"...Maybe you’re right. The underdogs really are different—they’re strong."
"Well, they are the champions of Kansai. And let’s not forget, Heian Gakuen from that region might not have taken a national title, but they’ve placed high—third, fourth, even second."
"That’s what I’m saying. And this year, when Heian finally reached maturity and still only landed third... it means Horizon and Toyonaka might just be something else."
The broadcasters kept talking, voices swirling above the crowd.
But down in the tunnel... everything was quiet.
The teams had retreated into their locker rooms—two worlds preparing for the second half.
"Good first half," Coach Tsugawa said, standing before the whiteboard with arms crossed. "No need to get overconfident. This game is still wide open."
He pointed across the room.
"Dirga. Excellent reads on both ends. Your Counterveil timing saved us."
Dirga gave a small nod, but his eyes remained sharp. Focused.
"Rikuya—solid anchor in the paint. Keep it up."
"Taiga, great hustle plays. Keep your head in it."
"Kaito, good job draining Gaito. That tempo disruption was perfect."
"Rei, your spacing and shot form? Clean. Trust it."
"Hiroki—you’re starting the third. I want to give Taiga a breather. Fresh legs might be what we need against their renewed pressure."
"Yes, Coach." Hiroki’s reply was firm. No hesitation.
"But listen," Tsugawa said, tone lowering. "They’re not done. That first half? It pissed them off. Expect the Wolves to come back harder. And when they do... don’t break."
"YES COACH!" the team roared in unison.
Sapporo North Wolves Locker Room
The mood was heavier.
Gaito sat on the bench, wiping sweat from his neck, exhaling hard.
"I said I’d dismantle him... and I got dismantled," he muttered, low and bitter.
"No," Minato replied calmly. "We’re the problem too. We let them run the tempo. We should’ve slowed it down."
"We gave them their rhythm," Riku added. "And Gaito... you were doing everything."
Across the room, Ren sat quietly, clearly upset from the turnover and failed run.
"Don’t take it too hard," Minato told him. "We threw you in under pressure. You’ll get better."
Ren nodded, still chewing his frustration.
Minato stood, pulling his warm-up down tighter.
"Remember who we are. Horizon’s good—but we’re still the Wolves."
"You lead. We read. You guide us—like always."
And Gaito... finally smirked.
"Then let’s bring them back into the cold."
The third quarter begins.
The howling isn’t over.
Toyonaka Horizon High 28 – Sapporo North Wolves 22.
The first possession belonged to Horizon.
Dirga at Point GuardRei at Shooting GuardAizawa at Small ForwardHiroki at Power ForwardRikuya at Center
Across from them, the Wolves emerged with sharpened fangs.
Gaito at Point GuardHaru at Shooting GuardMinato at Small ForwardTomoya at Power ForwardRiku at Center
Dirga received the inbound pass and crossed the half-court line. His wristband—Ayaka’s—tapped lightly against his skin with every bounce of the ball.
Haru waited at the top, eyes focused and breath steady. He was no longer just surviving Dirga’s rhythm—he was adapting.
Dirga raised his left hand—a signal.
Aizawa came up to set the screen.
Dirga took the screen and turned the corner.
Then—bounce pass back to Aizawa, who darted into the lane.
It was a simple play. Textbook execution. The kind you’d draw with a straight line and two arrows.
But just as Aizawa rose—
Minato came from behind like a shadow splitting light.
Second block. Clean. Loud. Soul-cutting.
The ball flew out of bounds. Still Horizon’s ball—but the message had been sent.
Aizawa landed hard, his momentum clipped mid-flight. He clenched his teeth, stepped back to the sideline, and inbounded the ball again to Dirga.
Ball back in his hands.
Same defender—Haru, who had clearly been studying. His stances, his reads... tighter than before.
Dirga tried a hesitation dribble into a crossover.
He faked again—then exploded forward.
That worked. For a second.
Riku—their towering center—slid into position from the paint, impossibly fast for someone his size.
Just raised his arms.
Dirga couldn’t shoot. Couldn’t pass forward.
The only opening? The far corner.
He flicked the ball to Rei.
But before Rei could set his feet—
Minato was already there.
He lunged into the passing lane. The ball tipped from his fingers, bounced wild—straight into Aizawa’s hands.
Went up strong for a layup.
This time, the ball slammed against the glass. A full chase-down, and again from Minato.
Three blocks. All against Aizawa.
Aizawa landed with gritted teeth, fists curled. He didn’t say a word.
But behind him, Minato’s voice cut through the tension.
"Yeah... keep trying, little bro."
The rebound chaos erupted.
Riku and Rikuya both jumped.
Bodies collided mid-air.
The ball scraped free—Rikuya managed to tip it out.
But Gaito was there. Already reading. Already moving.
Like a pack sensing blood.
Gaito sprinted ahead. The entire team moved with eerie coordination—Tomoya on the left lane, Haru on the right.
Like it was planned before the ball even dropped.
Gaito arced a high lob.
Tomoya caught it in stride.
No dribble. No waste.
He dished to Haru in motion—
It wasn’t just a clean transition.
The first in Horizon’s rhythm.
And from the North Wolves’ bench, it was like a howl rolled across the gym.
They had found the scent.
And now... the hunt had truly begun.
Next possession—Dirga brought the ball up again, fire in his eyes.
He slipped past Haru with a hesitation cross. Smooth.
But the Wolves weren’t defending solo anymore.
Help defense came immediately.
He rotated lightning-fast from the wing, closing the space before Dirga could even set his feet.
Dirga was locked in. Eyes scanning.
A pass to the right corner? No. That’s what they wanted—Minato would cut it.
A no-look flick to the left corner—Hiroki was waiting there, not Rei.
Riku lunged into the lane like a missile, reading the pass ahead of time.
The ball shot into Gaito’s hands.
And just like before—
Fluid. Precise. Wild in form, but surgical in timing.
Gaito drove just enough to draw Aizawa away, then fed it back to Minato.
The brothers locked eyes.
Minato stopped mid-stride.
Aizawa stayed on his feet—didn’t fall for it.
But then—a shoulder bump.
Fadeaway. Mid-range. Perfect form.
Minato landed, smirked, and brushed his shoulder with one hand.
Aizawa’s face was burning.
Anger. Shame. Determination.
Everything flaring all at once.