The third quarter began with Yokonan in possession of the ball. The echo of the buzzer faded, leaving only the sharp rhythm of Kayano dribbling up the court. His footsteps tapped lightly against the polished hardwood, each bounce of the ball punctuating the air with a crisp slap. Sweat glimmered along his hairline, but his expression stayed calm—almost unnervingly so. The faint squeak of his shoes and the faint scent of the court's waxed floor seemed to follow him as he moved.
Hayato stepped up to guard him, adjusting his stance, knees bent and arms wide. His legs ached from the first half, every muscle humming with fatigue, and his breath came in short, sharp bursts through slightly parted lips. His jersey stuck to his back, damp and heavy against his skin.
I can't afford to let him break through our defense—not with Kogure out here. His eyes stayed locked on Kayano, following every subtle shift of weight, every bounce of the ball.
Following Yukio's instructions, Tetsuo stuck to Manabu like glue. He mirrored every movement, pivoting sharply, his shoes squeaking against the polished court. Every shift of Manabu's weight, every feint, was met with Tetsuo's calm, precise positioning. The air was thick with sweat and the faint tang of the gym floor, and the faint scrape of sneakers against hardwood echoed around them.
Manabu's jaw tightened. Sweat ran down the sides of his face, stinging his eyes. He won't budge… why can't I shake him off? His arms flailed slightly as he tried to force space, and the friction of his jersey against his back made each movement heavier.
"You're not scoring any more points on my watch. Stay put." Tetsuo's voice was flat, calm, expression unreadable, eyes fixed on Manabu without a flicker of reaction.
Manabu wiped fogging glasses with the back of his hand, fingers trembling. You'll regret this. His legs ached, his sneakers squeaked as he shifted again, but Tetsuo remained locked in place, a silent wall between him and the hoop.
On the wing, Ryuu took two hard steps and planted himself against Yukio, shoulder colliding sharply with his side. Yukio stumbled, catching himself with a scrape of sneakers against the polished floor.
Tch… they didn't warn me. He shifted his weight quickly, fingers brushing against the sticky sweat on his palms as he fought to regain balance. His chest rose and fell rapidly, lungs burning as he adjusted his footing.
Kogure used the screen and burst forward, shoes slapping the court with controlled force, knees pumping, body leaning into the sprint. The air whipped past him, carrying the faint tang of sweat and the squeak of sneakers from nearby players. He locked eyes with Kayano. Kayano's subtle nod and quick feint toward the corner made the defenders hesitate, their weight shifting, muscles tightening.
Then, without pause, Kayano lobbed the ball high towards the rim.
Kogure leapt, calves flexing as he jumped off the ground. His hands stretched out, fingers splayed wide as he caught the ball mid-air, twisting slightly. His right arm rotated back—then he swung it in a smooth arc, slamming the ball into the hoop with a thunderous windmill dunk. The backboard rattled. The floor vibrated beneath the players' feet. Sneakers squeaked as others shifted, and the faint tang of sweat filled the air.
The entire gym seemed to shake.
"No way... did he just...?" Noboru's voice trailed off in shock, jaw hanging open, eyes wide as the ball bounced once, twice, then rolled to the sideline. The scrape of sneakers, claps, and gasps echoed around him.
The gym erupted. Students shouted and stomped the floor, voices overlapping, sneakers squeaking against polished hardwood, hands clapping, papers rustling in the stands.
"Kogure is amazing! What a dunk!" shouted a soccer player from the crowd, nearly standing on his seat. His sneakers scraped against the metal step, and the wooden bleachers creaked under his weight.
"Kogure-senpai, you're so cool!" a first-year girl squealed, hugging her friend tightly. Her hands rattled the papers she held.
Jogging back on defense, Kogure's chest rose and fell with steady control. His sneakers squeaked softly on the polished court, arms swinging lightly, smirk effortless, eyes scanning the court without a flicker of strain.
"Good work, Yukio. You managed to get me out here, but you'll have to do better than that if you want to win." His voice was calm, carrying clearly over the din of the crowd, even as cheers and footsteps echoed around them.
On the next possession, Hayato gripped the ball tightly, fingertips pressing into the leather, and passed to Yukio inside the key. Yukio jab-stepped, pivoting on the ball of his foot, faking a shot. Ryuu leaned in, sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. Yukio spun and immediately dished the ball to Takahiro on the wing, who had slipped into open space.
Takahiro caught the ball, feeling the sting of sweat on his palms, adjusted his stance, and rose into a clean mid-range jumper. The ball rolled off his fingertips, spinning smoothly through the air.
Then, in a blur of motion, Kogure shot across the court. His sneakers screeched, scraping the hardwood, and he launched upward, arm fully extended. With a sharp slap, the ball was swatted away, rattling through the air.
Crap… how did he block me? I was wide open! Takahiro's eyes went wide, chest tightening, breath catching in disbelief.
Kayano scooped up the loose ball, fingertips brushing the leather as he drove forward. Sneakers slapped the hardwood, each step echoing sharply, breath coming in quick, controlled bursts. The court seemed to blur beneath him as he dribbled at high speed.
