The Shinmaruko coach's voice boomed across the court: "TRIPLE-TEAM HIM! I DON'T CARE IF EVERYONE ELSE IS OPEN! DON'T LET THAT KID BREATHE!"
Sora brought the ball up, and immediately three defenders converged on him—Tokiwa, Sawa, and Kuchiki. The pressure was suffocating, unprecedented.
For the first time all game, Sora looked genuinely trapped.
"Got you now," Tokiwa said, his voice tight with determination.
Sora's vision was swimming. His legs felt like they were made of concrete. But somewhere deep inside, that voice—his mother's voice—kept echoing: You have wings, Sora. Fly.
He took a deep breath, then exploded into motion.
A quick dribble to the right—all three defenders shifted—
Sora spun 360 degrees, the ball protected on his hip, his body rotating away from the pressure. The spin move was so smooth, so perfectly executed, that for a moment the defenders lost track of the ball entirely.
Coming out of the spin, Sora found a sliver of space—just enough.
He rose up for the shot—
All three defenders converged, hands reaching—
Sora pump-faked, holding the ball. All three left their feet, completely committed.
He waited for them to start descending, then released the actual shot.
SWISH.
43-36.
Seven-point lead.
The gymnasium exploded. Even the Shinmaruko supporters were on their feet now, unable to contain their amazement.
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!"
"AGAINST THREE DEFENDERS!"
"THAT'S FORTY-ONE POINTS!"
Madoka was sobbing openly in the stands. "Sora... you're incredible..."
Tokiwa brought the ball up, his face dark with frustration. They were throwing everything at this kid—double-teams, triple-teams, physical play—and he just kept scoring.
He attacked Sora in the post again, using his size advantage ruthlessly. The contact was heavy, borderline dirty.
Sora fought back, but his legs gave out. He fell hard to the floor.
No whistle. The referee had decided to let them play.
Tokiwa scored easily.
43-38.
As Sora struggled to his feet, Momoharu rushed over. "You can't keep taking this punishment!"
"I'm fine—"
"You're not fine! You can barely stand!"
"Then help me," Sora said, his eyes meeting Momoharu's. "I have an idea, but I need you to trust me."
Nabe inbounded the ball to Momoharu instead of Sora. The Shinmaruko defenders, conditioned to swarm Sora, hesitated for just a moment.
That moment was all Sora needed.
He sprinted up court, cutting hard toward the basket. Momoharu saw him immediately and threw a long pass ahead.
But three Shinmaruko players recovered, all of them tracking Sora's movement.
Sora caught the ball in stride at the three-point line—
The triple-team was already forming—
Instead of attacking, Sora made a hard cut to the corner, his movement so sudden that the defenders couldn't adjust.
Momoharu had followed his own pass up court. With all three defenders chasing Sora, Momoharu was wide open.
Sora whipped a behind-the-back pass to his captain.
Momoharu caught it cleanly, went straight up—
BOOM!
Thunderous dunk.
45-38.
"YESSSS!" Momoharu roared, hanging on the rim.
Sora collapsed against the baseline, gasping for air. The off-ball movement had drained what little energy he had left.
But the play had worked. For the first time all game, someone other than Sora had scored in the half-court offense.
Chiba posted up Momoharu, who was still energized from the dunk. The captain played perfect defense, staying vertical, contesting without fouling.
Chiba's shot rimmed out.
Yasuhara grabbed the rebound—his third of the game—and immediately looked for Sora.
But Sora was bent over, hands on his knees, struggling to breathe.
"I got it!" Momoharu called out, sprinting up court.
Yasuhara threw the outlet pass. Momoharu caught it and pushed in transition, showing the athleticism that had made him fly.
Tokiwa was the only defender back. He stepped up to challenge—
Momoharu gathered and exploded upward, going straight at Tokiwa.
SMACK!
The contact was massive. Both players went flying.
TWEET!
"Blocking foul on White Number 11!"
Momoharu landed hard but immediately looked at the rim—
The ball was still in the air—
SWISH.
AND-ONE!
"THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!" Momoharu pumped his fist.
Sora managed a tired smile from half court. His plan was working—use off-ball movement to create opportunities for teammates, save his energy for crucial possessions.
Momoharu made the free throw.
48-38.
Ten-point lead.
The Shinmaruko coach called timeout, his expression grim.
The Shinmaruko players gathered around their coach, all of them breathing hard.
"They've adjusted," the coach said grimly. "Kurumatani's using off-ball movement now. When we triple-team him, he's creating opportunities for his teammates."
"So what do we do?" Kuchiki asked. "If we don't pressure him, he'll score. If we do, his captain scores."
"We stick to the plan," Chiba said firmly. "Keep attacking that short kid on defense. He's exhausted. Eventually, his body will give out."
The coach nodded. "Chiba's right. Look at him—he can barely stand. One more hard quarter and he'll collapse. We just need to stay within striking distance until then."
-----
Sora sat down heavily, his entire body trembling with fatigue. Madoka rushed over with water and a towel.
"Sora, you need to rest—"
"Can't," he managed between gasps. "If I sit, they'll go on a run."
"But you're running on empty!"
"I know." He took a long drink, then looked at Momoharu. "Captain, you have to keep being aggressive. When they triple-team me, I'll find you. But you have to finish."
