The third quarter began with a new, frantic energy from Flowstate. They pushed the pace, sprinting on every possession. Bornok set harder, louder screens. Renz attacked the basket with reckless abandon, no longer looking for Sendoh, only for the rim.
For a few minutes, it worked. The game became chaotic, and Flowstate's gritty, physical style closed the gap. 50-48.
But Sendoh adapted. He didn't fight the chaos; he embraced it, conducting it. He started throwing full-court passes to a streaking Fukuda, hitting him in stride for easy layups. When Flowstate tightened up, he'd simply back down Riki in the post, using his size to score with a soft, unblockable hook shot.
He was a dam, and their energy was water; he just redirected the flow.
With five minutes left, Ryonan was still up by four, 70-66. Flowstate was running out of ideas, and Sendoh's calm smile never wavered. He had an answer for everything.
Then, Riki saw it. A tiny crack. After a made basket, Sendoh would sometimes amble back on defense, assuming his team would get the stop. It was a habit born of supreme confidence.
Riki caught the inbound pass and didn't wait. He fired a baseball pass downcourt to a cutting Renz, who had taken off the second the ball went through the net.
Sendoh, caught off guard, turned too late. Renz caught the ball and laid it in before the Ryonan defense could set.
70-68.
Sendoh's smile finally faded, replaced by a look of sharp focus. He looked at Riki, and for the first time, it felt like he was truly seeing him. The calm had been broken. The final four minutes would be a real fight.