End of First Quarter - 22-21, Kuzuryu Leading!
The buzzer sounded, ending the first quarter. Both teams walked to their benches, exhausted but determined.
Sora collapsed onto the bench, his chest heaving. His jersey was soaked with sweat, clinging to his small frame. He'd scored twenty of Kuzuryu's twenty-two points—an absurd offensive load for any player, let alone a first-year who'd never played a real game before.
Madoka rushed over with water bottles and towels. "Sora, are you okay?"
"Fine," he managed between breaths. His enhanced stamina had kept him going, but even that had limits. He could feel his legs burning, his lungs screaming for air.
Momoharu sat beside him, equally exhausted. "You can't keep this up. We're only through one quarter."
"I know." Sora took a long drink of water. "But what choice do we have? If I don't score, we don't score."
"The others are trying—"
"Trying isn't enough against them." Sora's voice wasn't cruel, just realistic. "Shinmaruko is too good. Too experienced. Every possession they get smarter, more disciplined."
Yasuhara, Nabe, and Chucky sat nearby, hearing every word. The truth hurt, but they couldn't deny it.
"So what do we do?" Momoharu asked.
Sora was quiet for a moment, thinking. His basketball IQ, enhanced by the system, was working through possibilities, strategies, adjustments.
"We go all-in on offense," he finally said. "Stop worrying about defense. Just make them work for every basket and outscore them."
"That's insane."
"Maybe. But it's our only chance."
---
The second quarter began with Sora bringing the ball up. Tokiwa met him at half court, his defensive pressure even more intense than before.
"You're breathing hard," Tokiwa observed. "How long can you keep this up, little bird?"
Sora didn't respond. He crossed over, trying to create separation.
Tokiwa stayed with him perfectly, those long arms denying every angle.
But Sora had made his decision. If they were going to have any chance, he needed to attack even more aggressively. No more trying to involve teammates who weren't ready. No more settling for good shots when he could create great ones.
He attacked with a burst of speed, using his low center of gravity to change direction sharply. Tokiwa slid with him, his defensive footwork excellent.
Sora pulled back, created just enough space—
And launched a three-pointer from several feet behind the line.
"YOU'RE KIDDING!" Tokiwa lunged forward, hand outstretched.
But Sora's release was too quick. The ball was already in the air, arcing high over Tokiwa's desperate contest.
The gym went silent, everyone watching the impossible shot—
SWISH.
25-21.
The Kuzuryu bench exploded. Madoka was on her feet, hands over her mouth. Even some of the Shinmaruko supporters gasped in disbelief.
Sora turned and jogged back on defense, his expression calm, as if he'd just made a routine layup.
Tokiwa stared at him, genuinely shocked. "Where did you even learn to shoot from that range?"
"Practice," Sora said simply.
The Shinmaruko coach called out from the sideline: "DOUBLE-TEAM HIM! DON'T LET HIM GET COMFORTABLE!"
Tokiwa nodded, understanding the strategy shift. If the short kid wanted to be a one-man show, they'd make him pay for it.
Shinmaruko ran their offense patiently. The ball moved crisply from player to player, testing Kuzuryu's defense.
Finally, Chiba posted up Momoharu again. The captain tried to front him, denying the entry pass, but Chiba used his size to seal Momoharu off.
The pass came in. Chiba caught it, immediately backed down—
Momoharu held his ground, pushing back with all his strength.
THUMP.
Chiba smirked. "Still trying to match my strength? I thought your little coach told you to play smarter."
The words stung, but Momoharu remembered Sora's advice. Don't try to beat him at his own game.
When Chiba went up for his move, Momoharu didn't try to block it cleanly. Instead, he jumped straight up, maintaining verticality, forcing Chiba to shoot over him.
The shot went up—
And rattled out.
Chucky grabbed the rebound, his street-fighting instincts helping him wrestle it away from Choji.
"PUSH!" Sora screamed, already sprinting up court.
Chucky threw the outlet pass ahead—not particularly accurate, but Sora's enhanced speed let him track it down.
He caught it in stride at half court, immediately attacked the basket.
Tokiwa was sprinting back, trying to catch up, but Sora had a step on him.
Sawa stepped up to help defend, cutting off the driving lane.
