The court felt different when both teams lined up.

Not louder.

Not quieter.

Heavier.

It was the kind of weight that pressed down on the chest without warning—the kind that made breathing feel deliberate instead of natural. The polished hardwood of the national arena reflected the overhead lights like a flawless mirror, white beams stretching endlessly across the floor, but no one was looking down. Not the fans. Not the players. Not even the officials.

Thousands of eyes were locked onto the two straight lines of players facing each other at midcourt.

Seiryō High on one side.

Hakuro Academy on the other.

Banners hung high above the stands—national qualifiers, past champions, legends carved into cloth and memory. The crowd buzzed in a low, restless hum, anticipation sharpened to a blade's edge. Commentators murmured into their headsets. Cameras hovered like vultures, waiting for the first drop of blood.

At the center stood the referee, clipboard tucked under his arm, whistle resting against his chest. He'd officiated nationals before—finals, even—but his fingers tightened slightly around the board.

He could feel it too.

This wasn't just a match.

This was a collision of reputations.

Yuuto Kai stood at the front of Seiryō's line, hands resting at his sides, posture straight. From the outside, he looked calm. Disciplined. Ready.

Inside, his heartbeat echoed like a war drum.

Each thump resonated in his ears—steady but loud—syncing unconsciously with the rhythm of the crowd's breathing. His palms tingled. Not sweat. Not nerves exactly.

Awareness.

The kind that came before something irreversible.

Across from him—

Ryu Kazen.

Silver hair tied loosely at the back, stray strands slipping free and catching the light. His posture was relaxed, almost casual—shoulders loose, spine straight without stiffness. His hands rested open at his sides, fingers slightly curled, as if waiting for something to fall into them.

His eyes were open.

Not scanning.

Not darting.

Just there.

They didn't wander across Seiryō's lineup. They didn't size anyone up. They simply existed—calm, steady, unreadable.

Yuuto swallowed.

So that's him…

The Kings of the Court weren't supposed to feel human. That was what everyone said. Monsters. Gods. Players who bent the game around their will without effort or mercy.

But Ryu Kazen wasn't glaring. He wasn't smirking. He wasn't radiating hostility.

He was simply waiting.

As if the game had already begun in his head—and the rest of them were late.

A step to Yuuto's right, Marcus shifted his weight, eyes sharp beneath furrowed brows. His jaw was set, lips pressed thin, competitive fire barely contained. To Yuuto's left, Shunjin rolled his shoulders once, his neck cracking softly, gaze flicking toward Hakuro's lineup before snapping forward again. He refused to look impressed, even as tension pulled tight across his face.

Then—

Someone moved.

A tall figure stepped out from Hakuro's line.

Not Ryu.

Haruto Kusanagi.

He moved with an ease that felt almost wrong for the moment—hands tucked casually into the pockets of his warm-up jacket, shoulders broad, posture loose. He was tall, solidly built, but there was nothing rigid about him. No stiffness. No forced intensity.

As if this were just another afternoon run.

His golden eyes swept across Seiryō's lineup, unhurried, taking in faces, heights, stances—until they stopped.

On Yuuto.

He smiled.

Not a taunt.

Not a sneer.

A grin of recognition.

Yuuto's spine stiffened instinctively.

Haruto stepped closer, just enough that his voice wouldn't carry beyond the front line.

"So you're Yuuto Kai."

Yuuto met his gaze. For half a second, instinct screamed at him—to brace, to guard, to prepare for something sharp.

Instead, he stayed still.

"Yes," Yuuto answered evenly. "Nice to meet you."

Haruto's grin widened, something approving glinting in his eyes.

"I like your spirit."

Yuuto blinked.

That wasn't what he expected.

Before he could respond, Haruto turned slightly and raised his voice—not shouting, just projecting with effortless control.

"Alright," he said casually. "Face the crowd."

The referee blinked, clearly caught off guard, but said nothing. Perhaps he sensed it too—that this wasn't a disruption.

Both teams turned toward the stands.

The roar hit like a tidal wave.

Sound crashed over them—chants, cheers, screams, names torn from thousands of throats at once. Cameras flashed like lightning. Yuuto's name echoed faintly from one section of the stands, drowned beneath the thunder of Hakuro supporters.

He inhaled sharply.

This is nationals.

Then Haruto spoke again.

"Face each other."

They turned back.

Haruto bowed.

It wasn't deep. It wasn't formal. But it was sincere.

For half a heartbeat, Yuuto hesitated.

Then he bowed back.

Seiryō followed.

Hakuro mirrored them.

For a brief, fragile moment, the noise faded into the background. Respect settled between the two teams like a shared breath.

