Their first conference game was a rematch against Ryonan. The atmosphere was different without the pressure of a single-elimination bracket, but the intensity was the same.
Sendoh was still Sendoh, his languid genius on full display. But Flowstate was different.
In the second quarter, with the shot clock winding down, Riki drove and kicked the ball out. But not to Renz or Drei. He fired it to Teo, stationed at the top of the key.
Sendoh, guarding the paint, barely took a step out, a look of mild surprise on his face.
Teo caught the ball, set his feet, and rose. His release was smoother now, more confident. The arc was high and true.
Swish.
The net barely moved. The arena, for a second, was silent.
Ryonan's players looked at each other. Sendoh's easygoing smile widened into a genuine grin of appreciation. He looked at Riki and gave a slow, acknowledging nod.
It was only three points. But it was a declaration. Flowstate was no longer just adapting to The City's absurdity. They were adding their own chapter to it.
They won the game, 85-80. But the real victory was the new line on the scouting report that every team in The City would now have to read:
#11 Alvarado, Mateo: Pick him up at the three-point line.
The season was long. The grind was endless. And Flowstate was just getting started.