After Nanaho called a timeout, everyone on Toshigawa's basketball team sat down on the bench, their bodies heaving with exhaustion. The sharp scent of sweat lingered in the humid gym air, mixing with the faint rubbery smell of the basketball court.
Their chests rose and fell in uneven rhythms, some of them still clutching water bottles with trembling hands. The sunlight streaming through the high gym windows illuminated floating dust particles as Nanaho stepped forward.
She exhaled slowly, wiping a streak of sweat from her cheek before turning to Noboru. "That was a close call. Great work, Noboru."
She gave his shoulder a firm pat, her voice steady but proud. "You gave us a once-in-a-lifetime chance to win this game."
Noboru let out a rough chuckle, his shoulders heaving as he tried to steady his breathing. "Heh… of course. It's only natural for a player of my caliber."
He wiped the sweat from his chin, the motion sluggish. His skin was flushed, heat pulsing in his cheeks.
For a moment, his eyelids flickered. The edges of his vision warped and trembled. He blinked hard, but the light overhead smeared into a blur, and the bench beneath him seemed to tilt. A sharp ringing filled his ears, drowning out the distant cheers.
He pushed himself to his feet—then swayed, his balance slipping.
Nanaho stepped forward, her brows tightening. "Noboru, are you okay?" Her voice cut through the noise, sharp with worry.
"I'm fine—" Noboru tried to take a step, but his knees suddenly gave out. His legs folded under him, and he hit the floor with a dull thud. The sound echoed softly across the gym, followed by a collective gasp from the bench.
"Oh no—Noboru!" Nanaho's voice broke out first, and the others rushed in around him. Sneakers scraped against the floor, benches creaked, and the air filled with the sound of panicked breathing.
"Move, give him some space so he can breathe!" Yukio's voice cut through the noise. He spread his arms, guiding the others back. His forehead glistened, sweat rolling down his temple, and his jersey stuck to his back from the heat of the match.
Coach Arimoto strode over, his expression calm but alert. "What happened to him?" He crouched beside Noboru, checking his pulse with careful fingers.
"He just collapsed," Nanaho replied, her eyes flicking to his still chest.
"Eiji, go get someone to help him." Arimoto's voice was firm, leaving no room for hesitation. Eiji's face drained of color, but he nodded quickly and stepped toward the exit.
"I'll go with you—it's better this way since we're from the same school." Yuri placed a hand on Eiji's shoulder, guiding him gently. Then they both knelt, bracing themselves as they lifted Noboru between them.
Noboru's arm dangled limply over Eiji's shoulder. His breathing was shallow, chest fluttering rapidly. The floor under them was slick where he'd collapsed, sweat soaking into the boards. The crowd murmured behind them, a ripple of unease spreading through the spectators as they watched him being carried off.
"Such a shame," Kanae whispered, hands clenched tightly in her lap.
He really did solid for his team… too bad he won't be here to see it.
"He just collapsed from fatigue. We'll take him to the infirmary." Eiji's arms were stiff, muscles straining as he carried Noboru. His steps were careful, measured, eyes fixed on the path ahead.
"Thanks… really, thank you both." Nanaho brushed a damp strand of hair from her face, her gaze lingering on Noboru's retreating form.
He held out far longer than I expected. Never once did he fumble or travel… he really did well.
Yukio stepped forward, his shoulders tight, fists clenching and loosening at his sides. "So… what's the plan, Nanaho?"
Nanaho met his eyes, her voice steady amid the restless shuffle of the bench. "We don't have a choice. Shino—you'll take Noboru's place. Are you ready for this?"
"Y-yeah… I'm ready." Shino's lips trembled, but he forced himself upright. His hands were slick with sweat; he rubbed them quickly against his shorts before gripping the hem to steady his breath.
I can do this… I have to.
Nanaho knelt and pulled out her tactics board, the black marker cap clicking as she removed it. The board was streaked with faded lines and smudged plays. She drew quickly, her hands steady despite the situation.
"Okay, listen carefully. Hayato, you'll have the ball up top. Yukio, you'll set a screen for him, and Takahiro, you'll set a screen for Tetsuo. Meanwhile, Shino will cut into the key. Then, Tetsuo will come around to score a three-pointer."
Yukio nodded, his brow furrowed as drops of sweat rolled down the side of his neck, disappearing into his jersey collar. "Right… so that's the play."
Nanaho's lips curved into a faint grin. "Well… that's the twist." She gave a short chuckle, tapping the marker against the board. "It's a little unexpected—but it'll work."
Haruko sat a little farther down the bench, close enough to hear their breathing but far enough to watch them without being noticed. Her eyes moved across each of their faces as they regrouped, taking in the exhaustion, the focus, the fire that hadn't burned out yet. Her chest felt tight, and the faint echo of bouncing basketballs from earlier still rang in her ears. She leaned forward slightly, fingers gripping the edge of the seat.
This game has taught me so much. These guys are truly amazing… it's not just Tetsuo. Every one of them has something they excel at, and together they make it work—perfectly in sync. They're putting up an incredible fight against Yokonan. Eighty-eight to eighty-six… Toshigawa in possession. I wonder how this will all end. Will Tetsuo… be the one to win this game?
Across the court, Coach Arimoto clapped his hands loudly, gathering his players into a tight semicircle. The squeak of shoes echoed as they slid into place.
