The gym was a storm.

Crowds screamed until their voices cracked, banners waved like ocean waves, and the echo of sneakers was drowned beneath the pulse of hundreds of hearts beating in sync. The scoreboard glared bright across the court Easton 84, Seiryō 81 and the tension was a living thing, clawing at every breath.

Marcus wiped sweat from his chin. His body ached, but his eyes burned with resolve.

Three points. That was all that separated them. Three points between collapse and resurrection.

Coach Aoyama called from the sideline, voice sharp as a whip.

"Stay focused! Trust your reads!"

Yuuto dribbled across half-court, his movements measured, each bounce a heartbeat. Itsuki Takashima's golden eyes tracked him like a hawk, analyzing every twitch, every faint shift of weight. He had already intercepted three passes this quarter alone his prediction ability sharper than ever.

He's reading everything, Marcus thought grimly. Every angle, every hesitation.

Easton's defensive web was perfect Sho controlling the tempo from behind, Renji shadowing the paint, Daigo lurking near the baseline like a waiting blade.

Yuuto faked left, then stepped right, but Renji cut him off instantly.

Blocked again.

The ball ricocheted, spinning out toward the sideline. Marcus lunged, caught it, and reset.

"Everyone spread!" he shouted.

They moved Shunjin cutting through the lane, Daichi posting low, Kento screening high but the pattern was too clean, too predictable. Itsuki saw it. He stepped into the passing lane, intercepting Marcus's pass mid-air, and without missing a beat, fired a one-handed dime across the court to Ajax.

The gym roared.

Ajax rose and hammered the dunk home.

86–81.

Seiryō's section groaned in unison. The rhythm they'd rebuilt fragile and flickering cracked again under Easton's perfect read.

Marcus slapped the ball as it was inbounded, his jaw tight. "Reset. This isn't over!"

But inside, frustration simmered.

Every time we build momentum, they dismantle it. How do you fight someone who sees the future?

He barely noticed Hikari standing from the bench until he heard her voice, cool and cutting through the chaos.

"Marcus."

He turned slightly. She wasn't shouting. She didn't need to.

Her tone carried weight. "You're still moving to their rhythm. You want to break it? Stop playing like a song that never breathes."

Marcus blinked. "What?"

"Unpredictability," Hikari said simply. "Let your team breathe. Stop chasing structure make it chaotic. Confuse them."

Coach Aoyama looked over, nodding once. "You heard her. Let's use tempo shifts."

Marcus exhaled sharply. "Tempo shifts?"

"Exactly," the coach said. "Ren, Daichi change pace mid-play. Force Takashima to guess."

Yuuto caught the next inbound, his expression calm but cold. "You heard her. Let's mess with their rhythm."

Ren dribbled slowly across half-court, almost lazily then in an instant, he exploded forward, slicing through Sho and Renji's defensive line. The sudden burst shattered the predictable pattern. Daichi adjusted instantly, moving to the opposite pace slower, deliberate, backing into Renji before spinning with a quick hook shot.

Thump Swish!

86–83.

The crowd erupted. The noise hit like thunder.

Easton's coach folded his arms, watching the court with a smirk. "They're starting to breathe."

Itsuki adjusted his stance, golden aura flaring faintly.

"So they've finally started thinking."

He pushed forward, scanning. Sho moved in tandem, passing to Daigo on the wing. Daigo caught the ball, chin up, eyes sharp with arrogance. Shunjin slid in front of him, body low, expression unreadable.

"Here we go again," Daigo muttered, dribbling casually. "Captain's shadow still guarding me?"

Shunjin's jaw tightened. "Say that again."

Daigo smirked. "You're just a reflection of Marcus same moves, no soul. You'll never beat me if you're just following his light."

Shunjin's fingers twitched. Pride flared like lightning. He wanted to strike back, but his rhythm faltered one heartbeat too early. Daigo used that pause, crossing over, spinning inside, and finishing with a reverse layup.

88–83.

