The scoreboard glared down like an unblinking eye: 115–115.
The gym shook under the roar of the crowd, bleachers trembling as though they might collapse at any mont. The sound wasn't cheering anymore it was a living thing, a storm of its own, pressing on every player's chest, rattling their bones. The air wasn't just heavy it was electric, humming so violently it felt like the lights themselves buzzed under the pressure.
And then he walked in.
The King of the Court.
Except "king" wasn't the right word. Not for him. Kings carried a regal weight, a solemn presence, a crown invisible yet suffocating. But this? This was no monarch.
He wasn't calm. He wasn't poised.
He was laughing.
His grin split his face ear to ear, eyes wide and wild, his entire body vibrating with reckless energy like a beast caged too long and finally unchained. He didn't walk onto the hardwood he stord onto it, as if the court was his battlefield and he'd been starving for the fight.
The crowd felt it instantly.
A ripple, then a wave, then a tidal roar:
"Renji! Renji! Renji!"
The na hit like war drums, pounded again and again until it fused into one unstoppable rhythm.
Renji Arakawa.
Not just a player. A storm given human form.
Yuuto's chest tightened as his gaze locked on him. He'd read the scouting reports, dissected shaky clips uploaded online, even stayed up nights studying the patterns. None of it mattered. Nothing could prepare him for this presence.
Renji wasn't oppressive like a wall that lood overhead. He wasn't cold like a blade at your throat. He was exhilarating like standing on train tracks with a locomotive screaming toward you, every instinct screaming to move, but your body refusing to look away.
Marcus's voice broke through, low and tense. Sweat dripped from his chin. "Shit… he's even scarier up close."
Shunjin swallowed hard, sneakers squeaking as he shifted. "He's… he's smiling."
Daichi grunted, trying to ground the team. "Doesn't matter. We hold."
But even as he said it, Renji was already bouncing in place like a boxer before the bell, his grin only growing. "C'mon, c'mon, let's play! I've been waiting ALL DAY for this part!"
The referee's whistle cut through the chaos.
Ball in. Shikoku possession.
Renji didn't wait for a play. Didn't even pretend to. He sprinted toward the top of the arc, hand out like a black hole pulling the ball in. His teammate fed him instantly, no hesitation.
One bounce. Two. His dribble wasn't smooth it was violent. Every movent snapped, jolted, then exploded, as if he might rip the floor apart with sheer force.
Marcus stepped forward, body set, every muscle coiled. "Not this ti," he barked.
Renji's laugh split the air, sharp and gleeful. "Ohhh, I love when they say that!"
Then he exploded.
One jab step. One blur of a crossover. The ball vanished for a heartbeat. Marcus slid to cut him off but Renji was already gone, splitting between him and Shunjin like lightning forked down the sky.
Daichi rotated, chest wide, arms raised high. He braced.
Renji jumped.
No he rocketed.
His legs detonated like coiled springs snapping loose. His torso twisted midair, one arm cocked back like a hamr. His mouth opened wide, laughter and scream mixing together into raw, unfiltered joy.
BOOM!
The dunk cracked the air like thunder. The rim rattled. The backboard shuddered violently. The entire gym froze for a split second as if the world itself had just been struck.
Renji landed light, pointing both fingers at Daichi, his grin manic. "THUNDER STRIKE!"
The crowd detonated. Screams, cheers, chaos. Fans leapt onto the bleachers, so clutching their heads as if they couldn't believe what they had just seen.
115–117, Shikoku.
Yuuto's heartbeat spiked. His hands shook as he took the inbound, fingers twitching against the ball's leather. Too fast. Too violent.
But he forced it down. This wasn't the ti to stare. This was war.
"Set it!" Yuuto barked, his voice sharp enough to cut through the storm.
Marcus cut baseline. Shunjin darted the wing. Daichi hamred a screen. Yuuto drove, pulling two defenders into his gravity, then whipped it to Kento in the corner.
Release. Swish.
118–117, Seiryō.
The roof nearly ca off. Seiryō's chants bood back, rattling the ceiling like they might collapse it.
But Renji just threw his head back and laughed. His voice carried over it all. "YESSSS! Keep scoring! Make it FUN for !"
Next play. Ball in. Renji demanded it, like he was the only option that mattered.
Marcus t him chest-to-chest, jaw clenched.
Renji dribbled low, spin, hesitation—every move twitchy, jerky, impossible to predict. Marcus slid, cutting him off, and for a heartbeat just a heartbeat he had him.
Renji's grin widened. "Nice! But…"
He blasted forward anyway, shoulder smashing Marcus off balance, the collision echoing like a drumbeat. He rose left-handed this ti, twisting midair, and hamred the dunk with another roar.
"STORM BREAKER!"
118–119, Shikoku.
