The gym lights were already off.
Not dim.
Not low.
Off.
The only illumination came from the faint glow leaking in from the hallway, a pale rectangle stretched across the hardwood like a doorway into a world he wasn't ready to step into yet.
Practice had ended an hour ago maybe more. Time was slippery tonight, dripping between Yuuto's fingers like the sweat he kept wiping from his forehead. Outside, the team had already dispersed into the night: limping toward the showers, rubbing sore wrists, muttering about Takeda's "Hell Week" and wondering how they'd survive six more days.
Some left complaining, some left silent, some left laughing.
But all of them left.
Except Yuuto.
He stood alone in the center of the court, staring at the hoop as though it was something waiting to judge him. His heart still thudded with echoes of the final projector clip Takeda had shown them—the clip burned into every player's mind, but especially his.
Ryu Kazen.