"Listen up." Coach Arimoto's voice cut through the noise like a whistle. Beads of sweat clung to his temples, and his eyes gleamed with focus. "I want you to focus on number four and number eleven. In a situation like this, they're the ones who'll go for threes. As for number six—leave him if he's inside the arc. He's no threat there. And make sure Yukio doesn't get the ball in the post."
He jabbed a finger toward the court, voice low but sharp. "Also… that middle-age-looking guy is dangerous in those zones."
The team nodded, jaws tight, their chests rising and falling in unison. You could almost hear the scrape of their sneakers and the pounding of their hearts beneath the silence.
"Stop them now, and we win this game." Coach Arimoto straightened, voice deepening with grit. His throat felt dry, but the fire in his tone didn't waver. "Let's do this!"
He paused for a breath, then shouted, "What's our name?!"
"Yokonan!" The team's voices rang out together, bouncing off the rafters and filling the gym with raw energy.
"What's our name?!" Coach Arimoto barked again, louder this time, stomping his foot against the floor.
"Yokonan!!" The shout came back even stronger, the vibration shaking the polished boards beneath their sneakers.
"Three… two… one… fight!!"
Keichiro turned slightly toward Kogure, his voice low but firm as he called out across the bench. "Make sure you guard number eleven closely. He's the most dangerous player on the court right now."
"I know." Kogure shifted his weight from one foot to the other, chest rising and falling steadily. "If I let him do as he pleases, we'll lose for sure. I'll lock him down completely."
The referee's whistle pierced the air, and the gym fell into a focused silence. Yukio inbounded the basketball to Hayato. The ball smacked firmly into his palms with a satisfying slap, and he immediately began dribbling forward. The floorboards trembled faintly under each footfall.
"Alright, everyone, let's execute the plan." Hayato's voice was calm, measured. His sneakers squeaked sharply against the varnished floor as Kayano stepped up to guard him, arms spread wide, muscles coiled.
"It's been fun, Hayato… but this is the end of the line." Kayano's breath came out hot, voice low and gravelly with effort.
"Not today. I'm not losing—to you, or anyone," Hayato shot back, lowering into a tighter stance, eyes blazing with determination.
He signaled, and immediately the play began. Shino sprinted into the key and curled out again, footsteps light but quick. Yukio braced himself, planting his feet and setting a solid screen for Hayato. Kayano collided into it with a dull thud and staggered back a step.
At the same time, Takahiro rammed his shoulder into Kogure's side as he screened for Tetsuo. Kogure grunted, shoved past the obstruction effortlessly, and shadowed Tetsuo as he curved along the arc.
Hayato drove toward the basket. Each step pounded the floor. The air felt heavier, time stretching. Ryuu stepped up, his arms raised, eyes locked on Hayato's center. Kayano recovered, pursuing from behind with rapid strides.
The countdown boomed in the gym:
"Ten... nine... eight..."
Kogure kept tracking Tetsuo, but something nagged at him. His gut clenched.
It's over now… Tetsuo. Wait… something isn't right. Number four isn't looking this way. Does that mean… Tetsuo was a decoy? Kogure's eyes darted across the court, pulse thudding in his chest. His fingers twitched against the seams of his jersey.
Then the person to take the last shot… is Yukio.
Nanaho had already laid out the plan in her mind, and now it was clear why.
"It's obvious Tetsuo will take the final shot. He's been scoring three-pointers all game, which will definitely alert them. Hayato made one earlier, so he'll be guarded heavily too—out of the question. But you, Yukio, staying in the post will only draw their attention. If you step out to set a screen for Hayato, they'll leave you wide open for a brief moment—that's where our opportunity lies."
I see… so you want me to take the shot? Yukio's thoughts raced, heart thumping in his chest.
Nanaho met his gaze, firm but encouraging. "I believe in you, Yukio. You deserve to take this shot—the one that will decide this game."
Everything Nanaho had planned came into focus. Yukio's brief hesitation dissolved—this was the moment.
Hayato surged into the key, ball rising in his hands as if to shoot. Ryuu and Kayano leapt at the same time, bodies fully extended, arms stretching to block what they assumed was the game-winning layup. The hardwood squeaked beneath the sudden motion, and the air seemed to thrum with anticipation.
Mid-air, Hayato twisted and released a clean behind-the-back pass. The ball whipped past Kayano's hand, spinning rapidly, and landed in Yukio's hands at the top of the arc.
Kayano and Ryuu twisted their necks, too late to react. Yukio caught it clean, knees bending, feet firmly planted. The rubber of his sneakers squeaked softly. His fingertips felt the familiar grooves of the ball.
Keichiro's eyes widened, brow lifting in surprise, mouth slightly open.
Coach Arimoto froze mid-step, hands tightening briefly at his sides, jaw dropping just a fraction.
Haruko pressed her hands lightly to her lips, pulse hammering in her ears, unable to look away.
Kanae's expression remained unreadable, notebook balanced on her lap. She observed quietly, eyes sharp, noting every movement.
Yuri's camera lens shook slightly as she raised it, capturing the moment, eyes wide with shock behind the viewfinder.
Airi bounced lightly on her heels, cheerful grin visible even behind her camera. She adjusted her lens quickly, snapping photos excitedly as she recorded the scene.
On the court, Shino leaned forward slightly, shoulders tense, breathing shallow. Come on… make it count…
Yukio rose.
The entire gym seemed to hold its breath.
The ball left his hands in a tight rotation, the follow-through smooth. Silence. No whistles. No cheers. Just the faint sound of leather cutting through the air.