Sora stood in front of the vending machine, fishing coins from his pocket with trembling hands. The others were still in the locker room, but he'd needed a moment alone—away from the worried looks, the whispered concerns.
He inserted the coins and pressed the button for an energy drink.
CLUNK.
The can dropped into the retrieval slot. Sora reached for it, his fingers wrapping around the cold metal—
It slipped.
His grip was too weak. The can fell to the floor with a metallic clatter, rolling away.
Sora stared at his hands, watching them shake uncontrollably.
"You're a terrible liar, you know."
He turned to find Madoka standing behind him, her eyes red from crying but her expression firm.
"Madoka-senpai, I—"
"Don't." She picked up the can and handed it to him, her hands steady where his weren't. "You told everyone you had enough energy left. But I've been watching you. I saw your hands shaking when you stood up. I saw you stumble twice on the way here."
Sora said nothing.
Madoka gently took his wrist, her fingers finding the pressure points. She began massaging carefully, working the tension and numbness from his muscles.
"Your wrists are completely numb," she said quietly. "From all the shooting, all the dribbling, all the contact. Sora... it's okay to give up."
"I can't—"
"Yes, you can. You've already proven everything. Forty-six points in a half. You've shown everyone that height doesn't matter, that heart and skill can overcome size. The conclusion is already determined—even if you play the second half, your body won't hold up. Shinmaruko will catch up eventually."
Sora looked at his hands as she massaged them, feeling the blood flow returning, the numbness slowly receding.
"You're right," he admitted. "My body is at its limit. I can barely hold a basketball anymore."
"Then—"
"But I still have some energy left." He met her eyes, and she saw something in them that made her breath catch. "I haven't given up. Not yet. Not while I can still stand."
"Sora..."
"My mom is in the hospital right now, probably watching the clock, wondering how the game is going. I sent her a message before we started—told her I was going to fly." His voice cracked slightly. "I can't let her down. I won't."
Madoka's eyes filled with tears again, but she smiled through them. "You're an idiot."
"I know."
"A stubborn, reckless idiot who's going to hurt himself."
"Probably."
She finished massaging his wrists, then pulled him into a brief hug. "Then go show them what an idiot can do. But promise me—if you really can't continue, you'll stop. Don't permanently damage yourself for one game."
"I promise."
The halftime buzzer echoed through the hallway.
Time to return to the court.
Both teams returned to the floor. The contrast was stark—Shinmaruko's players looked fresh, energized, ready. Kuzuryu's team looked exhausted, with Sora barely able to walk straight.
The Shinmaruko coach had made his adjustments clear during halftime: "Attack their weak defenders relentlessly. Make Kurumatani work on defense every possession. His body will break."
Tokiwa brought the ball up for Shinmaruko's first possession of the second half.
Instead of attacking Sora directly, he passed to Sawa, who immediately attacked Yasuhara.
The size and skill difference was obvious. Sawa blew past Yasuhara with a simple crossover and finished with an easy layup.
63-52.
On Kuzuryu's possession, the double-team came immediately. Sora tried to split it, but his legs wouldn't respond fast enough.
SLAP!
Tokiwa stripped the ball cleanly.
Shinmaruko pushed in transition. Chiba dunked thunderously over a helpless Chucky.
63-54.
The Kuzuryu lead was down to nine already, and only ninety seconds had elapsed.
The quarter became a nightmare for Kuzuryu.
Shinmaruko relentlessly attacked Yasuhara, Nabe, and Chucky. Every possession exposed their lack of fundamentals, their exhaustion, their inability to compete at this level.
Kuchiki drove past Nabe for an easy layup: 63-56.
Choji posted up Chucky and scored with a simple hook shot: 65-58.
Tokiwa ran a pick-and-roll, and when Yasuhara hedged too hard, he found Sawa open in the corner for a three: 65-61.
Meanwhile, Sora struggled to create any offense. Every time he touched the ball, two or three defenders swarmed him. His enhanced speed wasn't enough anymore—his body was too tired to execute.
He managed a contested floater: 67-61.
But Shinmaruko answered immediately with a Chiba dunk: 67-63.
Sora drove and drew a foul, making both free throws: 69-63.
Shinmaruko ran their offense patiently, finding Tokiwa for an open three: 69-66.
The lead was evaporating.
Momoharu called timeout, his expression desperate.
"They're picking us apart!" Yasuhara said, frustration and shame in his voice.
"We can't stop anyone!" Nabe added.
"I'm sorry," Chucky said quietly. "I'm trying, but Choji is just too big, too skilled..."
"It's not your fault," Momoharu said firmly. "They're a prefecture-level team. You've only been playing seriously for a week. You're doing the best you can."
