboard with a sharp thunk before dropping through the net.
"Nice one, Noboru, and good quick thinking, Tetsuo. Get back on defense," Yukio shouted, wiping sweat from his brow.
"That was more than just quick thinking, it was complete trust. Number eleven knew he would run, while number ten trusted his teammate would grab the rebound. They're not bad at all," Keichiro thought, breath slowing as he watched intently.
"Looks like Toshigawa caught up again. The score is all tied up. This is crazy," a student said nearby, disbelief coloring their voice as heat and tension rose in the gym.
"That number eleven reminds me so much of someone, but who? I can't remember," Aoi muttered to herself, blinking sweat from her eyes.
"They did it. The game is leveled, sixty-eight to sixty-eight. Just hold on a little bit longer, everyone," Nanaho said as she crossed her fingers tightly. The faint sound of her nails tapping on the wooden bench was the only quiet background.