The buzzer cut through the arena like a blade.

BEEEEEP.

End of the first quarter.

Finally scores Seiryō High - 5 Hakuro Academy -20

Players slowed, breaths heavy, shoes squeaking as bodies eased out of combat mode. The scoreboard glowed overhead, the gap real but no longer terrifying. Hakuro still led—but not by a margin that felt untouchable.

Yuuto wiped sweat from his brow as he jogged toward the bench. His chest rose and fell steadily now, not panicked. Not frozen.

Alive.

Marcus followed close behind, jaw tight, eyes sharp, already replaying possessions in his head. Shunjin rolled his shoulders once, cracking his neck as if shaking off lingering pressure. Daichi bent forward, hands on knees, gulping air.

They had survived.

Not cleanly.

Not comfortably.

But they were still standing.

Coach Takeda didn't raise his voice.

He never did.

He waited until all five were seated, until water bottles were grabbed, towels draped over shoulders. Only then did he step forward, clipboard resting lightly against his thigh.

Coach Hikari stood beside him, arms folded, eyes moving from face to face.

"You're doing well," Takeda said calmly.

The words landed heavier than a shout.

Yuuto looked up.

Marcus blinked.

Shunjin straightened slightly.

"Well?" Marcus repeated. "Coach, they're—"

"I know," Takeda cut in gently. "They're strong. Precise. Experienced."

He tapped the board once.

"But you're not breaking."

Silence settled.

Coach Hikari stepped in, voice firmer, sharper.

"You see it now, don't you?" he said. "They want you to panic. They want you to think defense alone is enough."

He pointed toward Yuuto.

"You held your ground against Ryu. That matters."

Then Marcus.

"You forced Hiroto to work. That matters."

Then the whole group.

"But listen carefully."

He leaned forward.

"If we only defend… we lose."

Yuuto clenched his towel.

Coach Hikari continued.

"Defense keeps you alive. Offense wins you the game."

He drew a quick arrow on the clipboard.

"Attack-based movement. Cut with purpose. Force them to react instead of read."

Takeda nodded.

"You trained for this," he added quietly. "All those drills you hated. All those possessions where we made you move without the ball."

His eyes sharpened.

"This is why."

Shunjin smirked faintly. "So we stop respecting them?"

Takeda shook his head.

"No. You respect them enough to challenge them."

Marcus exhaled slowly.

"So… pressure back."

"Exactly," Coach Hikari said. "If you wait for Hakuro to make mistakes, you'll wait all night. Make them choose."

Yuuto felt something settle in his chest.

Not confidence.

Clarity.

Across the court—

The atmosphere was very different.

Hakuro Academy's bench was tense.

Not panicked.

But irritated.

Ryu Kazen ripped the towel from around his neck and hurled it onto the floor.

"Unbelievable."

The word was sharp. Angry.

His blue eyes burned—not with effort, but with offense.

"How do they have points?" he snapped. "How?"

No one answered.

Hiroto Mae sat quietly, forearms resting on his knees, gaze lowered. His breathing was controlled, but there was a tightness around his jaw.

"They're not supposed to touch us," Ryu continued. "I'm reading everything. I'm controlling the floor. Why am I the only one fixing things?"

Minato shifted uncomfortably.

Ren frowned.

The air thickened.

"That Marcus kid—" Ryu went on. "He's getting in lanes he shouldn't even see. And that guard—Yuuto—he's adjusting too fast."

Hiroto finally looked up.

"They're adapting," he said calmly.

Ryu rounded on him.

"That's not an excuse."

The bench went still.

Then—

A hand came down.

Firm.

Controlled.

Coach Kurogane stepped forward.

"That's enough."

His voice wasn't loud.

It didn't need to be.

Ryu stopped mid-sentence.

Coach Kurogane met his eyes without flinching.

"You're not alone out there," he said evenly. "And if you believe you are, then you're the one missing something."

