The game was now a knife fight in the closing minutes. Sendoh was fully engaged, his play becoming sharper, more decisive. But the seed of doubt had been planted. Flowstate knew he could be pressured.
The score seesawed. Teo scored inside over Uozumi. 72-70.
Sendoh answered with a step-back three over Riki's outstretched hand. 75-70.
Bornok fought for an offensive rebound and put it back. 75-72.
With under a minute left, Flowstate trailed 77-76. They had one possession to take the lead. The ball was in Riki's hands. Sendoh was on him, his eyes locked on, his casual demeanor gone.
Riki called for Teo. A high screen was set. But as Riki turned the corner, he saw Sendoh had perfectly navigated it, staying glued to him. The play was dead.
Out of options, Riki drove baseline, drawing the defense. He leaped, expecting to be blocked, and at the last second, he twisted, looking to kick the ball out. He saw Drei in the corner, but Sendoh's hand was already in the passing lane. He saw Renz, covered.
Then he saw Teo, rolling to the basket after setting the screen. It was a risky pass through a thicket of arms.
He threw it.
The ball slipped between two defenders and found Teo's hands. In one fluid motion, Teo went up. Uozumi and Sendoh both converged on him. But Teo didn't shoot. He brought the ball down and, in a moment of stunning clarity, fired a pass to the weak side.
Bornok stood there, all alone.
He caught the ball, his eyes wide. The entire arena held its breath. He took one dribble and rose for a ten-foot jumper—the shot he'd practiced ten thousand times.
Swish.
78-77.
The roar was deafening. Ryonan called a timeout, but there were only 3 seconds left.