The gym pulsed with restless energy. Sneakers squeaked against the polished hardwood, and the faint smell of sweat and waxed floors hung thick in the air. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, Toshigawa Academy's players were clawing their way back into the game, but the score still tilted heavily against them.
"As soon as that number eleven came on, everything shifted," Kayano murmured, leaning forward, his sharp eyes tracking the court.
"Yeah," Kogure replied, his tone calm but tinged with excitement. "He doesn't play like a benchwarmer. The coach was saving him for this exact moment."
Kogure's lips curled into a faint smile. "Good. It would've been boring if they didn't have anyone who could put up a fight."
Down on the court, Eiji dribbled slowly up the sideline, the ball hitting the floor with a steady, hollow thump. His eyes scanned for an opening, sweat running down his temple and soaking into his collar.
Hayato stepped up, sliding laterally with quick, sharp steps, cutting off every easy pass. His eyes glinted with focus, body low like a coiled spring.
"What's wrong?" Hayato taunted, voice steady even as his breath came quick. "You were pressuring me before. What happened?"
"Damn… he's reading me too well," Eiji thought, his brow furrowing as he tried to keep calm.
Suddenly, Manabu crashed in with a hard screen—thud!—jolting Hayato backward for just a second. That instant of separation was enough for Eiji to whip a quick, low bounce pass inside to Ryuu.
Ryuu caught it deep in the paint. Sweat dripped from his chin as he pounded the ball into the hardwood once, twice, his massive frame pivoting as he spun into the lane.
Yukio stepped up, planting his feet squarely in front of him. Their bodies collided with a muffled smack, but Ryuu used his strength to push off, spinning back into a post shot.
Yukio leapt, arms fully extended, eyes locked on the ball—
—but Ryuu faked, stepping through with his non-pivot foot, floating the ball toward the basket in a soft arc.
Time slowed.
Then a shadow fell over Ryuu.
Who—?!
Tetsuo came flying from the weak side, his body stretched taut, muscles rippling as his fingertips smacked the ball mid-flight with a resounding crack.
The sound echoed like a gunshot.
"What?!" Ryuu's eyes widened in disbelief, his mouth open. When did he even get here? How can he jump that high?!
The ball bounced violently off the rim and toward the sideline, but Hayato was already moving, diving into the path to save it. He caught it clean and immediately pushed forward, dribbling like a streak of lightning.
"We can't waste this. This is our chance," Hayato muttered under his breath, urgency sharpening every movement.
"No way…" Kayano muttered in awe, his gaze glued to Tetsuo. "He just went toe-to-toe with Ryuu at the rim."
"That number eleven…" Kogure's voice dropped lower, almost reverent. "He's got insane legs. That block shouldn't have been possible."
"Impossible…" Manabu stammered, his heartbeat spiking.
Hayato called out, his voice echoing across the gym. "Alright, let's run it clean—screen and cut!"
Yukio hustled up to set a hard pick for Hayato at the top of the key, while Noboru darted in and out of the lane, dragging defenders with him.
On the wing, Tetsuo planted himself like a wall, freeing Takahiro with a perfectly timed screen. Takahiro exploded into the gap, sprinting baseline, his sneakers pounding the floor.
"Shit, we fell for it," Eiji realized too late, panic flashing in his eyes.
Hayato saw the lane open like a door. Without hesitation, he zipped a pinpoint pass to Takahiro, who caught it mid-stride. Two quick steps, a light leap, and he laid it in clean. The ball kissed the backboard and dropped softly through the net.
A sharp voice pierced the crowd noise. "Hey! What are you guys even doing?! Aren't you supposed to be the best team?!" a frustrated schoolboy yelled from the bleachers, his voice bouncing through the gym.
The next possession, Eiji inbounded quickly to Manabu. He spun to face the basket—
—but froze.
Tetsuo was already there. His stance was low, balanced, unreadable. His eyes held a calm intensity that made Manabu's stomach twist.
"No way he's better than me. I'll break him," Manabu thought, pride hardening his face.
He started to dribble, fast, crossing the ball between his legs with practiced precision. Then behind his back. Then a sudden hesitation. But no matter how sharp or deceptive his movements, Tetsuo mirrored every step, reacting instantly like a shadow glued to him.
