As practice wrapped up, both teams collapsed onto the hardwood, drenched in sweat, their chests rising and falling with every labored breath. The humid air clung to their skin, and the faint squeak of sneakers echoed through the gym like distant thunder. The floor was littered with water bottles, towels, and the raw energy of rivalry.
Nanaho stood near the baseline, eyes wide, heart pounding from the intensity of the scrimmage.
"Looks like my team takes the win today, Hiroki," Seiji said with a cocky grin, spinning a ball on his finger.
"Nope. Yukio and I are walking out as the winners," Hiroki snapped back, wiping his face with his jersey, his voice sharp but calm.
"I was keeping score in my head," Hayato cut in, arms crossed and chin tilted up. "Seventy-nine to seventy-six. Our side won."
"That's adorable, but I dropped thirty-two, and Yukio had about twenty. There's no way we lost," Hiroki said, his brow tightening with a confident edge.
"I scored thirty-seven. Hayato had twenty or so," Seiji shot back, pointing at his chest with his thumb. "Nice try, buddy."
"We should've just kept track..." Takahiro muttered under his breath, leaning against the wall, sweat dripping down his jawline.
"Yeah... those two always get like this when they face off," Yukio sighed as he bent down to untie his shoes. "It's pointless arguing. Neither of them can accept losing."
Nanaho watched them bicker with admiration burning in her eyes. There was a fire in their rivalry—relentless, pure, and intoxicating.
"They're incredible," she whispered. "I want to see just how far they can go… I want to witness everything."
From that moment on, I trained them harder than ever. Every drill, every rep, every second on the court—I pushed them to their limits. We transformed weaknesses into strengths. Trust replaced friction. They thrived under the weight of expectation. And when I saw they needed something greater, I made the call.
I scheduled a practice match against Yokonan High—second strongest team in the prefecture.
Everything changed from there.
Yokonan's roster was stacked. The gym buzzed with anxious energy even before the whistle. Their point guard, Jintaro Kyousuke, was a third-year with dazzling handles and a commanding presence. Every movement he made during warm-ups drew eyes—his crossovers were low, smooth, his passes sharp, purposeful. Keichiro Yamada, their captain and center, stood tall under the rim, beads of sweat already glistening across his arms. Only a second-year, but built like a grown man—shoulders wide, stance steady, he was a wall in the paint.
They had Ryuu, a scrappy first-year starter who moved like a blur, and their prized newcomer: Kogure Kobayashi, the former junior high MVP. Even his warm-up jumpers came off his hands with brutal efficiency—no wasted motion, just net, again and again.
When Yukio spotted Kogure on the far side of the court, stretching with an elastic band wrapped around his shoulders, his eyes hardened.
"So, this is where you ended up, Kogure."
Kogure's head tilted slightly. He stood upright, rolling his shoulders as he walked closer, a light sheen of sweat already visible around his collarbone.
"Yeah, I chose Yokonan. No excuses. And I'm going to crush you and your brother," Kogure replied, tone cold, his grin sharp and confident as he pulled at his jersey.
The referee's whistle pierced the air. Sneakers screeched as players took position. The hardwood trembled slightly as both centers clashed for the tip-off.
The game exploded into motion. Jintaro darted across the court like he was gliding. On the opening possession, he faked right—Hayato bit hard, sliding with a squeak of his shoes—then Jintaro snapped a crisp pass into the paint.
Keichiro caught it on the low block, pivoting aggressively. The floorboards creaked beneath Seiji as he braced himself, feet anchored like steel.
"Come on, bring it," Seiji growled, eyes narrowing.
Keichiro drove his shoulder into Seiji's chest, pounding the ball once before spinning to his left, rising for a thunderous dunk—but Seiji met him mid-air. There was a violent smack of contact, and the ball flew backward, slapped clear from Keichiro's hands.
"That's the fifth block!" a Yokonan player whispered from the sideline, mouth agape.
"How is their center completely shutting down our captain? He hasn't scored at all!"
"What kind of monster is this guy?"
Jirou scrambled for the loose ball and snagged it with both hands, immediately turning and firing a chest pass down the sideline to Hiroki. Hiroki bolted upcourt, sweat flinging from his temple as he pushed the pace.
Kogure stepped in to intercept, body low, eyes sharp.
"Let me show the MVP he's not the only star," Hiroki said with a smirk, dribbling once before setting his feet. Kogure lunged forward, hand raised, but Hiroki launched a high-arcing shot. The ball spun cleanly, slicing through the air before swishing straight through the net.
The Toshigawa bench erupted.
"We took the lead! We're actually leading Yokonan!" Nanaho cried from the sideline, hands clenched tight to her clipboard, her voice full of disbelief and pride.
Coach Arimoto didn't flinch. He watched silently, arms folded, a subtle glint behind his glasses.
"That Seiji... his defense is suffocating. Even if they're ahead, I'm not worried."
The next possession, Kogure ignited. He jab-stepped once, exploded past Hiroki like he was standing still, the gust of his speed rustling Hiroki's jersey as he surged ahead and rose effortlessly. His one-handed slam rattled the entire backboard, the rim bending slightly from the force.
"It's tied! Kogure's a monster," Takahiro muttered, his throat dry.
"And he's just a first-year like Hayato... We're nowhere near that level," Jirou said, his voice shaky.
