"Coach, I'm back from the light jogging exercise with the first years."
Keichiro, a Yokonan student standing 201 centimeters tall, scanned the gym as he stepped inside. His sneakers scraped softly against the polished wooden floor. The air was warm, carrying the faint scent of sweat and fresh rubber. His shoulders rose and fell steadily, each sharp breath echoing lightly under the high ceiling.
"Oh, Keichiro, welcome back."
Coach Arimoto's eyes softened slightly, a faint tension in his shoulders easing as he spoke. The fluorescent lights hummed quietly overhead.
"Keichiro, I'm glad you're back."
Eiji's sneakers squeaked sharply against the floor as he hurried over, coming to a stop beside the tall captain. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, breath quick from the dash.
Keichiro slapped him on the head. The sharp smack echoed across the gym.
"Ouch! That actually hurts—what was that for?" Eiji rubbed the side of his head, wincing as sweat slid down his temple and soaked into his jersey.
"That's Captain to you, first year. Don't you dare cross the line."
Keichiro's voice was low and rough, each word punctuated by a steady exhale. He leaned slightly forward, eyes locking onto Eiji.
"Yes, Captain!"
Eiji's voice cracked with nervous energy. His chest heaved, heartbeat thudding in his ears as he straightened quickly, trying to stand tall.
"Where are the first years?"
Coach Arimoto's eyes flicked toward the court's edge. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, making the warm air thick and sticky with humidity.
"They're stretching outside now. Want me to call them?"
Keichiro's shoulders shifted slightly as he spoke, gaze steady on the coach.
"No, that won't be necessary."
Coach Arimoto nodded, fingers brushing the clipboard at his side.
"A practice match? Who are we up against?"
Keichiro stepped closer to the sidelines, shoulders tense as he scanned the court.
Only six players. The gym's metallic air stuck in his throat. What the hell is going on? How are the scores so close if Kayano and Kogure are playing? Their opponents must be strong. He let the words escape quietly, almost under his breath, jaw tight.
Coach Arimoto exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Don't ask me. They truly disappointed me today. If it wasn't for Kogure and Kayano, we wouldn't even have scored this much. They're the reason we're leading."
Keichiro pulled a metal chair from the sideline. It scraped sharply on the floor as he dragged it and sat heavily. The leather creaked beneath him. He leaned forward, fingers laced, eyes fixed on the game.
"So what will you do, Captain? I thought you'd join the game."
Eiji's voice was low, edged with hope. He shifted on his feet, sneakers squeaking slightly against the floor.
"There's no way I'm playing this game. I only finish what I start. You guys have to man up, take over, and win it yourselves."
Keichiro's shoulders squared, stance firm. His gaze held steady, voice calm but commanding.
"But… what if we lose? What if we don't win?"
Eiji's words trembled, breath catching as he clenched his fists.
"There's no room for failure at Yokonan. We'll win. I'm certain of that."
Keichiro's tone left no room for doubt, chest rising evenly with each measured breath.
Keichiro's gaze dropped to the scuffed court lines. Dust motes floated lazily in the shafts of sunlight. The familiar sound of sneakers squeaking filled the air once more.
So, Yukio is still at Toshigawa, huh? That explains why our team's having trouble holding the lead.
Keichiro's words stayed quiet, almost swallowed by the murmur of the crowd around the court.
Nearby, voices stirred.
Looks like Keichiro is back. Is he going to play? No, I doubt it. Knowing him, he won't finish another man's job.
Knowing him, there's no way he'd step in to finish someone else's work.
Yukio's eyes stayed locked on the court, voice low enough that only he could hear his own words.
Keichiro Yamada, captain of Yokonan High and the starting center. If he were to join now, we'd definitely lose.
Nanaho leaned forward on the bench, fingers brushing the fabric of her uniform as she whispered.
That guy is huge. Is he part of their team?
Haruko's eyes widened slightly, surprise tightening her chest. The faint scent of freshly laundered jerseys hung around her.
"Listen, everyone. These are the final and most crucial moments, and we're down by three points. We'll get the ball at the start of the quarter, so we have to use it to our advantage and try to take the lead. I know it's tough, and you're all tired, but fight with everything you've got until time runs out. Let's give it our all and beat Yokonan!"
Yukio's voice rang sharp and steady, carrying over the court. His fists clenched at his sides, sneakers shifting against the polished floor as he leaned slightly forward.
"Yes!"
The team's voices echoed off the walls, sneakers scraping urgently against the court as they moved into position.
You can do this, everyone. I believe in you.
Haruko's eyes narrowed, chest rising and falling steadily despite the growing heat and humidity in the gym.
Come on, guys, this victory will be the one that counts. Please win.
Shino's voice barely carried over the familiar mix of sweat, leather, and wood. He shifted on his feet, shoulders tensing as he leaned forward, eyes locked on the court.
At the beginning of the fourth and final quarter, Yukio inbounded the basketball to Hayato. The leather ball thudded sharply against Hayato's palms. The seams pressed into his fingers as he dribbled forward, his sneakers squeaking sharply against the polished floor.
Kayano stepped up immediately to guard him. Their breaths came in sharp bursts. Sweat dripped from their brows and stung their eyes.
Not this time, Kayano. I'll pass you for sure.
Hayato's sneakers skidded slightly as he cut left, the sharp squeak echoing off the court. His breath stayed steady, eyes tracking Kayano's every move.