Manabu's heartbeat thundered in his ears. Sweat slid down his cheek. "What is this…? He's reading everything."
From the bench, Kayano murmured, "I can't believe it. Manabu can't even shake him off…"
Coach Arimoto's brows furrowed. "Who is he? I don't recognize that kid. Which junior high did he come from?" His voice was low, tight with frustration.
"I—I don't know, Coach," Kayano admitted, unable to tear his eyes away.
From the post, Ryuu barked, "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 pulled up for a three—
—and before the ball even left his fingertips, a hand smacked it clean.
POP!
It flew backward.
Tetsuo had stripped it mid-release.
"Defense! Get back, now!" Eiji yelled, voice cracking with urgency as he turned and sprinted.
What the hell…? 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 pushed it up the court with controlled speed.
"No! I'm not letting you score!" Eiji lunged, stepping into his path.
But Tetsuo didn't slow. He feinted a sudden rise for a jumper.
Eiji bit on it—leapt, arms flailing upward.
Wait—!
Too late.
Tetsuo leaned into Eiji's airborne body, drew the contact, and—effortlessly—let the real shot fly.
The ball arced high and clean, spinning with perfect rotation before dropping through the net.
SWISH.
The referee's whistle cut sharp through the noise.
"Blocking foul, white number seven! Basket counts! One free throw!"
For half a second, the gym went silent—then erupted. Cheers, gasps, shouts filled the space, vibrating through the bleachers.
"Whoa! They tied it up?!" someone screamed.
"That number eleven is insane! He just changed the whole game!" a girl shouted, clapping wildly.
"Hell yeah! That's how it's done!" Noboru roared, slapping Tetsuo's back so hard it echoed.
"Way to save us, Tetsuo!" Nanaho yelled, grinning ear to ear.
"Tetsuo's amazing!" Haruko beamed, her voice brimming with relief.
"Nice work," Takahiro said with a grin, nodding. "You really brought us back."
Hayato's eyes softened just a little. "Yeah… I'm glad you're here," he admitted, his voice low, gratitude breaking through his exhaustion.
Tetsuo stepped to the line. His breathing was calm, eyes steady. He dribbled once, twice. Then the ball left his fingertips with a flawless flick.
SWISH.
Nothing but net.
The bench erupted in disbelief. "I can't believe it… it's actually tied," someone whispered.
On the other side, Coach Arimoto sat down heavily, arms crossed tight. His jaw was locked, fury simmering in silence.
"Coach looks pissed," Kayano muttered, his eyes narrowing.
"Yeah," Kogure agreed. "He's about to explode."
Yukio clapped his hands sharply. "Alright! Let's take the lead now!"
"Yes!" Toshigawa's players answered in unison, their voices sharp with renewed fire.
Nanaho watched Yukio, noticing the bright smile on his face, he was having fun.
The next few minutes were a blur.
Hayato stole a lazy pass from Eiji and sprinted the other way, dishing it to Yukio for a clean layup.
On the following play, Ryuu tried to bully his way inside—only for Yukio to block him clean and start a fast break. Noboru caught the outlet pass, swung it out to Takahiro, who floated a high-arching shot that banked in perfectly.
The gym was shaking now, a rolling thunder of cheers, stomps, and desperate shouts.
Eiji wiped sweat from his brow, scanning frantically. "We need to score fast! Coach's face… doesn't look good."
"Eiji! Ball, now!" Ryuu yelled from the post.
Eiji lobbed it in, but Tetsuo darted out of nowhere, intercepting like a phantom.
"What?!" Manabu's jaw dropped. "When the hell did he—"
Tetsuo took off down the court. Manabu chased, his legs burning, but couldn't close the gap. At the last second, Tetsuo faked a layup and swung it out to Hayato who was behind the arc.
Hayato rose smoothly. Released.
The ball clanged off the rim—rolled—then dropped through.
The crowd went dead silent for half a heartbeat.
Then—
Beep!
The whistle blew the end of the first quarter.
Toshigawa, once trailing by double digits, now stood in the lead.