The ball was inbounded quickly. Toshigawa moved it up the court with clean passes. Seiji caught it near the top of the key, Keichiro once again guarding him tight.
With a single fluid motion, Seiji faked a spin right—Keichiro lunged—but it was a bait. Seiji shifted left, bounced the ball through Keichiro's legs, and leapt. His sneakers left the floor with force. Keichiro turned just in time to see Seiji slam it in, the entire rim shaking violently.
"Whoa! Seiji dunked on Keichiro!" both teams gasped, the sound echoing across the gym.
Keichiro's mouth twisted into a snarl. His jaw clenched so tightly his teeth creaked.
"This whole game... I haven't scored a single damn point because of him... and now this?!"
Jintaro didn't hesitate. He whipped a pass to Kogure, who snatched it with one hand. Hiroki squared up, steeling himself. Kogure crossed right. Hiroki lunged.
Too slow.
Kogure spun left, slipping by with ease. He launched into the air again, eyes locked on the rim. But this time—bang—Seiji surged from the weak side and blocked him, the ball rebounding with a thud.
Jirou sprinted toward the loose ball and fired it ahead. Hayato broke free in transition, breathing hard, heart pounding in his ears. The basket loomed.
Two steps. Layup.
Keichiro came flying from behind. His arm crashed into Hayato's back.
Both players fell hard. Hayato's cry split the air.
"AAAGHH—!!"
The crowd gasped. Whispers turned to stunned silence as Hayato writhed, clutching his knee.
"Hayato! Are you okay?!" Jirou dropped beside him, face pale with panic.
Nanaho was already on the court. "Someone grab ice and my first aid kit!"
"Ryuu, go! Hurry!" Coach Arimoto ordered.
Keichiro stood nearby, trembling. "I didn't mean for this... I didn't mean for this," he muttered, eyes wide with guilt.
Seiji's jaw clenched. "His knee's probably fractured. Damn it!"
Ryuu returned seconds later, panting, with the kit. Nanaho wrapped the swelling with practiced hands. Hiroki and Seiji lifted Hayato gently, careful not to jostle his leg, and placed him on the bench.
"I'm sorry about this outcome," Coach Arimoto said, voice low.
"It's not your fault. Injuries happen in games like this," Seiji answered through gritted teeth. But his fingers trembled at his sides.
"Do you want to continue? We can end it here."
"No. We finish the game."
"Junpei, you're in. Warm up."
"Right."
"Nanaho! Please, don't bench me! I can still play!" Hayato begged, gripping the bench, tears spilling down his cheeks.
"Absolutely not. This could ruin your knee forever."
"Will I play this season? Please, just tell me."
"I... I don't know. It doesn't look good."
"Why?! Why did this have to happen to me?!" Hayato sobbed, burying his face.
It broke me to see him like that. Every part of me wanted to scream. And after Hayato went down, the momentum died. Kogure caught fire, his footwork ruthless, his finishes unstoppable. He scored from midrange, beyond the arc, under the rim. Everything.
Despite our efforts, we lost. 95 to 84. Kogure alone put up forty-seven points.
After the final buzzer, Hayato was rushed to the hospital. His parents arrived soon after, distraught.
The doctor entered the waiting room later, clipboard in hand, voice calm but heavy.
"A fractured femur. He'll need surgery and six months of recovery."
No one spoke. The silence was unbearable.
But the worst wasn't over.
"Jirou, you bastard!" Hiroki's voice shattered the quiet.
Everyone turned.
Hiroki charged, fists clenched. His punch landed with a dull crack, knocking Jirou backward. Blood spurted from his mouth as he hit the gym floor. But Hiroki wasn't done. He pounced, fists hammering down again and again.
Seiji, Yukio, and Takahiro rushed in. They wrestled Hiroki off, struggling to restrain him.
"Let me go! I'll kill him!"
"What the hell, Hiroki?! Why would you do that?!" Seiji shouted, panic overtaking his voice.
"That scum laid his hands on my sister! He tried to force himself on her! He hit her! You think I'd stay quiet?!"
Jirou lay unconscious, blood pooling around his broken face.
The next day, police came to school. The squad car pulled up, lights off, quiet.
"How could you do this to me, Hiroki?! This was our year! Our dream!" Seiji's voice cracked, tears threatening to fall.
"You think I threw all this away for nothing?! He tried to hurt my sister! What if he'd done something that would've scarred her forever?!"
"That's enough! Get in the car!" an officer barked, shoving Hiroki into the vehicle.
Seiji's voice trembled with betrayal. Yukio sobbed quietly. The team was shattered.
The whole school buzzed with gossip. Tomoe, Hiroki's sister, was ostracized. She drifted away from us, isolating herself despite our efforts to reach out.
Even with the scandal hanging over us, we fought hard. With Yukio and Seiji leading a two-man game under my guidance, we stormed through the rounds. We clawed out victory after victory, refusing to surrender.
But it wasn't enough.
In the fourth round, we faced Kaisei Academy and lost by a single, agonizing point: seventy-eight to seventy-seven.
That was the last game Seiji ever played. When the season ended, Seiji, Junpei, Marube, Akira—they all graduated, leaving only Takahiro and Yukio behind.
The dream we built together had crumbled. And the weight of that loss still lingers.