Kayano slid his feet quickly, tensing muscles. But Hayato shifted to the right, and Kayano stumbled briefly; his sneakers scraped loud and harsh.
Hayato spun out of Kayano's path. The soft swish of his jersey accompanied the rapid move.
No way. When did he find the time to get so technical? Wasn't he in the hospital for a long time?
Kayano's chest heaved, sweat glinting along his temples as his eyes tracked Hayato's movements across the court.
Hayato shot a wide-open floater. The ball left his fingers with a soft whoosh. Silence fell briefly before the satisfying swish as it dropped cleanly through the net.
"Whoa!!! He went head to head against Kayano, one on one, and he scored," a student shouted, excitement ringing out.
"Nice shot, Hayato! That's the way," Nanaho clapped softly, the sound crisp in the thick air.
"Alright, everyone, let's stop their offense!"
Hayato's voice cut through the noise, steady despite the quick rhythm of his heartbeat.
"Yes!"
The team's response rang out in unison as they scrambled into position, sneakers squeaking sharply across the court.
On the next possession, Kayano dribbled the basketball upcourt. The thump-thump of the ball hitting the polished floor echoed rhythmically under the gym's high ceiling. Hayato stepped up immediately to guard him, sweat dampening his jersey and dripping from his chin.
Kayano tried to shake him off with his dribbling skills. The ball slapped sharply against the wood as he crossed between his legs, then shifted pace with quick feet. But Hayato stayed firmly in front, stance low, muscles tense.
Looks like their point guard is giving his all. There aren't many who can hold their own against Kayano — a prodigy, through and through.
Coach Arimoto's gaze stayed locked on the court, eyes tracking every movement. The faint hum of the vents mixed with the sharp rhythm of shouts and squeaking shoes.
Not bad, Hayato. If you're going all out, then so am I.
A small smile tugged at Kayano's lips, breath faintly visible in the cool air as he steadied his stance.
Kayano crossed through his legs continuously, the ball pat-pat-patting against the court, confusing Hayato. Then, suddenly, he froze. His muscles coiled, and with an explosive push, he sped toward the rim. His sneakers squealed sharply as he drove forward.
Damn it.
Hayato's breath caught, a bead of sweat slipping into his eye as he blinked hard and refocused on the play.
Kayano took his two steps and went for a layup. The ball felt heavy in his hands; the seams pressed sharply against his fingertips.
But suddenly, Tetsuo came from behind and blocked the shot. The ball ricocheted off the rim with a loud thunk. The whistle blew sharply, piercing the tension.
"Foul, reaching from behind, black number eleven," the referee announced firmly.
That was the right call, Tetsuo. Let him shoot some free throws.
Nanaho exhaled slowly, breath slipping out in a calm stream as her gaze followed the players.
That's his first foul all game. He's really good.
Haruko's eyes stayed fixed on the court, heartbeat steady, a quiet respect tightening her chest.
Kayano stepped to the free-throw line. The gym quieted instantly, save for the faint buzz of the overhead lights. Sweat dripped down his forehead, stinging his eyes. He bounced the ball twice—the thump-thump rang loudly.
The ball left his fingers with a clean swish, cutting through the air.
"Ensure that you make the other one," Kogure whispered, eyes fixed on the ball.
"Hey, Captain, Takahiro, Tetsuo — brace yourselves for the rebound. He'll definitely miss."
Noboru's smirk widened as he straightened his posture, voice carrying just enough confidence to cut through the noise.
"What did you just say?" Kayano demanded, tension thickening.
"I'd advise you to shut your mouth with that dumb free throw form of yours."
Ryuu's sneer stretched across his face, shoulders tensing as his voice cut sharp through the court's noise.
"I don't argue with people who get dunked on."
Noboru's smirk widened, eyes glinting as he flexed slightly, ready to move.
"If you haven't realized, this game isn't about you. You're trash. The main players on your team aren't even trash-talking as much as you. All you're doing is barking when you can't even bite — so stay quiet!"
Ryuu leaned forward, fists clenched, tone tight and fierce.
I'll show you who's trash.
Noboru's muscles coiled fully, sneakers gripping the polished court as he prepared to sprint.
Kayano shot the second free throw. The ball left his hands with a hesitant whoosh and bounced loudly off the rim. It spun wildly before settling on the floor.
Noboru darted towards the other hoop, shoes squeaking sharply.
After Yukio and Kogure jumped fiercely for the rebound, Tetsuo's fingers brushed the ball first. The basketball thudded firmly into his hands.
Tetsuo passed immediately to Noboru. Noboru caught it cleanly and drove for a layup. The ball hit the backboard with a sharp thunk before dropping through the net.
"Nice one, Noboru, and good quick thinking, Tetsuo. Get back on defense," Yukio shouted, wiping sweat from his brow.
That was more than just quick thinking, it was complete trust. Number eleven knew he would run, while number ten trusted his teammate would grab the rebound. They're not bad at all, Keichiro thought, breath slowing as he watched intently.
"Looks like Toshigawa caught up again. The score is all tied up. This is crazy," a student said nearby, disbelief coloring their voice as heat and tension rose in the gym.
That number eleven… he reminds me of someone, but who? I can't remember.
Aoi blinked rapidly, wiping sweat from her eyes as her gaze flicked across the court, pulse quickening with the effort of focus.
They did it. The game is leveled, sixty-eight to sixty-eight. Just hold on a little bit longer, everyone.
Nanaho crossed her fingers tightly, the faint tap of her nails against the wooden bench the only sound breaking the tense air.