They ran like their lives depended on it.
Because—well... they did.
The cursed gray food was still on the line, waiting cold and ominous for the next unfortunate team.
Dirga didn’t even try to pace himself. He sprinted down the forest trail like a man possessed, lungs burning, heart pounding. His vision blurred at the edges, but all he could see was that plate of gray sludge—and he refused to taste it again.
Beside him, Buzz—the wild college beast—was tearing up the earth like a panicked stallion. His buzz-cut was drenched in sweat, eyes wild with trauma, every muscle screaming for rcy.
Behind them, Taiga scread, "NOOOOO, NOT AGAIN!!"
But he didn’t stop running either. Survival instinct kicked in, overriding every rational thought.
Masaki? Silent. Focused. He looked like a warrior going into battle. His steps were asured, efficient—but relentless. He moved like a machine programd for only one thing: escape.
And the rest? Renjiro, the moody sniper who hated moving, was now full speed ahead, legs pumping like a track athlete. Even Toyonaka, tired of humiliation and past disgrace, ran with the desperation of n avoiding their third consecutive gray al.
But in the end...
Buzz won.
He reached the court first and collapsed, gasping like a fish out of water.
Then Dirga.
Then Masaki.
One after another, the rest of the players stumbled in, a chaotic, gasping flood. The whole difference between first and last was less than a second—but that second ant everything.
Coach Tsugawa raised his clipboard. "Alright, congrats Buzz. Take your break—you’ve earned it."
And with that, the players flopped down like dominoes, breathing hard, bodies trembling, minds half-dead, but spirits oddly alive. Sohow, in the agony, they found camaraderie.
...
The Morning Training. It wasn’t brutal today—not like before. Coach Reina had promised it.
But "light" by Tsugawa standards still ant buckets of sweat.
You could hear the rhythm of sneakers squeaking, grunts echoing, bodies pushing through fatigue. The court beca a war zone of commitnt.
Off to the side, the ever-reliable Ayaka and Sayaka handed out towels and water like battlefield dics, their expressions a mix of sympathy and practiced detachnt.
"Thank you," said Rikuya calmly, accepting a water bottle. He looked barely winded, like he’d just taken a brisk walk instead of a full sprint.
"Today’s training... not too bad," he added, voice even.
"Yeah," Taiga groaned, flopping onto the bench, "I’m hoping it’s like this all the ti. My legs might forgive eventually."
"Don’t be lazy," Dirga cut in, toweling off his hair. "We’re aiming for the Nationals. Every day has to count."
"Even rest is part of improvent," Kaito chid in as he appeared beside them, his tone relaxed but resolute.
Dirga chuckled. "True. But let’s finish strong."
"Alright, everyone!" Coach Tsugawa called. "Line up with your assigned teams!"
The players split into three squads as drawn yesterday. Dirga scanned his new team.
Buzz. Masaki. Taiga. Haruto Senda. Himself.
It was a stacked team—too stacked.
Buzz and Masaki were walking buckets, but both were used to being the primary option. Both had sharp edges. Both were alpha scorers with egos to match.
Dirga could already feel the chaos brewing like a storm cloud waiting to burst.
He took a deep breath. If I can manage this... I’ll grow for real.
"Let’s get it," he muttered, walking over to them.
Buzz flashed a grin. "Captain Chaos, ready to ride?"
Masaki offered a nod. "Just give the ball."
Dirga’s lips curved into a half-smile. Oh boy...
Coach Tsugawa flipped a coin.
Team 1 vs Team 3.
The mont Dirga heard it, his eyes narrowed.
Team 3 was dangerous.
Led by Sota Enami, with Rikuya and Yu Tamura, they were the calst and most fluid unit. And now, with no limitations? They’d be like a sharpened blade—precision and purpose.
...
Team 1 vs Team 3 – The Clash Begins
The whistle blew.
Buzz took the inbound and imdiately launched into turbo mode, dashing past Shunpei and going for a dunk.
Blocked.
Rikuya didn’t jump. He just raised his arm—and Buzz’s shot bounced clean off his hand.
"Nice try," Rikuya muttered.
Masaki grabbed the loose ball and spun in the paint, forcing a layup—and missed.
Yu snagged the rebound, spun, and kicked it out to Sota.
Dirga watched closely. This was what he wanted—to see Sota with no limits. The glasses-wearing maestro moved like a dancer, orchestrating passes with surgical precision.
One beat. Two beats. Bounce pass.
Daichi finished with a soft layup.
0–2.
Buzz and Masaki both shouted, "Give the ball!" at the sa ti.
Dirga flinched.
And that’s when he realized—he couldn’t control them.
Masaki demanded isolation. Buzz was freelancing. They were both playing like stars on different planets orbiting separate suns.
He tried.
He yelled plays.
Tried setting screens.
Tried to calm them down.
It didn’t work.
Yu rotated on defense like a wall. Rikuya closed every passing lane. Sota danced circles around them.
Team 3 was playing team basketball.
Team 1?
Just players wearing the sa jersey.
The score ballooned.
Buzz scored once, Masaki scored once—but that was it. anwhile, Hiroki hit a wild three, Rikuya cleaned up on rebounds, and Daichi powered through Taiga for a tough layup.
Dirga clenched his jaw.
I can’t fight chaos with control.
That’s when it clicked.
He needed to flow, not control.
He needed to adapt—not force.
Next possession, Dirga didn’t call a play.
He watched Masaki move. Watched Buzz cut.
And then—he passed.
Not to control the play—but to guide it.
Buzz caught the pass, scored. Looked back, surprised.
Next possession—sa thing. Masaki got the ball mid-spin. Scored.
They didn’t realize Dirga was leading them.
They just thought they were playing their own way.
But really—Dirga was conducting the orchestra from behind the curtain.
But it was too late.
Ti ran out.
Final score: Team 3 wins.
...
Dirga dropped to one knee, breathing heavy.
Not from physical exhaustion—but from ntal strain.
"I almost got it," he whispered. "Not control... connection."
Buzz ca over, tossing him a fist bump. "Hey, you figured sothing out, didn’t you?"
Masaki added, "You started playing smart halfway. But you should’ve done it from the start."
Dirga chuckled. "Yeah. Lesson learned."
Team 3 celebrated modestly. Sota gave a rare grin, nodding at Dirga from across the court. Rikuya just wiped sweat off his forehead, looking content.
Coach Tsugawa clapped once.
"Alright! Last match coming up—Team 3 stays. Team 2, you’re up!"
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