He looked at Sora, who was bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for air.
"Sora, we need something. Anything."
Sora straightened slowly, his body screaming in protest. He checked his stamina.
"I'll... figure something out," he managed.
The bleeding continued.
Shinmaruko's execution was flawless. They'd found their rhythm, their confidence. Every possession was methodical, patient, efficient.
Sawa drove past Yasuhara again: 69-68.
Chiba posted up Momoharu, who was also exhausted, and scored: 69-70.
Shinmaruko had the lead for the first time since the opening minutes.
The crowd was roaring. The momentum had completely shifted.
Sora brought the ball up, and the double-team came from Tokiwa and Kuchiki. They were more aggressive now, hands everywhere, pressure suffocating.
Sora tried to pass to Chucky in the corner—
Tokiwa read it perfectly, stepping into the passing lane—
But Sora had anticipated the anticipation. He pulled the pass back at the last second, spun away from both defenders, and somehow secured the ball.
"WHAT?!" Tokiwa's eyes widened. "How did you—"
The shot clock was at four seconds.
Sora was exhausted, trapped, his body failing.
But he remembered something. A memory from years ago, practicing with his mother in the hospital courtyard...
------
"Sora, come here," his mother called, a basketball in her hands despite the IV attached to her arm.
"Mom, you should be resting—"
"I'll rest when I'm dead," she said with a weak smile. "Come on. I want to show you something."
She positioned him at the three-point line. "When you're exhausted, when your form breaks down, when one hand isn't enough anymore—you use both."
She demonstrated, bringing the ball up with both hands in front of her face, then releasing it with both hands simultaneously.
"It's not pretty. It's not orthodox. But it's stable. Your core does the work, not your arms. Even when your wrists are numb, your core stays strong."
The shot went in.
"Try it," she encouraged.
Young Sora had tried, the form feeling awkward, strange.
"You'll use this someday," his mother said, ruffling his hair. "When you're playing the biggest game of your life and your body is at its limit. This shot will save you."
------
The memory crystallized in Sora's mind.
Tokiwa was right in front of him, defensive stance perfect. "I won't let you make another three-pointer!" he declared. "Not on my watch!"
Three seconds on the shot clock.
Sora rose up, bringing the ball with both hands in front of his face. The form looked strange—not the beautiful one-handed release he'd displayed all game.
"What kind of shot is—" Tokiwa started.
Two seconds.
Sora released with both hands simultaneously, his core generating the power, his tired wrists just guiding.
The ball arced high—
Tokiwa had jumped to contest, but the release point was different than expected. His hand barely grazed the ball—
One second.
SWISH.
72-70.
BUZZZZ. Shot clock.
Kuzuryu had retaken the lead.
The gymnasium exploded in shock.
"WHAT KIND OF SHOT WAS THAT?!"
"HE SHOT IT WITH BOTH HANDS?!"
"I'VE NEVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE IT!"
Sora landed, his legs nearly giving out. Momoharu caught him.
"What was that?" his captain asked in awe.
"Something... my mom taught me," Sora breathed. "For when I have nothing left."
Tokiwa stared at him, respect and frustration warring in his expression. "You're full of surprises, little bird."
But the war wasn't over. Shinmaruko immediately attacked back.
The remainder of the quarter was a blur of desperate plays and grinding possessions.
Shinmaruko continued exploiting Kuzuryu's weak defenders: 72-72... 74-74... 76-78.
By the end of the third quarter, Shinmaruko had taken the lead.
76-82.
Six-point deficit.
No, worse—Momoharu checked the scoreboard again.
76-87.
Eleven-point deficit.
In just eight minutes of the third quarter, Shinmaruko had outscored them 37-13.
Sora had managed only eight points in the quarter—four from free throws, four from that two-handed three-pointer. Everything else had been stripped, blocked, or resulted in turnovers.
As the quarter ended, the Kuzuryu team walked to the bench in devastation.
Yasuhara was crying. "I'm sorry... I kept getting beat..."
Nabe's head was down. "I couldn't stop anyone..."
Chucky looked broken. "They scored on me every time..."
Even Momoharu looked defeated. He'd given everything he had, but Chiba had outplayed him badly in the third quarter.
Only Sora remained standing, his eyes still burning with determination despite his body's complete exhaustion.
One quarter left. Eight minutes. Four hundred and eighty seconds.
The impossible was becoming more impossible by the moment.
Madoka approached him with water, her eyes pleading. "Sora, please. Stop. You've done enough."
"Not yet," he whispered. "One more quarter. Just... one more quarter."
The fourth quarter buzzer sounded.
76-87, Shinmaruko leading by eleven.