"I will," Momoharu promised. "I'm starting to feel it again. That fire I had in middle school."
"Good. We're going to need it."
The timeout ended.
Sora brought the ball up, moving slower now. The triple-team came immediately.
Instead of trying to split it, Sora made a pass and did a hard cut to the left wing, sprinting off the ball.
Yasuhara, who'd been standing in the corner, saw the movement and instinctively cut to the basket.
Nabe, recognizing the play from their practice drills, passed to Yasuhara.
The pass was terrible—too high, too much spin—but Yasuhara somehow caught it.
Choji stepped up to contest—
Yasuhara went up anyway, his layup ugly and awkward—
CLANG.
The ball hit the rim hard—
Momoharu crashed in from the weak side, grabbed the offensive rebound, and put it back up in one motion.
SWISH.
50-38.
"YEAH!" Yasuhara pumped his fist, even though he'd missed.
"Nice crash!" Sora called out to Momoharu.
The off-ball tactics were working. By moving without the ball, Sora was creating chaos in Shinmaruko's defense while conserving his energy.
Tokiwa attacked Sora in the post once again. This time, Sora had no strength left to fight back.
Tokiwa scored easily, then got right in Sora's face. "You're done, little bird. I can see it. Your wings are breaking."
Sora didn't respond. He just turned and jogged back to receive the inbound.
But Tokiwa was right. His body was failing. Every step sent pain shooting through his legs. His vision was blurring at the edges.
Just a little longer, he told himself. Make it to halftime.
The game devolved into a war of attrition. Every possession was a battle.
Sora continued his off-ball movement, sprinting from corner to corner, using Momoharu and Chucky as makeshift screeners. The triple-teams couldn't track him when he didn't have the ball.
When he did get the ball in good position, he attacked immediately—no hesitation, no wasted movement.
A Euro-step around two defenders, finishing with a high-arcing floater that dropped through: 52-40.
A drive into the paint where he jumped off two feet, absorbed contact from Chiba, and somehow scooped the ball up and in: 54-42.
A catch-and-shoot three from the corner after sprinting off three consecutive screens, his form perfect despite his exhaustion: 57-44.
Every made basket drew louder cheers from the crowd. This wasn't just a basketball game anymore—it was a performance, a display of pure will overcoming physical limitations.
But Shinmaruko kept answering. Chiba and Tokiwa scored relentlessly, exploiting Sora's defensive exhaustion.
The score climbed: 57-46... 59-48... 61-50...
Twenty seconds left. Kuzuryu up 61-50.
Sora brought the ball up for the final possession, his vision swimming. The triple-team came immediately.
He didn't have the energy to attack. Instead, he made a hard cut to the right wing, sprinting off the ball.
Momoharu set a screen. Sora used it, rubbing off his captain's shoulder.
The defenders fought through—
But Momoharu had rolled to the basket. Nabe, seeing the play develop, threw a lob pass.
It was too high—
Momoharu exploded upward, his vertical leap on full display. He caught it above the rim and threw it down violently.
BOOM!
63-50.
BUZZZZZ!
Halftime.
---
Sora collapsed onto the bench, his entire body shutting down. Madoka rushed to him with ice packs and water.
"Forty-six points," Momoharu said quietly, looking at the stat sheet. "Forty-six points in one half."
The girls' team members who'd snuck into the locker room were crying openly.
"That was the most incredible thing I've ever seen..."
"He's carrying the entire team..."
"How is he even still standing?"
Sora lay on the bench, his eyes closed, his chest heaving. Every part of his body screamed in agony. His enhanced stamina had let him survive the first half, but there was no way he could maintain that pace for another twenty minutes.
"Sora," Momoharu said gently. "You need to sit the start of the second half. Let your body recover."
"Can't," Sora whispered. "If I sit, they'll erase the lead in five minutes."
"Then we'll build it back up when you return."
"We won't have time."
Momoharu wanted to argue, but he knew Sora was right. Without their star, Kuzuryu's offense would collapse completely.
"What's your stamina at?" Momoharu asked quietly, knowing about the system.
"Enough," Sora lied. "I can finish the game."
Madoka knelt beside him, tears streaming down her face. "Sora, you're going to hurt yourself permanently if you keep this up."
"I know." He opened his eyes, looking at her. "But I made a promise to my mom. I told her I'd show everyone that height doesn't matter. That I could fly."
"You've already proven that—"
"Not yet. Not until the final buzzer sounds and we've won." He sat up slowly, wincing at the pain. "I'm seeing this through to the end."
Momoharu grabbed his shoulder. "Then we've got your back. Whatever you need. We'll fight to the death for you."
Yasuhara, Nabe, and Chucky nodded in agreement.
"Forty-six points," Chucky said in awe. "And we're still in this fight."
"Thirteen-point lead," Nabe added. "We just need to hold it."
"No," Sora said, his eyes hardening. "We need to extend it. Because Shinmaruko isn't going to quit. They're going to come at us harder than ever in the second half."
He stood up, his legs shaking but holding.
"Twenty more minutes," he said, looking at each teammate. "Give me everything you've got for twenty more minutes. That's all I ask."
63-50, Kuzuryu leading.
But the war was far from over.