Haruto straightened and glanced at the referee.

"Let the match begin."

The referee raised the whistle.

"Centers," he called. "Step up."

Shunpei Kanda strode forward for Hakuro.

Six-foot-nine. Massive frame. Shoulders like concrete pillars, thighs thick as tree trunks. He looked carved, not trained—like the game itself had shaped him through years of punishment.

Seiryō's center, Daichi, stepped up opposite him. Strong. Solid. Years of work etched into his build—but smaller. Lighter.

Marcus leaned toward Yuuto, voice low.

"That guy's huge."

Yuuto nodded faintly.

His eyes flicked back toward Haruto as the Hakuro forward jogged into position.

"Marcus," Yuuto murmured, barely moving his lips, "that guy—the one who spoke to me. Is he new?"

Marcus narrowed his eyes, scanning Hakuro's roster again.

"…Yeah. I don't remember seeing him before."

Shunjin snorted quietly.

"Get your heads out of the clouds," he muttered. "Just because we didn't scout someone doesn't mean he's unstoppable."

Yuuto exhaled slowly.

Focus.

The referee stepped into the circle and raised the ball.

The arena held its breath.

The whistle blew.

The ball flew upward.

Shunpei Kanda jumped.

Daichi jumped.

But it was never close.

Kanda's reach swallowed the space between them. His fingertips brushed the ball at its peak, redirecting it effortlessly with a subtle flick of his wrist.

And Ryu Kazen was already there.

Perfect positioning. Perfect timing.

He caught it cleanly.

No rush. No hesitation.

Hakuro transitioned instantly, like a machine switching gears without friction. Ryu dribbled up the court at a controlled pace, each bounce precise, measured. Yuuto slid into a defensive stance—knees bent, weight forward, instincts humming beneath his skin. Pulse awareness flared, even though the ball wasn't in his hands.

Ryu glanced at him.

Just once.

Yuuto felt it like pressure on his chest.

Then—without looking—

Ryu passed.

A sharp, precise flick of the wrist.

The ball zipped to the wing.

Haruto caught it in rhythm.

Marcus lunged to contest.

Too late.

Haruto rose smoothly, jumper effortless, feet barely leaving the floor. His form was clean, compact—no wasted motion.

Release.

Swish.

Three points.

No celebration. No fist pump.

Haruto turned and jogged back on defense, already lifting a hand to signal coverage, eyes scanning the floor.

The scoreboard lit up.

Hakuro Academy — 3

Seiryō High — 0

The crowd erupted.

Yuuto stared at the hoop.

That was… clean.

Marcus exhaled sharply. "Okay. That's how it's gonna be."

Shunjin cracked his neck.

"Fine," he muttered. "Let's play."

Yuuto took the inbound, hands steady despite the storm raging around him. The ball felt solid. Familiar.

As he dribbled forward, the rhythm settled into his chest.

Those eyes.

Ryu wasn't guarding him yet.

But Yuuto knew—

They were already locked.

Eyes that didn't blink.

Eyes that watched.

Eyes that waited.

And somewhere deep inside Yuuto's chest, his heartbeat matched the rhythm of the ball.

This is it.

The real test had begun.

Yuuto crossed half-court, eyes forward, dribble low and steady.

The noise blurred into something distant, like waves crashing far below the surface. All that mattered now was spacing, timing, breath. Hakuro's defense settled quickly—too quickly. They weren't scrambling. They weren't guessing.

They knew where to be.

Ryu drifted a step closer, not committing, just close enough to remind Yuuto of his presence. A shadow without weight. A threat without movement.

Yuuto shifted his dribble from right to left.

Ryu mirrored him instantly.

No lag. No overreaction.

So this is his defense, Yuuto thought.

Marcus cut across the arc, dragging his man with him. Shunjin flared to the corner. For a split second, a lane opened—narrow, fleeting, dangerous.

Yuuto took it.

One explosive step forward.

Ryu moved with him.

Their shoulders nearly brushed, and in that instant Yuuto felt it clearly—Ryu wasn't chasing the play.

He was controlling it.

Yuuto planted his foot and pulled the ball back just in time, kicking it out to the wing instead. The pass hit its mark, the offense resetting, but something fundamental had shifted.

Ryu looked at him again.

This time, there was something different in his eyes.

Interest.

Not acknowledgment.

Not respect.

Curiosity.

As if Yuuto had finally stepped onto the board as a piece worth watching.

Yuuto's lips tightened.

Good.

Let him watch me.

Because the next move wouldn't be hesitation I can promise you that .

It would be declaration.

And the game—this war—was only just beginning.

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