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 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.
We responded quickly.
I waved off the screen, pushed the pace, and fed Rikuya in the post. Quick seal, shoulder bump, soft baby hook.
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.
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.
[Echo Reminder: Flow Activation Available at 5:00.]
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.
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.
His first miss in a while.
Renji pulled the board and pushed instantly.
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.
I held it at the top of the key, let things settle.
Quick crossover. Step-back. No space.
I dumped it to Aizawa, who bulldozed inside and finished with a strong layup.
But Tennoji came roaring back.
Akihiko Nanase flew off a double screen, caught, and hit a smooth release.
This was turning into a shootout. The margin thinned with every second.
I checked the clock again.
[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 meant a two-minute gap at the end.
I'd have to trust Kaito to close it.
Still, the shift was immediate.
My legs felt lighter.
My lungs pulled in more air.
I pushed up with fire in my veins. Renji saw it—he knew something 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.
He passed. Aizawa stole it.
Fast break—back to me—Euro step—and-one layup.
Their coach slammed her clipboard down. "DOUBLE THE POINT GUARD. NOW!"
They came out with a 1–2–2 trap, targeting me as soon as I crossed half court.
Jump pass. Cross-court to Rei.
The momentum was ours.
And Tennoji wouldn't die easy.
Renji responded with a two-man game. Pass, relocate, catch, fire—contested three.
Next play, a steal on our inbound.
Coach Tsugawa called time.
I walked to the bench. Chest heaving. Legs burning.
[Flow Deactivating – 0:00 Remaining.]
[Warning: Physical tiredness.]
I nodded. I knew what was coming.
"I got it from here," he said.
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.
Next play, Rei curled, caught, launched—Bang.
Kaito slowed it down. Waited for the cue.
Coach gave the signal.
He faked the dish, floated it in himself.
Tennoji rushed. Missed.
We grabbed the board.
The gym didn't explode with cheers—there was just the hollow thud of relief.
We—the no-name 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?
Kaito walked over and held out his fist. "We made it."
Coach Tsugawa clapped once, then said what we were all thinking:
"Good win. But no celebrations yet."
He looked at me—his eyes sharp.
I paused. Breathed in.