The gym pulsed with restless energy. Sneakers squeaked against the polished hardwood, echoing sharp in the wide space. The faint smell of sweat mixed with the cleaner's wax hung stubbornly in the air.
Harsh fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a cold glare as Toshigawa Academy's players clawed their way back into the game. Even so, the scoreboard still leaned heavily against them.
Kayano leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes sharp on the court.
"As soon as number eleven stepped in… everything feels different," he murmured.
Kogure kept his gaze steady, though the edge of excitement crept into his voice.
"Yeah. He doesn't move like a benchwarmer. Their coach must've been holding him back for this moment."
Kogure's lips curled into a faint smile, his gaze fixed on the court.
Good. It would've been boring if they didn't have anyone who could put up a fight.
His eyes sharpened, the smirk lingering.
You've made this match interesting… number eleven.
Down on the court, Eiji dribbled slowly up the sideline, the ball striking the floor in a steady, hollow rhythm. His eyes swept across the defense, sweat sliding down his temple and darkening the edge of his jersey collar.
Hayato stepped in front of him, sneakers squealing as he slid laterally. His stance was low, arms twitching with quick, sharp movements, cutting off every easy pass. A focused glint lit his eyes, his body tense and ready.
"What's wrong?" Hayato's voice was steady, though his breaths came fast. "You were pressing me earlier… so why hesitate now, when it's your turn?"
Damn… he's reading me too well. Way sharper than before, Eiji thought, his brow furrowing as he angled his body, shielding the ball from Hayato's reaching hand. His dribble stayed low, each bounce thudding against the hardwood.
Suddenly, Manabu crashed in with a hard screen—thud!—the impact jolting Hayato backward for just an instant. That gap was all Eiji needed. He snapped a quick, low bounce pass inside to Ryuu.
Ryuu caught the ball deep in the paint, sweat dripping from his chin. He pounded it against the hardwood once—twice—the sound echoing under the basket. His massive frame pivoted, muscles straining as he spun toward the lane.
Yukio stepped up, planting both feet firm on the floor. Their bodies collided with a heavy smack, the impact vibrating through his chest. Ryuu gritted his teeth, forcing his weight forward, and spun back into a post shot.
Yukio leapt, arms stretched to full length, eyes locked tight on the ball—
—but Ryuu faked, stepping through with his non-pivot foot as Yukio hung midair. He floated the ball up, sending it toward the basket in a soft arc.
Time seemed to slow.
Then a shadow swept over him.
Who—?! Ryuu's eyes snapped wide as a black jersey, number eleven, cut into view.
Tetsuo came flying from the weak side, body stretched taut, muscles rippling. His fingertips smacked the ball mid-flight with a sharp crack.
The sound rang out across the gym like a gunshot.
What?! Ryuu's mouth fell open, disbelief etched across his face. When did he even get here? How can he jump that high?!
Both Tetsuo and Ryuu landed with a sharp squeak of their shoes on the hardwood. The ball ricocheted violently off the rim, skidding toward the sideline—but Hayato was already moving. He lunged, diving into its path, and caught it clean. Immediately, he pushed forward, dribbling low and fast, each bounce thudding against the floor.
"We can't waste this. This is our chance," Hayato muttered under his breath, his movements sharp and urgent.
"No way…" Kayano muttered, his gaze fixed on Tetsuo as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His fingers drummed lightly against the edge of the bench. "He just went toe-to-toe with that muscle head Ryuu at the rim."
"Impossible…" Manabu stammered, sweat sliding down his temple. His fists clenched at his sides as his heartbeat thudded in his ears. What's with this guy…
Hayato called out, voice sharp and carrying across the gym. The squeak of his sneakers punctuated each word.
"Alright, let's run it clean—screen and cut!"
"That number eleven…" Kogure's voice dropped, low and intrigued. He shifted his weight on the bench, sneakers squeaking softly against the floor.
He's got insane legs. That block… shouldn't even be possible. His eyes followed the replay in his mind—Tetsuo sprinting from the weak side all the way to the paint just to stop Ryuu. The speed, the timing… that kind of movement takes serious skill.