Ryu's jaw tightened.

"They shouldn't be able to—"

"They're not weaker," Kurogane cut in. "They're just less famous."

Silence.

Coach Kurogane turned slightly, addressing the whole team.

"This is a Sky King school," he said. "That means something."

His gaze settled briefly on Hiroto.

"And kings don't complain when challenged."

Ryu looked away.

Hiroto's eyes sharpened—not offended, not angry.

Focused.

Coach Kurogane continued.

"They've found friction. Good. That means we sharpen."

He tapped the clipboard.

"Hiroto."

"Yes, Coach."

"You and Marcus. That's the duel now. Test him. Break him with patience, not speed."

Hiroto nodded once.

"And Ryu," Kurogane added.

Ryu looked back.

"Stop trying to dominate. Start trusting."

The buzzer sounded again.

Thirty seconds.

Players stood.

On Seiryō's side, Yuuto rose first, bouncing lightly on his toes. Marcus adjusted his wrist tape, eyes already locked onto the opposite court.

Shunjin rolled his shoulders, grin faint but dangerous.

Coach Takeda placed a hand briefly on Yuuto's back.

"Play forward," he said. "No fear."

Yuuto nodded.

Across the court, Ryu stepped back onto the floor, expression reset—cold, composed. Hiroto walked beside him, posture calm, eyes steady.

Their gazes met Marcus's.

Just for a moment.

No words.

No gestures.

But something had changed.

The first quarter had ended.

The measuring phase was over.

Now—

The real battles would begin.

The horn sounded again.

Ten seconds.

Players drifted back toward the scorer's table, sneakers squeaking, muscles still humming with leftover tension. The arena buzzed—not explosive, not quiet—like a crowd leaning forward in their seats, sensing the game had found its axis.

Yuuto stepped onto the court first.

The hardwood felt firmer than before. Familiar.

He rolled his shoulders once, steadying his breath.

This isn't survival anymore, he thought.

This is engagement.

Marcus followed, eyes locked straight ahead. His face was calm, but his thoughts were anything but.

Hiroto Mae.

The name repeated in his head, synced with the memory of gold flashing at the corner of his vision. The way Hiroto never wasted movement. Never rushed. Never panicked.

He doesn't break rhythm, Marcus realized.

He replaces it.

That made him dangerous.

Shunjin took his spot near the wing, bouncing lightly on his heels. He glanced toward Hakuro's side, then smirked faintly.

"So," he muttered under his breath, "they bleed."

Yuuto didn't answer, but his eyes narrowed.

Across the court, Hakuro assembled with surgical precision.

No jokes. No chatter.

Ryu stood near the center circle, hands resting loosely on his hips, face reset into cool indifference—but something simmered beneath it. His jaw was set tighter than before. His eyes scanned Seiryō with renewed intent.

Beside him, Hiroto adjusted his footing.

Gold didn't flare this time.

It stayed coiled.

Waiting.

Coach Kurogane remained standing at the sideline as the referee handed the ball over. His arms were folded, posture relaxed, but his gaze never left the floor. He wasn't watching players.

He was watching choices.

"Second quarter," the commentator announced. "Let's see how Seiryō responds after weathering that opening storm."

The ball was inbounded.

Hakuro possession.

Ryu took the first dribble of the quarter slowly, deliberately, as if testing the air. Yuuto slid into position in front of him, knees bent, weight forward.

No reach.

No gamble.

Just presence.

Ryu noticed.

Interesting.

He shifted right.

Yuuto stayed.

Shifted left.

Yuuto stayed again.

For the first time since the opening minutes, Ryu felt resistance that wasn't reactionary.

Behind Yuuto, Marcus tracked Hiroto like a shadow.

No ball watching.

No shortcuts.

Just hips, shoulders, breath.

Hiroto glanced at him once.

Not annoyed.

Not impressed.

Curious.

He cut toward the corner—Marcus followed.

Hard stop.