He tossed the ball to Kogure, who caught it in stride. A quick dribble reverberated against the floor, and then he spun into the air, completing a full 360-degree turn. His muscles tensed for a heartbeat before he slammed the ball through the hoop. The backboard rattled, and the floor vibrated under the impact.
The crowd's roar hit like a wave. Shouts, stomping feet, and claps overlapped, echoing off the walls, filling every corner of the gym with noise.
Meanwhile, in the school's indoor swimming pool, sunlight streamed through the high windows, glinting off the rippling water. The scent of chlorine hung in the air, sharp and familiar. Lanes were alive with movement—girls dove in with precision, their bodies slicing through the water, arms cutting arcs, legs kicking with steady rhythm. Water splashed in rhythmic bursts, droplets scattering across the pool deck and bouncing off the tiled floor.
"Hurry up! Kogure's playing in the match. Apparently, Toshigawa was putting up a fight," a girl from the swim team called, her voice carrying over the splashes. She gripped her phone, the screen reflecting the pool lights.
"Wow, they must be really good," another swimmer replied, brushing wet hair back from her face, droplets sliding down her shoulders.
"Are you coming, Aoi? Your boyfriend is playing. I'm sure seeing him will make him play even better."
"I'm coming," Aoi muttered, wrapping a towel around her shoulders and drying her arms. She adjusted her swimsuit and pulled on her jacket before walking off toward the bleachers, the tile clinking softly under her feet with each step.
Back on the court, Kayano passed the ball to Kogure again. The leather slapped against his palms as he caught it in stride. Yukio stepped up, knees bent, arms wide, sneakers squeaking softly against the polished hardwood.
Kogure didn't even glance at him. He dribbled the ball between his legs twice, the rhythmic thumps sharp in the tense silence of the court. Then he stepped back sharply. Yukio lunged to close the space, but Kogure released the ball with precise form. The swish of the net rang clear—nothing but net.
"Yes! Let's go! Nice shot, Kogure-senpai!" Eiji shouted, hands slapping the floor as he bounced on the balls of his feet.
Nanaho clenched her fists, shoulders tight. Sweat beaded on her forehead, stinging her eyes. Her breath came in short, rapid bursts. She stared at the scoreboard, heart sinking.
How did the game shift away from us this quickly?
We were leading by nine points earlier, and now we're down by eleven—52 to 63. That guy is unreal. He just came on and already scored twenty points.
Coach Arimoto leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowed on the court as the noise of the crowd washed over him.
Looks like they're finally feeling the pressure. Kogure is in the top five in this prefecture. There aren't many players who can hold their own against him. He's already been offered seven college scholarships—and he hasn't even graduated yet. He's truly a phenomenal player… and I'm glad I scouted him.
From the poolside entrance to the basketball court, a swimmer girl lowered her phone with a frown. "I heard Toshigawa was in the lead… but it looks like Yokonan took over," she said, disappointment heavy in her voice.
"And it's all thanks to Kogure. He's really something," another girl added, her eyes fixed on the court, voice almost breathless.
"Yes, he is," Aoi muttered, pulling her jacket tighter across her shoulders. Her tone was flat, her face calm—no surprise, no excitement, even with the gym buzzing around her.
On Toshigawa's bench, the mood was heavy. Shino slouched forward, shoulders drooping, hands brushing against the sweat-slicked fabric of his jersey. Water bottles rattled faintly as they lay discarded near his feet.
This is bad. That player is really good, he muttered, voice trembling, eyes fixed on the court.
"Wow, they're losing badly," Airi remarked, camera clicking softly as she snapped photos, fingers sticky from sweat.
"Yeah, but that guy is just too good. It's not really a reflection of their inadequacy," Yuri added, scanning the players with sharp eyes. The scrape of sneakers and squeak of court shoes punctuated her observation. It was expected—Yokonan is such a strong team.
Kanae adjusted her notebook, flipping to a clean page with a soft rustle, the sound of paper scratching against metal binding filling the brief pause.
"Keep taking those pictures, Airi. Yuri, keep writing. I have a feeling something amazing is going to happen." Her voice cut clearly through the low hum of the gym, carrying over the squeak of sneakers and distant cheers.
On the court, Noboru stumbled slightly as he backed into position, sneakers scraping against the polished hardwood. He pressed one hand to his thigh to steady himself, chest rising and falling quickly.
"Damn it, this guy is the real deal," he muttered under his breath, voice low and rough, fingers tightening against the fabric of his jersey.
Yukio wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist, vision slightly blurred. The dampness stung his eyes, and the faint tang of the gym's floor filled his nose.
I hate to admit it, but I can't handle him. And with Kayano assisting him, he's even more dangerous. He shifted his weight, feet sliding slightly against the court.
Nanaho bit her fingernails, toes tapping against the bench leg. The wood thudded softly with each movement, her heartbeat quickening.
What can I do? We're seriously outclassed in both offense and defense. The only reason the score is still close is because of Tetsuo guarding Manabu. But there's no way we can win this.
