Sora brought the ball up after the timeout, his eyes scanning the court with enhanced clarity. His body was exhausted, his legs burning, but his mind had never been sharper.
Tokiwa and Sawa immediately closed in, the double-team aggressive and coordinated. They'd been doing this for several possessions now, and it had been working.
But Sora had studied the footage in his mind—the memories of Himuro's training, the countless hours of practice with Alexandra Garcia. He knew how to handle double-teams.
Time to show them what perfect fakes really look like.
He drove right, his body language selling the move completely—shoulders turned, eyes focused on the basket, footwork committed.
Both defenders shifted right to cut him off—
Sora stopped on a dime, crossed over left. Not just a simple crossover, but one executed with such precision, such perfect body control, that both defenders momentarily froze, unable to distinguish real from fake.
Before they could recover, Sora hesitated with the ball, his shoulders dipping as if gathering for a shot—
Tokiwa jumped to contest, completely selling out—
But Sora never released. It was another fake. He dribbled past the airborne Tokiwa, now facing only Sawa.
Sawa, having seen Tokiwa get burned, stayed grounded, refusing to bite on any fake—
So Sora gave him a different look. He rose up for a shot, his form perfect, the ball coming up—
Sawa had no choice. He jumped to contest—
But Sora caught the ball mid-release, pulled it back down—the first part of the Mirage Shot—and drove past the now-airborne Sawa.
"WHAT?!" someone shouted from the Shinmaruko bench.
Chiba stepped up to protect the rim, his massive frame blocking Sora's path.
Sora went up anyway, the contact inevitable—
SMACK!
Chiba's body collided with Sora's, the size difference absurd. But Sora had angled his body perfectly, drawing the foul while still maintaining his shooting motion.
He released anyway, using the Earth shooting form he'd inherited from Hyūga—designed specifically to score through contact.
The ball floated up—
SWISH.
TWEET!
"Foul on White Number 4! Basket counts! One free throw!"
The gymnasium erupted in disbelief.
"HE MADE IT?!"
"THROUGH CHIBA?!"
"THAT'S AN AND-ONE!"
Sora landed, his small body having absorbed a massive hit from a player nearly fifty centimeters taller. He jogged to the free-throw line, his expression calm despite the pain radiating through his ribs.
28-28 before the free throw.
Madoka was on her feet, tears streaming down her face. "He's amazing..."
The girls' team was in shock. "Did you see that series of moves?"
"He faked out both defenders!"
"I couldn't even tell what was real!"
Sora took the ball from the referee, set his feet, and released.
SWISH.
29-28.
Kuzuryu had retaken the lead.
Shinmaruko Timeout
The Shinmaruko coach was livid. "WHAT WAS THAT?! You let a kid who's barely 150 cm tall score on THREE defenders?!"
"Coach," Tokiwa said, his voice strained, "his fakes are... I've never seen anything like them. Every move looks real. You can't tell what he's actually going to do until it's too late."
"I don't care! You're prefecture-level players! Figure it out!"
Chiba spoke up, his expression serious. "Coach, that kid isn't normal. Those moves—the fakes, the body control, the ability to finish through contact—that's national-level skill."
The coach stared at him. "What?"
"I'm serious. I've played against top players in the prefecture. None of them have that kind of offensive arsenal. That kid should be playing for a powerhouse school, not a team of delinquents."
The coach's expression shifted from anger to calculation. "Then we treat him like a national-level threat. Tokiwa, Sawa, when you double-team him, you stay glued to him. Don't reach. Don't bite on fakes. Just contest and make him work."
"What about when he drives?"
"Let him. Make him finish through contact every time. Wear down his body. No matter how skilled he is, he's still small. Eventually, the punishment will catch up to him."
Tokiwa nodded grimly. "Understood."
"And on offense," the coach continued, "attack him every possession. Make him defend. Tire him out on both ends. His stamina has to have limits."
Tokiwa brought the ball up, his eyes immediately seeking out Sora on defense.
The point guard called for a specific play—one designed to attack Sora directly.
He drove hard, using his size and strength advantage to bully Sora toward the basket.
Sora stayed in front, his defensive stance perfect, but the size difference was telling. Each dribble pushed him back, wearing him down.
Tokiwa rose up for a floater—
Sora jumped to contest, his timing good—
But Tokiwa's release point was too high. The ball arced over Sora's outstretched hand.
SWISH.
29-30.
Shinmaruko had the lead back.
As Sora jogged back to receive the inbound, Tokiwa got in his face. "How long can you keep this up, little bird? Your body's already breaking down. I can see it."
Sora said nothing. He just took the ball and pushed up court.
The double-team came immediately. Tokiwa and Sawa swarmed Sora, their pressure suffocating.
But Sora had entered a state beyond fatigue, beyond pain. Every movement felt automatic, instinctive. His body knew what to do before his mind could process it.
