"Well, let's see what Toshigawa can do," Kogure said, winking confidently.
He strolled back toward his team's bench, the fabric of his Yokonan jacket rustling softly with each step, hands shoved into the pockets as if he already knew the outcome.
"Kogure-senpai, look over here!" shouted a first-year girl, her voice high and eager over the chatter of the gym.
"Kogure-senpai, I love you!" another girl screamed, practically swooning from the stands.
"Senpai, be sure to crush them!" came a third, voice shrill with anticipation.
"I guess this Kogure guy and I are in the same boat," Noboru said, a sly grin tugging at his lips as he shifted his weight on the court.
Seems like the ladies can't resist us, huh?
"I don't know what I'll do to cure that delusional mind of yours," Nanaho muttered, giving him a deadpan stare as he struck a dramatic pose, chest out and one hand extended like he was greeting an imaginary crowd.
Coach Arimoto, a tall, broad man with "Yokonan High" embroidered across the back of his jacket, strode forward, the fabric brushing softly against his arms.
"Hey, you must be the coach of Toshigawa Academy. Nice to meet you. But… uh, why are you wearing their jersey?"
"This guy actually thinks Takahiro is the coach," Noboru said, doubling over as laughter rattled from his chest.
"Actually, I am the coach," Nanaho replied evenly, offering a stiff smile as she shifted her weight slightly on the sideline. "He's the player."
"Oh, I'm sorry. It's just… he looks way too old to be in high school. You might want to shave that beard," Coach Arimoto said with a soft chuckle, his shoulders shaking slightly as he spoke.
Takahiro's shoulders slumped, a heavy sigh escaping him. Even Coach Arimoto is calling me old… and he does look old. But… why is he acting like this is the first time he's seeing me?
Coach Arimoto turned toward the players, his eyes scanning each one carefully.
"Yukio, I see you're doing well. Do your best out there."
"We definitely will, don't worry," Yukio replied, nodding firmly, his sneakers squeaking slightly against the polished floor.
Coach Arimoto sank into a chair at the sidelines, his gaze calm but sharp, tracking every movement on the court.
Nanaho stepped in front of the team, her gaze sharp and unwavering.
"Listen up, everyone. I want you to play smart and read the game. You might feel outclassed… or let the crowd shake your confidence. But don't give in to fear—because I know you can win."
Her words carried weight, resonating through the gym as her team shifted slightly, gripping their jerseys and adjusting their stance.
"I want you all to give every ounce of energy you've got in this game and use it to win," Yukio said, voice steady and commanding. "We're up against Yokonan High—a school famous for basketball, the top of the food chain. But if we give it our all… we will win."
"Alright, are you ready?" he asked, clapping once sharply; the sound bounced off the high gym walls.
Every player responded with a crisp nod, adrenaline thrumming through their veins.
"Toshigawa!!!" Yukio roared, his voice echoing across the court.
"Fight!!!" the team shouted back, tugging their jerseys tight and adjusting their shorts as the slick fabric clung to their skin from pregame sweat.
Fukazawa didn't tell us the starting five… I guess I'll just go sit on the bench, Shino thought, already turning away, shoulders slumping with a defeated look.
"Tetsuo, I want you on the bench for now," Nanaho said, her voice calm but firm.
"Okay," Tetsuo replied evenly, sliding onto the bench without hesitation, eyes fixed steadily on the court as if nothing could shake his focus.
Why did she put Tetsuo on the bench? Shouldn't he be starting? Haruko wondered, glancing subtly at him. Despite the confusion, she noticed the quiet composure radiating from his posture.
"Shino, you'll be starting. Go knock them dead," Nanaho said, offering an awkward smile and a hesitant thumbs-up.
Shino's fingers brushed nervously against the edge of his jersey as he adjusted it, betraying his tension.
"What!! I… I can't," Shino stammered, knees nearly buckling as nerves coursed through him.
His fingers trembled against the hem of his jersey. The overhead lights suddenly seemed unbearably bright, the low hum of the crowd, the thud of basketballs on nearby courts, even the squeak of sneakers—all blending into a dizzying roar.
His vision tunneled for a moment, and for a split second, he feared he might collapse before even stepping onto the court.
"Calm down and take a deep breath," Yukio said, placing a firm hand on Shino's shoulder. "This is what you've been training for. We need you today, so let's give it our all."
The captain's right, Shino thought, feeling his chest tighten with determination. I want to get better… and I want to help the team. If I don't do this now, I'll never reach your level.
Yukio studied him for a moment longer, eyes narrowing slightly.
I've never questioned Nanaho's strategy before… but was this really the right choice, letting him start? Yukio wondered silently, the thrum of the court beneath their feet echoing in his mind.
Nanaho bit her thumbnail, pacing slightly behind the bench, the soft squeak of her sneakers against the polished floor keeping time with her thoughts.
I know this might be far-fetched and risky, but we need a few trump cards to stand a chance in this game. I just hope they can hold on.
"Let's get this game over with," Eiji said, stepping onto the court with a loose swagger. The soft slap of his sneakers on the hardwood matched the slow rhythm of his gum-chewing, his calm demeanor contrasting with the tension in the gym.
"I kind of feel sorry for them. They're going to be the laughingstock of our school," Ryuu said, struggling to keep a straight face, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
The bleachers shook under the roar of Yokonan's home crowd—students, teachers, and alumni shouting in unison.
Their voices rose in waves of chants and cheers, bouncing off the gym's high ceiling.
"Let's go! Let's go! Yokonan!"
"You can do it! Yokonan!"
"Crush them!"
"Show 'em how it's done!"
The relentless noise pressed down on the court like a tidal wave. Sneakers squeaked and thudded against the polished floor, the sharp bounce of the basketball blending with hundreds of claps and stomps, filling the gym with an overwhelming rhythm.