Even Hayato, who always radiated confidence, lowered his head. His arms hung loosely at his sides, sweat dripping from his fingertips onto the floor. His gaze stayed fixed on the hardwood, where faint shoe marks crisscrossed under the harsh gym lights.
It's over. There's no way we can win. We've lost. His chest tightened as the thought echoed in his mind.
But then—
"Nakajima. Pass me the ball." Tetsuo's voice cut through the noise, low and steady.
Hayato's head snapped up, eyes widening. Tetsuo was already sliding into position, sneakers squeaking lightly with each step. His face was unreadable, but his eyes burned with a quiet determination that sent a chill down Hayato's spine.
Tetsuo… he doesn't want to give up.
Hayato gripped the ball tighter, breath catching, before sending the pass without hesitation.
Tetsuo caught the ball and immediately pushed forward. His sneakers bit into the hardwood with each stride, the sharp squeak echoing through the gym. The ball slapped fast and low against the floor, each bounce crisp and controlled.
Manabu and another Yokonan defender rushed to cut him off, bodies lunging into position. Tetsuo didn't slow—he shifted his weight and crossed the ball behind his back. His torso twisted sharply, jersey sticking to his damp skin as he slipped cleanly between them.
So fast…! He wasn't this quick before! Manabu's eyes widened, the court lights flashing across his lenses as he turned, heart hammering in his chest.
Kayano stepped in next, knees bent, arms raised, anticipating contact. His sneakers screeched against the glossy floor as he slid into position, sweat running down his temple.
Tetsuo spun, his shoes grinding loudly against the hardwood as his body pivoted. His shoulder brushed against Kayano's hip before he slipped past. The move drew a flicker of surprise across Kayano's usually calm face.
And then—Kogure stepped in. He planted himself firmly in Tetsuo's path, the thud of his sneakers sharp, his smirk carrying a hint of anticipation. His gaze sharpened, pupils fixed on the ball.
"Where do you think you're going, Number Eleven?" His voice cut through the roar of the gym. The two locked eyes, the air between them heavy, every movement watched by the crowd.
Tetsuo dribbled between his legs—left, then right. The ball hit the floor in rapid, stinging bounces. Kogure slid smoothly with him, shoes squeaking in sync, his stance unshaken.
Tetsuo stepped back suddenly. Kogure launched upward at once, arms outstretched, jersey fluttering with the motion.
But the ball had already left Tetsuo's fingertips. His elbow tucked tight, wrist snapping sharply at the peak of his jump.
Kogure's eyes widened.
No way… I know this hand placement…
The ball soared high, perfect rotation cutting through the lights above, before dropping straight through the net.
Swish.
The gym fell silent, the sound of the ball sliding through the rim echoing faintly. For a heartbeat, even the squeak of sneakers and the hum of voices were gone.
The crowd in the bleachers froze mid-cheer, their mouths half-open. Coach Arimoto stood still, clipboard slipping slightly in his grip. The Yokonan players—on the court and lined up on the bench—stared wide-eyed, disbelief painted across their faces.
Kanae's pen hovered above her notebook, unmoving. The newspaper club sat frozen around her. Even the girls' swimming team, who had been chattering only moments before, went quiet.
He made it… over Kogure.
Aoi's eyes narrowed, her surprise slipping through for just a second.
Then—
"Amazing! He made another one!" a student shouted, the bleachers rumbling with renewed excitement.
That Number Eleven… he's a handful, that's for sure, Kayano admitted inwardly, smirking faintly as his hand pressed against the damp fabric of his jersey. His breaths came in steady pulls. He might even be better than Manabu. No… he definitely is.
"I knew he could pull it off—that's Tetsuo for you," Nanaho cheered, patting a stunned Shino on the back.
Haruko's heart skipped a beat, her eyes fixed on the court. He's still fighting… even though there's no way for them to win. Tetsuo really is cool.
On the sideline, Yukio's hands trembled at his sides.
"Kawaguchi…" he whispered.
How can I be giving up when my junior is still pushing forward? Hayato slapped both cheeks with a loud smack, then tugged his headband tight.
"This game isn't over until time runs out. That's what you said, right, Captain?" Tetsuo turned back, his gaze sharp despite the faint tremor in his hands.
"So until this game is over, let's push ourselves to the limit— and win."
Yukio stared at him, stunned. This is the first time he's ever expressed himself like this. He really wants to win.
"Alright, everyone!" Yukio shouted, voice cutting through fatigue like a blade. "Let's fight hard! We're still in this game!"
Around him, exhausted players straightened. A spark reignited in their eyes.
From the opposite side, Kogure approached with deliberate steps. His shadow fell across Tetsuo.
"Hey, you there. Number Eleven," he said, voice low but sharp. "Does the name Hisashi Kawaguchi mean anything to you?"
Tetsuo froze, his breath catching in his throat.
"Hisashi… Kawaguchi…?"
Kogure's lips curled into a knowing smirk.
"I see. I was right. You're Tetsuo Kawaguchi—the son of former international basketball player Hisashi Kawaguchi."
Tetsuo's fingers twitched against his shorts. His chest rose and fell, deeper now, steadier, as the weight of his father's name settled over him once more.