Yukio hustled up to set a hard pick for Hayato at the top of the key, colliding lightly with Eiji, who was guarding him. Sneakers squeaked against the hardwood as Noboru darted in and out of the lane, dragging defenders with him and throwing them off balance.
On the wing, Tetsuo planted himself solidly, giving Takahiro a perfectly timed screen that freed him from his defender. Takahiro exploded into the gap, sprinting baseline unguarded. His sneakers pounded against the floor, each step echoing in the gym.
Shit, we fell for it, Eiji realized too late, panic flashing in his eyes.
Hayato spotted the open lane. Without hesitation, he zipped a pinpoint pass to Takahiro. The ball thudded lightly as Takahiro caught it mid-stride. Two quick steps, a light leap, and he laid it in clean. The ball hit the backboard and dropped softly through the net with a low swish.
The scoreboard flickered once, the digital numbers buzzing faintly. Yokonan High 18 — Toshigawa Academy 14.
A sharp voice cut through the crowd noise.
"Hey! What are you guys even doing?! Aren't you supposed to be the best team?!"
A frustrated schoolboy leaned forward from the bleachers, gripping the railing. His words echoed off the walls, bouncing across the gym.
On the next possession, Ryuu inbounded the ball to Eiji, who immediately flipped it to Manabu near the three-point arc. He spun to face the basket—
—but froze.
Tetsuo was already there. His stance was low and balanced, feet gripping the floor, muscles coiled. His eyes held a calm intensity that made Manabu's stomach knot.
No way he's better than me. I'll put him in his place, Manabu thought, jaw tightening, pride hardening his expression.
Manabu started to dribble fast, crossing the ball between his legs with practiced precision. Then behind his back. Then a sudden hesitation.
No matter how sharp or deceptive his movements, Tetsuo mirrored every step. His feet shifted almost silently, reacting instantly, unflinching.
Manabu's heartbeat thundered in his ears. Sweat slid down his cheek, dripping into his eyes. What is this…? He's reading everything. I can't get through…
From the bench, Kayano leaned forward, eyes sharp and fixed on the court.
"I can't believe it. Manabu can't even shake him off…" His tone carried both awe and calculation.
Coach Arimoto's brows furrowed, voice tight with frustration.
"Who is he? I don't recognize that kid. Which junior high did he come from?"
"I—I don't know, Coach," Kayano admitted, though his gaze never wavered, scanning the court like a strategist.
Inside the paint, Ryuu fought for better positioning, shoving slightly against his defender. Yukio planted his feet, muscles coiled, eyes locked on Ryuu's movements. Ryuu barked from the post, voice sharp and urgent.
"Manabu! Calm the hell down and pass!"
But Manabu's pride roared louder than reason.
"No! I've never been forced to pass in my life! It's not starting now!"
He crossed over and gathered the ball, pulling up for a three—
—but before the ball even left his fingertips, a hand smacked it clean.
POP!
The ball flew backward.
Tetsuo had stripped it mid-release. Manabu's eyes widened behind his glasses, disbelief flashing across his face.
"Defense! Get back, now!" Eiji yelled, voice cracking with urgency as he pivoted and sprinted down the court, sweat sliding down his jersey.
I can't believe it… I can't even get a shot off… Manabu's hands trembled. Is the gap between us really this wide?
Tetsuo grabbed the loose ball and dribbled up the court with controlled speed, each bounce thudding against the hardwood.
"No! I'm not letting you score!" Eiji lunged, bending his legs and stepping into Tetsuo's path, sneakers squeaking sharply.
But Tetsuo didn't slow. He feinted a sudden rise for a jumper.
Eiji bit on it—leaping, arms flailing upward.
Wait—!
Too late.
Tetsuo leaned into Eiji's airborne body, drew the contact, and effortlessly flicked his wrist, letting the ball fly while following through smoothly.
The ball arced high, spinning with perfect rotation, before dropping cleanly through the net.
