Fourth quarter.
88–80.
The whistle blew.
We took the court with heavy legs, but blazing hearts.
Dirga. Rei. Aizawa. Taiga. Rikuya.
On the other side, Tennoji High's starting five returned. Renji Arimura stood tall at the top of the arc, his narrowed eyes cold and precise. Calm. Deadly.
Like a sniper locking in on his next target.
There were no cheers. No chants. Just the echo of sneakers scraping the hardwood, basketballs hitting the floor, and lungs pulling in air through clenched teeth.
A war of attrition.
A battle of rhythm versus resilience.
First possession: Tennoji.
They moved like clockwork—tight screens, crisp passes, fluid spacing. Their plays weren't wild. They were practiced chaos, and at the center of it stood Renji Arimura.
He flared out to the right wing, caught the ball with a flick of the wrist, and rose.
Splash. Three.
88–83.
We responded quickly.
I waved off the screen, pushed the pace, and fed Rikuya in the post. Quick seal, shoulder bump, soft baby hook.
90–83.
The Titan roared.
But Tennoji didn't blink.
Kazuma Shibata slipped behind Rei on a baseline curl, caught Renji's pass, and faded away from the short corner.
90–85.
Both teams were nearing their limits. Our feet were just a little slower. Our breathing, heavier. Hands rested on knees between whistles.
Coach Tsugawa shouted from the sideline, "Stick to the plan! Control the tempo!"
I glanced at the scoreboard.
7:00 left.
[Echo Reminder: Flow Activation Available at 5:00.]
Still too early.
We had to hold the line a bit longer.
From the bench, Kaito stood with arms folded, eyes focused. We hadn't exchanged a word, but I knew he was locked in—reading every rhythm, every crack. Waiting.
Tennoji pressed.
Not full court, just enough to rattle us.
I took a bump at half court—nearly lost my handle—but recovered. Taiga ran a slip screen. I used it, drove, kicked to Rei on the wing.
Wide open.
Clank.
His first miss in a while.
Renji pulled the board and pushed instantly.
Transition three.
Bang.
90–88.
My heart pounded—not just from the score, but from the way he moved.
Renji Arimura wasn't just a shooter. He was a cold-blooded executioner with a jump shot.
Our turn.
I held it at the top of the key, let things settle.
Then attacked.
Quick crossover. Step-back. No space.
I dumped it to Aizawa, who bulldozed inside and finished with a strong layup.
92–88.
But Tennoji ca roaring back.
Akihiko Nanase flew off a double screen, caught, and hit a smooth release.
92–91.
This was turning into a shootout. The margin thinned with every second.
I checked the clock again.
5:01.
[Host, activating Flow in 3... 2... 1...]
[Flow Activated – 200% Physical Boost – Duration: 3 Minutes.]
Only 3 minutes? With 5 still on the clock?
Tch. That ant a two-minute gap at the end.
I'd have to trust Kaito to close it.
Still, the shift was imdiate.
My legs felt lighter.
My lungs pulled in more air.
The court slowed.
Let's end this.
I pushed up with fire in my veins. Renji saw it—he knew sothing changed.
I drove left—exploded past Nanase—Renji rotated late.
Mid-air switch, right to left hand—Layup. 94–91.
Next possession, I picked Renji up full court.
He tried a behind-the-back dribble, a jab.
Didn't work.
He passed. Aizawa stole it.
Fast break—back to —Euro step—and-one layup.
96–91.
Tiout, Tennoji.
Their coach slamd her clipboard down. "DOUBLE THE POINT GUARD. NOW!"
They ca out with a 1–2–2 trap, targeting as soon as I crossed half court.
But I read it.
Jump pass. Cross-court to Rei.
Wide open.
Bang.
99–91.
The montum was ours.
But Flow was fading.
And Tennoji wouldn't die easy.
Renji responded with a two-man ga. Pass, relocate, catch, fire—contested three.
99–94.
Next play, a steal on our inbound.
Pull-up jumper.
99–96.
Coach Tsugawa called ti.
I walked to the bench. Chest heaving. Legs burning.
[Flow Deactivating – 0:00 Remaining.]
[Warning: Physical tiredness.]
I nodded. I knew what was coming.
Kaito stood.
"I got it from here," he said.
Coach gave the nod.
I clapped Kaito's hand as we passed.
Rei stayed. Taiga too.
The final 2 minutes began.
Kaito ran the offense like a maestro—slowing the tempo, then accelerating like a lightning strike.
He hit Rikuya in the post—score.
101–96.
Tennoji answered.
101–98.
Next play, Rei curled, caught, launched—Bang.
104–98.
They struck back.
104–101.
Less than a minute.
Kaito slowed it down. Waited for the cue.
Coach gave the signal.
Attack.
He faked the dish, floated it in himself.
106–101.
Tennoji rushed. Missed.
We grabbed the board.
Buzzer.
Final Score:
106–101.
Victory.
The gym didn't explode with cheers—there was just the hollow thud of relief.
We'd done it.
We—the no-na team from nowhere—had just taken down a Monarch.
The dark horses had shot down the Sniper Academy.
I dropped onto the bench, gasping, every limb screaming. But my heart?
Steady.
Kaito walked over and held out his fist. "We made it."
I bumped it.
Coach Tsugawa clapped once, then said what we were all thinking:
"Good win. But no celebrations yet."
He looked at —his eyes sharp.
"Next round.."
I paused. Breathed in.
Then smiled.
Bring it on.
Reviews
All reviews (0)