The gym erupted as the ball swished through the net. Even before the buzzer could echo, Yuuto snatched the rebound, the leather cool and firm under his fingers. Pivoting with his injured leg carefully loaded but steady, he surveyed the court like a general assessing a battlefield. Marcus sprinted alongside him to the wing, sneakers squeaking in perfect rhythm with the pounding of the hardwood.
Two rookies from Shikoku, Daigo Nishimura and Akira Hoshino, lunged toward him in tandem. Their timing was near flawless, anticipation sharp as a blade. Yet, Yuuto's mind and body were attuned to rhythm to the subtle gaps, the fractions of a second that revealed openings. He dribbled low, chest bent, right-left, slight hesitation, then spun past Akira with a fluid twist.
Thump. Thump. The ball hammered the polished floor, sending vibrations up his arms. The crowd seemed to pulse with each bounce, their energy almost tangible.