Marcus hit the hardwood, gasping, sweat dripping into his eyes as he stared up. "Monster…"
Yuuto sprinted back, chest heaving, jaw tight. Don't give him space. Don't let him own us.
Possession after possession, the battle raged.
Shunjin's floater off glass: 120–119.
Renji's inbound steal, full-court blur, soaring dunk: 120–121.
Marcus's jumper, cold and steady: 122–121.
Renji's reverse slam, his scream shaking the rafters: 122–123.
It didn't stop. It wouldn't stop.
Renji turned the court into his storm.
Baseline drive, reverse slam "STORM REVERSAL!"
Midcourt steal, windmill over Marcus "CHAOS BREAK!"
Rebound ripped from Daichi's arms, dunked through two defenders "JUDGNT CRASH!"
Each ti, his laughter echoed, high and wild, daring them to match him. Every dunk wasn't just points it was a declaration. A taunt. An invitation to drown in his storm.
The scoreboard bled red.
Seiryō 126 – Shikoku 133.
The gym split into chaos. Half the fans scread Renji's na like worshippers calling their god. The other half begged Seiryō to rise, to hold, to fight. Coaches shouted over each other, benches pounded fists against the floor, referees blew whistles just to pierce the noise.
And through it all, Renji never stopped grinning. He wiped sweat from his brow like it was nothing, still vibrating with boundless energy. "Don't slow down now! You're making SO happy! Co on, Yuuto! Show what you got!"
Yuuto dribbled once, the ball echoing like a heartbeat. His lungs burned. His arms ached. His vision swam with sweat.
But his eyes locked on Renji's manic grin.
I don't care if you're a storm. I'll fight until the last second.
He looked at Marcus, Shunjin, Daichi—battered, jerseys soaked, but fire still burning in their eyes.
Marcus clenched his fist, voice hoarse but unyielding. "Don't let him crown himself here."
Two minutes left.
Yuuto bounced the ball, each thud syncing with his heartbeat. Sweat dripped down his face. His chest rose and fell like war drums.
The storm had descended.
But Seiryō wasn't finished yet.
Yuuto steadied his breath, each inhale ragged, each exhale trembling. The ball was hot in his hands, as if absorbing the heat of the gym's chaos. Across from him, Renji crouched low, eyes shining, grin twitching like he couldn't wait to see what Yuuto would do next.
The crowd thundered again Seiryō chants clashing with Shikoku roars, the entire gym split down the middle like two armies screaming across a battlefield.
"Let's see it!" Renji shouted, voice booming over the noise. "What's YOUR storm, captain?!"
Yuuto lowered his stance, palms slick with sweat. His heart hamred against his ribs, but the fire in his gut only burned brighter. I'll show you…
Marcus set a bruising screen, Shunjin curled off the wing, Daichi banged in the paint like his life depended on it. Every man on Seiryō moved with desperation, jerseys clinging to their backs, faces hardened with exhaustion and resolve.
Yuuto crossed, split two defenders, and rose at the elbow. His jumper arced high, spinning, slipping just over outstretched hands
Swish.
128–133.
The gym erupted. Seiryō's side bellowed his na, stomping, screaming.
But Renji?
Renji just licked his lips and laughed. "Not bad, Yuuto! Not bad! But it's not enough!"
Next possession, he ca alive again splitting Marcus and Daichi with a violent spin, his laughter echoing as he soared through the paint. He smashed ho another dunk, the rim bending under his grip.
128–135.
Every slam, every scream from Renji was another wave crashing down on them. But Seiryō refused to sink.
Marcus answered with a contested jumper. Shunjin drilled a desperate three. Daichi ripped down a rebound and shoved it back up through traffic. The scoreboard ticked, bleeding closer:
133–135.
Two minutes beca ninety seconds. Ninety beca sixty.
The storm raged, every second more violent than the last.
Renji's dunks. Yuuto's drives. Marcus's grit. Shunjin's touch. Daichi's willpower.
Bodies collided, sneakers screeched, whistles blared and still, the noise of the crowd drowned it all.
One minute left.
Yuuto doubled over for a breath, sweat streaming down his face, jersey clinging to his chest. His lungs burned. His vision blurred. But when he looked up, he saw the sa thing on every one of his teammates' faces: exhaustion… and defiance.
Renji bounced in front of him, the ball drumming against the hardwood, that unending grin carved across his face. He tilted his head, eyes wide with glee.
"Last minute, Yuuto! Let's see if you can weather the storm!"
Yuuto clenched his jaw. His hands tightened into fists. His voice ca out raw, almost a growl.
"We don't weather storms, Renji…"
He lifted his head, fire blazing in his eyes.
"…We fight them."
The crowd gasped as the two locked eyes, center court the storm and the wall standing unbroken before it.
The clock ticked. 0:58.
Everything would be decided here.
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