Without breaking stride, Sora pulled up from just inside the three-point line—
Both Tokiwa and Sawa converged on him, hands up, contesting hard—
Sora rose up anyway, releasing the ball at the peak of his jump.
The contest was perfect. The angle was terrible.
But Sora's shooting form, honed through thousands of repetitions, never wavered.
SWISH.
28-21.
Seven-point lead.
The Shinmaruko coach called timeout, his face red with frustration.
As both teams walked to their benches, the gym was buzzing. Whispers filled the air:
"That short kid is insane..."
"Every shot goes in..."
"Is this really a practice match?"
Sora sat down, his breathing even more labored now. He'd scored twenty-six points in less than a quarter and a half of play.
Momoharu handed him water. "You're in the zone."
"What?"
"The zone. That thing elite players talk about. Where everything slows down. Every shot feels automatic." Momoharu's eyes were serious. "I've heard about it but never seen it. You're there right now."
Sora shook his head. "I'm just shooting. Same way I always do."
"No. This is different. You're not thinking anymore. Just acting. That's what the zone is."
Whether it was the zone or just his enhanced abilities kicking into overdrive, Sora couldn't say. But Momoharu was right about one thing—he wasn't thinking anymore. Just reacting. Reading. Shooting.
The timeout ended.
The Shinmaruko coach had made his adjustment clear: "DOUBLE-TEAM NUMBER FOUR EVERY TIME HE TOUCHES THE BALL!"
As Sora brought the ball up, both Tokiwa and Sawa pressured him immediately. The double-team was aggressive, denying him space to operate.
For the first time all game, Sora was forced to pass.
The ball went to Yasuhara on the wing.
Yasuhara caught it awkwardly, immediately looking to pass it back. But Kuchiki was already on him, hands up.
"Shoot it!" Sora called out.
Yasuhara's eyes widened in panic. He'd barely practiced shooting. But with the shot clock winding down and no other option—
He threw up an ugly, flat shot that barely had any arc.
CLANG.
Air ball. It didn't even hit the rim.
Shinmaruko grabbed the rebound and pushed in transition. Their execution was perfect—three passes, and Sawa was wide open in the corner.
SWISH.
28-24.
The lead was down to four.
Sora brought the ball up, and immediately the double-team came. Tokiwa and Sawa swarmed him, cutting off his angles.
Sora passed to Momoharu at the elbow.
The captain caught it, facing up against Chiba.
"Come on, Hanazono," Chiba taunted. "Show me that shot."
Momoharu rose up—
Chiba's contest was perfect, his hand right in Momoharu's face—
CLANG.
The shot clanged off the rim. Choji grabbed the rebound.
Shinmaruko pushed again. This time it was Tokiwa attacking in transition, his speed impressive even compared to Sora's.
He went up for the layup—
Sora, sprinting back on defense, jumped from behind, his timing perfect—
But Tokiwa adjusted in mid-air, switching hands, finishing with his left.
28-26.
Two-point game.
The momentum had completely shifted.
Momoharu called timeout, his expression dark. The double-teams on Sora were working. Every time he passed, his teammates bricked the shot or turned it over.
"They're doubling me every possession," Sora said, still catching his breath. "I can't get clean looks anymore."
"Then we need someone else to step up," Momoharu said, looking at Yasuhara, Nabe, and Chucky.
The three of them looked terrified at the prospect.
"We can't," Yasuhara admitted. "We're not good enough. You saw what happened."
"Then what do we do?" Nabe asked desperately.
Sora thought for a moment, his enhanced basketball IQ working through the problem. Then, suddenly, he smiled.
"Captain, remember what you said? About me being in the zone?"
"Yeah?"
"Then let's make them pay for the double-team. Every time they send two at me, I'll attack anyway. Make them foul or let me score. Either way, we force them to choose—give me open looks or give me free throws."
"That's crazy," Momoharu said. "They'll beat you up."
"Let them try."
Madoka, listening from nearby, felt tears welling up. This small first-year was willing to sacrifice his body, to take punishment, all for a team he'd known for less than two weeks.
The timeout ended.
Sora stood up, his eyes blazing with determination.
"One more thing," he said to his teammates. "This might get ugly. But don't give up. As long as we're fighting, we have a chance."
They nodded, even the beginners finding courage in Sora's conviction.
The game resumed.
28-26, Shinmaruko cutting the lead to two.
But Sora wasn't done yet. Not even close.