He executed a series of fakes so quick, so perfectly timed, that both defenders were left stumbling:
Fake right—Tokiwa shifted—
Fake left—Sawa overcommitted—
Hesitation dribble—both froze, unable to commit—
Sora split the double-team, dribbling between them with inches to spare.
Now it was one-on-one against Kuchiki, who'd rotated over to help.
Sora rose up for the shot—
Kuchiki jumped to contest—
But Sora pump-faked, holding the ball. Kuchiki flew past him, completely fooled.
Sora, reset, and went up again—this time for real.
SWISH.
32-30.
The Shinmaruko crowd was silent. The Kuzuryu supporters—all five of them from the girls' team—were screaming themselves hoarse.
"SORA!"
"KEEP GOING!"
"YOU'RE UNSTOPPABLE!"
Tokiwa attacked Sora again, this time even more aggressively. He used his body to post up the smaller guard, backing him down.
Sora fought hard, pushing back with everything he had, but physics was physics. Tokiwa was bigger, stronger, heavier.
The point guard spun and scored easily.
32-32.
On the next possession, they ran the same play. Tokiwa posted up Sora, scored again.
32-34.
Shinmaruko had the lead.
Momoharu called out during the inbound: "Sora, switch! I'll take Tokiwa!"
But Sora shook his head. "No. He's trying to wear me down. I know. But if you leave Chiba, he'll score every time. Stay on him."
"But—"
"Trust me, Captain."
Sora brought the ball up, his breathing labored but his eyes still sharp.
The double-team came. Tokiwa and Sawa closed in like predators.
Sora dribbled between his legs, the ball seeming to stick to his hand like a magnet. He faked a drive right—both defenders shifted—
Then he crossed over left—but it was another fake. He brought the ball back right, his body flowing like water, impossible to pin down.
Tokiwa reached in frustration—
Sora pulled the ball back, creating space—
And rose up for a three-pointer, the Barrier Jumper technique in full effect. His center of gravity stayed forward even as he stepped back, creating impossible space.
Both defenders lunged, hands outstretched—
TWEET!
"Foul on White Number 11! Three free throws!"
Tokiwa had hit Sora's arm on the contest.
The ball was still in the air—
SWISH.
The shot had gone in anyway.
"AND-ONE!" the Kuzuryu bench screamed.
Sora walked to the free-throw line, his jersey soaked with sweat, his body screaming in protest.
But his hands were steady as he took the ball.
First free throw: SWISH.
36-34, Kuzuryu leading by two.
The crowd was in pandemonium. Even the Shinmaruko supporters were applauding grudgingly—the display was too impressive to ignore.
As he jogged back on defense, the Shinmaruko coach's voice carried across the court: "ATTACK HIM! EVERY POSSESSION! WEAR THE MONSTER DOWN!"
Monster, Sora thought, a small smile crossing his face. Mom always said I'd have to become one to compete.
Tokiwa brought the ball up, his expression dark. He'd fouled out of frustration, given up a four-point play, and this kid was still going.
He attacked Sora in the post again, using his size advantage ruthlessly.
This time, Sora slipped and fell, the contact too much.
TWEET!
"Blocking foul on Red Number 4!"
Tokiwa made both free throws.
36-36.
Sora brought the ball up, his legs heavy, his vision starting to blur at the edges.
Just a little longer, he told himself. Hold on just a little longer.
The double-team came. He executed another series of fakes:
Fake shot—Sawa jumped—
Fake drive right—Tokiwa shifted—
Behind-the-back dribble to the left—
Split the double-team again—
Chiba stepped up, arms spread wide, daring Sora to challenge him—
Sora went up anyway, using every trick he knew—pump fake to get Chiba in the air, then leaning into the contact while still releasing—
SMACK!
The collision was brutal. Sora went flying backward, landing hard on the court.
But the ball was still in the air—
SWISH.
TWEET!
"Foul on White Number 4! Basket counts! One free throw!"
Sora lay on the court for a moment, his chest heaving. Everything hurt. His ribs, his legs, his back from the fall.
Momoharu rushed over. "Sora, you okay?"
"Yeah," Sora managed, accepting his captain's hand up. "Just... need a second."
He walked to the free-throw line, trying to mask the limp.
The Shinmaruko coach was shaking his head in disbelief. "That kid is a monster. An absolute monster."
Sora took the ball, his hands shaking slightly.
Come on, he told himself. One more.
SWISH.
40-36.
Four-point lead.
Sora had thirty-eight points. He'd scored on double-teams, triple-teams, through contact, from deep range. He'd drawn fouls, made four-point plays, and refused to break.
But as he jogged back on defense, his body finally started to fail.
His vision swam. His legs felt like lead.
Can't stop, he thought desperately. Not yet. Not now.
The game continued, and so did Sora—running on fumes, willpower, and the unshakeable belief that he could fly.