The scoreboard read Easton 102 – Seiryō 98.
Three minutes left.
The gym was thunder. Every cheer, every stomp of a foot, every squeal of sneakers on polished wood reverberated through the rafters. Flags waved frantically. Students yelled themselves hoarse. The tension was a living, breathing thing—curling into lungs, sinking into muscles, threading into every heartbeat.
Kana and Ayaka clutched the railing in the stands, faces pale but eyes wide. "Come on… come on, Seiryō!" Kana screamed, voice cracking. Beside her, Ayaka's hands were clenched so tightly the knuckles turned white. Other students from the MC team leaned forward, breath shallow, frozen in a collective anticipation, each pulse synced with the rhythm of the game.
Marcus wiped sweat from his brow. The team was exhausted, bodies screaming in protest, lungs burning—but they were alive. He could feel it: the Pulse, that invisible heartbeat, threading through every teammate, every pass, every step.