Marcus stopped with him.

Hiroto's lips twitched.

So you're serious.

Ryu swung the ball to Minato on the wing, then cut through. Ren set a screen that would've flattened most guards—but Yuuto slipped through it cleanly, barely brushing Ren's hip.

Shunjin rotated on instinct, sealing the lane for half a second.

Enough.

Minato hesitated.

That half-second mattered.

The pass came late.

Marcus lunged.

Not for the steal.

For the angle.

The ball slipped past—but slower than intended.

Hiroto caught it anyway.

But—

His feet weren't set.

Gold flickered.

Marcus closed the distance instantly, arms wide, chest squared.

Hiroto rose anyway.

Smooth.

Controlled.

The shot arced—

Clanged off the back rim.

A sharp sound.

The arena reacted instantly.

A missed shot.

Clean.

Unforced.

Marcus landed, heart pounding.

He didn't celebrate.

He just turned.

And locked eyes with Hiroto.

For the first time—

Hiroto frowned.

Just slightly.

Seiryō secured the rebound.

Yuuto pushed the ball upcourt, pace quick but controlled. His mind raced—not with panic, but calculation.

They hesitated.

We made them hesitate.

Shunjin cut hard through the lane, dragging Ren with him. Daichi sealed Kanda just long enough to open a pocket of space.

Marcus flared out.

Yuuto saw it.

The pass came sharp, precise.

Marcus rose—

Hiroto recovered fast.

Too fast.

A hand flashed up, contesting without fouling.

Marcus released anyway.

Clang.

Another miss.

But—

Shunjin was already crashing.

Putback.

Good.

The whistle blew.

Count it.

The Seiryō bench erupted.

Coach Takeda didn't shout.

He nodded once.

That's it.

Hakuro inbounded.

Ryu's eyes flicked briefly to Hiroto.

A question.

Hiroto answered with a nod.

Ryu brought the ball up faster this time—not rushed, but decisive. Yuuto matched him step for step, pulse steady.

Ryu drove.

Stopped.

Pivoted.

Yuuto didn't bite.

Ryu passed out.

Hiroto caught.

Marcus was there again.

This time, Hiroto didn't shoot.

He drove.

Marcus slid.

Hip to hip.

Chest to chest.

No space.

Hiroto tried to disengage—

Marcus stayed attached.

Gold flared.

Marcus felt it—pressure, heat, precision—but he didn't retreat.

He absorbed it.

Hiroto spun.

Marcus mirrored.

The ball slipped loose for half a breath.

Yuuto dove.

Hands scraped hardwood.

Ball popped free.

Shunjin scooped it up.

Fast break.

The crowd surged.

Shunjin pushed, then kicked to Yuuto.

Yuuto slowed.

Reset.

Smart.

They scored off the possession—nothing flashy. Just a clean cut, a layup, a whistle.

As players jogged back, Hiroto exhaled slowly.

Not frustrated.

Not shaken.

But alert.

So this is the problem, he thought.

Marcus met his gaze again.

This time, Marcus spoke.

"You don't like contact," he said quietly.

Hiroto blinked.

Just once.

Ryu heard it.

Coach Kurogane saw it.

And for the first time since the game began—

Hakuro adjusted because of Seiryō.

The scoreboard ticked forward.

The gap wasn't closed.

But it wasn't widening either.

The crowd felt it.

The commentators felt it.

The players felt it.

This wasn't dominance anymore.

It was contention.

Marcus settled into his stance again, sweat dripping down his temples, lungs burning.

But his feet felt light.

His vision clear.

Yuuto glanced back at him.

A nod.

Not celebration.

Acknowledgment.

The first quarter had ended with survival.

The second had begun with resistance.

And now—

The duel had a shape.

Marcus vs Hiroto.

Defense vs precision.

Pressure vs control.

The Sky Kings were still above them.

But for the first time—

Someone had reached their altitude.

And refused to fall.

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