SWISH.
The scoreboard lit up once more: Yokonan High 18 — Toshigawa 17.
The referee's whistle cut sharply through the gym noise.
"Blocking foul, white number nine! Basket counts! One free throw!"
For half a second, the gym went silent—then erupted. Sneakers squeaked, voices shouted, and claps echoed across the bleachers.
"Whoa! They basically tied it up?!" someone yelled.
"That number eleven is amazing! He just changed the whole game!" a girl from Yokonan shouted, clapping her hands wildly.
"Hell yeah! That's how it's done!" Noboru roared, slapping Tetsuo's back so hard it rattled and echoed across the gym.
"You just made my jersey stick even more to my back…" Tetsuo said flatly, voice low and calm, expression blank. His eyes stayed locked on Noboru, who was smirking across from him.
"Way to save us, Tetsuo!" Nanaho yelled, grinning ear to ear, waving her clipboard enthusiastically.
Tetsuo's amazing… Haruko thought, pressing her hands to her chest as relief washed through her. Well… I mean, he was the one who taught me how to shoot. A faint blush warmed her cheeks as she watched him jog backward on defense, admiration shining in her eyes.
"Nice work," Takahiro said with a grin, sweat dripping from his forehead. A medium stubble lined his chin and upper lip, giving him a slightly older look. "You really brought us back."
Hayato's eyes softened slightly as he wiped sweat from his headband.
"Yeah… I'm glad you're here," he admitted quietly, gratitude breaking through his exhaustion.
Tetsuo stepped to the line. Yokonan and Toshigawa players lined up, ready to grab a rebound if necessary. His breathing was steady, measured. He dribbled once… twice… then flicked the ball from his fingertips with flawless precision.
SWISH.
Nothing but net.
Yokonan's bench erupted in disbelief.
"I can't believe it… it's actually tied," one of the players whispered, eyes wide.
On a chair beside them, Coach Arimoto sank down heavily, arms crossed tight. His jaw was locked, fury simmering in silence as he gripped his clipboard until it snapped in half with a sharp crack.
"Coach looks pissed," Kayano muttered, eyes narrowing as he studied the scene.
"Yeah," Kogure agreed with a small smile. "He's about to explode."
Yukio clapped his hands sharply, the sound cutting through the gym.
"Alright! Let's take the lead now!"
"Yes!" Toshigawa's players answered in unison, voices sharp, full of renewed fire.
Nanaho's eyes followed Yukio for a moment, noticing the bright smile on his face—he was genuinely having fun.
The next few minutes blurred together.
Hayato stole a lazy pass from Eiji and sprinted down the court, sneakers squeaking against the hardwood. He passed to Yukio, who executed a clean layup. The ball swished through the net.
On the following play, Ryuu tried to force his way inside, leaping for a dunk—but Yukio met him in the air, arms fully extended. He blocked the shot clean, snatched the rebound, and immediately pushed into a fast break. Noboru caught the outlet pass and swung it to Takahiro, who released a high-arching shot that banked in perfectly.
The gym shook with the roar of desperate shouts.
Eiji wiped sweat from his brow, dribbling frantically. We need to score fast! Coach's face… doesn't look good.
"Eiji! Ball, now!" Ryuu shouted from the post.
Eiji faked a pass to create an opening, then sent it toward Ryuu's outstretched arm—but Tetsuo darted out of nowhere, sneakers squeaking sharply against the hardwood, intercepting like a phantom.
"What?!" Manabu's jaw dropped. "When did he—"
Tetsuo exploded down the court, dribbling quickly. Manabu chased, legs burning, but couldn't close the gap. At the last second, Tetsuo rose for a layup. Manabu jumped to contest—but Tetsuo swung the ball out to Hayato behind the arc.
Hayato rose smoothly, flicking his wrist to release the ball.
It clanged off the rim, rolled… and dropped through.
The crowd went silent for half a heartbeat.
Then—
Beep!
The whistle blew, ending the first quarter.
Toshigawa, once trailing by double digits, now held the lead.