In a quiet corner of the bench, Haruko sat alone, eyes locked on the players.
She didn't cheer or shout—she simply watched, her gaze steady and thoughtful, ready to absorb every movement, every play.
The soft thump of bouncing basketballs and the faint squeak of sneakers echoed around her, but she remained perfectly still.
The referee stepped forward, holding the ball firmly.
"Are you ready for the tip-off?"
"Yes, I'll be the one jumping," Yukio said, stepping into the circle, his sneakers squeaking lightly against the polished floor.
The rubbery orange ball was firm in the referee's hand, textured with pebbled grain and worn grip marks from past matches.
The whistle blew. The ball rose into the air like a slow orbiting moon.
Both Yukio and Ryuu launched upward.
Their sneakers squeaked sharply against the polished court as they jumped, the sound of shifting floorboards and rushing air filling their ears.
Yukio's knees bent precisely, arms reaching upward with controlled force.
Their heads nearly reached the same height, but Yukio's fingertips made contact with the ball first, sending it tapping cleanly behind him.
"What?! No way!" Ryuu shouted, landing hard on the court with a heavy thud, the soles of his sneakers squeaking against the polished floor.
"Got it!" Hayato called, snatching the ball mid-stride with both hands. The leather felt firm and textured under his grip as he pivoted quickly, sneakers sliding slightly against the hardwood.
"Noboru, catch!" Hayato called, sending a sharp overhead pass that zipped through the air.
The ball thudded against Noboru's hands, the textured leather pressing firmly into his fingers.
Without breaking stride, he banked it off the glass and into the net.
The crowd erupted, a wave of gasps and murmurs rippling through the gym.
"Nice shot, Noboru! Keep it up!" Nanaho called from the sideline, fists pumping as the sound of her sneakers squeaking against the floor punctuated her cheer.
That was quick… he passed the ball the instant he received it, almost like he knew his teammate would sprint toward the basket, Haruko thought, eyes widening in amazement as she followed the swift movement across the court.
"Nice shot, Noboru, and great running," Hayato said, slapping hands with him, the sharp smack echoing across the court.
"That was nothing. Just wait and see," Noboru replied, a cocky grin tugging at his lips.
Seconds later, Eiji dribbled calmly up the court.
The ball bounced steadily against the polished floor, each thump ringing in a steady, rhythmic beat that matched the movement of his sneakers.
"Alright, everyone, you know what to do," Eiji said, eyes sweeping across the court, taking in every movement.
A Yokonan player darted in, planting his feet firmly and setting a hard screen.
His shoulder slammed into Yukio's chest with a sharp thud.
Ugh… that caught me off guard, Yukio thought, swaying slightly as he struggled to regain his balance, the hardwood squeaking beneath his sneakers.
Eiji lobbed a precise pass over Hayato's outstretched fingers.
Ryuu caught it mid-stride, pivoted on one foot, and released a clean shot—the net snapping crisply as the ball slipped through.
Without hesitation, Noboru scooped the ball up from under the net, the leather firm against his palms, and inbounded it to Hayato with a smooth, controlled motion.
"Alright, everyone, let's score some points," Hayato said, the ball thudding steadily against the hardwood as he advanced.
Takahiro barreled in from the side, planting his feet firmly and setting a heavy screen.
The collision sent the Yokonan defender stumbling, sneakers skidding slightly on the polished floor, clearing a path for Hayato to drive hard toward the rim.
Ryuu rotated quickly, pushing off the floor as he leapt for the block, arms reaching high, muscles taut.
At the last second, Hayato adjusted mid-air, the ball spinning lightly off his fingertips as he flicked it toward Yukio, who had slipped into the paint with quiet precision, moving almost like a shadow across the court.
Yukio caught it in stride, the ball firm and textured against his fingers.
He leapt, knees bending sharply, muscles coiling as he rose into the air.
His body arched over Ryuu's outstretched arm, and in one smooth, powerful motion, he slammed the basketball through the rim with a thunderous one-handed dunk.
The backboard rattled from the impact.
The crowd erupted in gasps, and Ryuu crashed to the floor beneath him, landing flat on his back with a heavy thud.
For a brief moment, the gym fell into stunned silence.
The scoreboard flickered, the bright red numbers shifting from 2–2 to 2–4, signaling Toshigawa's sudden lead.
Yokonan's spectators froze, their usual roar replaced by low murmurs and uneasy glances.
The rhythm of sneakers and bouncing basketballs seemed to slow, and the tide of the game suddenly felt less certain.
"There's more where that came from. We'll knock you down a peg," Noboru barked, a wide grin spreading across his face as he jogged backward into position on defense, sneakers squeaking lightly against the polished court.
Haruko's hand tightened on the hem of her skirt, fingers curling slightly as if grounding herself.
That was so cool! So this is what high school basketball looks like! Haruko beamed silently, eyes wide as she took it all in.
"No way! Ryuu got dunked on! Hahaha!" Kayano cackled from near the Yokonan bench, slapping Kogure's shoulder, the sound sharp against the roar of the crowd.
"I like number ten. He's funny," Kogure said with a smirk, eyes sparkling with amusement as he leaned casually against the railing by the bench.
Yukio turned and pointed directly at Kogure from across the court, eyes sharp and commanding.
Kogure raised an eyebrow, a sly grin tugging at his lips. Not bad at all, Yukio. Keep it up… maybe Coach will put me in this game, he thought, leaning casually against the bench railing.
Coach Arimoto's jaw tensed, his brow furrowed as his gaze sharpened, tracking every movement on the court.
"Give me a timeout, please," he said, standing abruptly, arms crossed, the fabric of his jacket rustling with the motion, barely hiding his irritation.