Halftime: Kainan 48, Flowstate 36.
The locker room was quiet. The usual frustration was replaced by a sense of futility. How do you beat a team that doesn't make mistakes?
"We can't out-perfect them," Drei finally said, breaking the silence. "Their system is airtight. We have to make it messy. We have to be unpredictable."
"Unpredictable how?" Renz asked, exasperated. "They've seen everything we have!"
"Have they?" Riki said, a spark igniting in his eyes. "We've been trying to run our sets. What if we stop? What if we just... play? Streetball rules. No plays. Just motion. Just flow."
Coach nodded slowly. "They're prepared for Riki the conductor. They're not prepared for Riki the chaos agent."
The plan was simple: abandon structure. Switch everything on defense, even mismatches. On offense, constant motion, random cuts, and instinct.
The third quarter began. The first time down, Riki didn't call a play. He just drove, drew two defenders, and blindly kicked it out to a spot where Renz should have been cutting. He was. The pass hit him in stride for a layup. 48-38.
Kainan looked momentarily confused. This wasn't in the scouting report.
On defense, Bornok found himself switched onto Maki. Instead of backing down, he harassed the smaller guard, using his length to disrupt his vision. Maki's pass was slightly off-rhythm, and Drei got a hand on it.
The system had a crack. It was small, almost invisible. But Flowstate had spent their lives playing in the cracks. The rhythm was returning, not as a melody, but as a disruptive, beautiful noise. The flawless machine was about to learn about grit.