The third quarter became a battle of philosophies. Kainan's system, a symphony of orchestrated plays, against Flowstate's rhythm, a jazz improvisation of instinct and motion.
Riki was no longer a conductor calling plays; he was the first note in a cascade of sound. He'd drive, draw two defenders, and leave a drop-pass for Bornok, who would immediately swing it to a cutting Drei. There were no calls, just eye contact and trust.
Kainan's defense, programmed for set patterns, began to fray at the edges. Their rotations were a half-beat slow against the unpredictable cuts. Renz, freed from the structure of plays, started relocating to open spots with a scorer's intuition, hitting two quick threes. 48-44.
Maki, the Kainan point guard, called a timeout. The flawless composure was gone, replaced by sharp, urgent gestures. The system was being stressed-tested.
As Flowstate jogged to the bench, Teo looked at Riki. "They are looking for the pattern."
Riki grinned, wiping sweat from his brow. "Good. Let them look."
The flawless machine of Kainan was discovering that grit and chaos could be a system of its own. The score was close, and the fourth quarter loomed. The library was getting loud.