The crowd cheered wildly. Shunjin gritted his teeth. His pride screamed louder than the noise around him.

Marcus called out, "Shunjin! Breathe!"

But Shunjin couldn't hear. His hands shook. Shadow of the captain, Daigo's words echoed in his head like poison.

Yuuto saw it. He stepped forward, voice firm.

"Hey. He's trying to get in your head. Don't let him. You're not his shadow you're the spark."

Shunjin blinked, focusing on Yuuto's eyes. Calm. Grounded. Unflinching.

The next possession, Yuuto dribbled in deliberately slow, baiting Itsuki's read. He waited for the instant Itsuki's stance leaned forward… then snapped his wrist, passing behind his back to Shunjin on the baseline.

Daigo reacted too late.

Shunjin spun inside, planted, jumped, and banked the shot in off the glass.

And the whistle blew.

"And one!"

The gym exploded.

Shunjin pumped his fist, shouting over the roar. "Still think I'm a shadow?!"

Daigo scowled, biting his lip as Shunjin sank the free throw.

88–86.

Sho Amakusa exhaled quietly from the other side, muttering to himself. "They're adapting faster than expected."

Yuuto caught his gaze, a faint grin forming. "Welcome to chaos."

Next play Seiryō switched up completely. Yuuto led with a sudden burst of speed, then stopped mid-step, passing back to Marcus, who immediately lobbed it over the collapsing defense. Daichi caught, pivoted, and finished under pressure.

88–88. Tie game.

The scoreboard blazed. The arena shook. The energy was wild unpredictable, uncontainable.

Marcus's breathing was ragged, but his eyes glowed with renewed fire. "This is it," he muttered. "This is how we fight."

Itsuki looked across the court, face calm but the faintest twitch in his expression betraying frustration. His predictive rhythm once flawless was faltering. The constant tempo shifts broke the patterns he relied on.

He clenched his fist. "So… you've learned to breathe. Let's see how long that lasts."

The next play was chaos and art. Ren dribbled in a slow, taunting rhythm before bursting inside, forcing Itsuki to shift focus. Daichi delayed his screen just half a second longer, confusing the rotation. Yuuto cut through, caught the ball mid-stride, and pulled up at the elbow.

Swish.

88–90. Seiryō leads.

The eruption from the stands was deafening. Fans pounded the rails, chanting Marcus's name, Yuuto's name Shunjin's all in unison. The Pulse wasn't controlling them anymore. They were free, flowing like a river breaking through the dam.

Easton's timeout horn blared.

On the bench, Hikari crossed her arms, smirking faintly. "Unpredictability… finally."

Coach Takashima, on the other end, chuckled lowly, shaking his head.

"They've learned to breathe," he said. "But let's see if they can keep breathing."

Timeout ended. Two minutes and thirty seconds remained.

Itsuki inbounded to Sho, who carried the ball up with an unreadable calm. Renji shifted slightly toward the post, Daigo moving baseline, Ajax preparing to screen.

Sho's voice was quiet but sharp. "Formation Zeta."

Easton's movement realigned instantly a pattern Seiryō hadn't seen yet. Every screen, every pass, layered to counter unpredictability with calculated improvisation. Itsuki cut wide, then zipped back inside for a give-and-go.

Pass. Fake. Step. Shot.

92–90.

Marcus didn't panic. He motioned calmly to Yuuto, "We keep flowing."

Next play, Yuuto slowed down, baiting Itsuki again but this time Itsuki didn't bite. Yuuto hesitated, eyes flicking toward Marcus, then to Daichi. He lobbed the ball high Daichi caught it mid-air, faking the hook before pivoting. Renji expected it, lunged… and missed.

Daichi dropped it through the net.

92–92. Tie game.

The scoreboard flashed like lightning 2:00 remaining.

The entire gym went silent for one surreal moment, as if everyone realized what was at stake.

The Easton coach's smirk returned. "Well," he said softly, "this is where real teams show what they're made of."

Sho and Itsuki met eyes at midcourt, both calm in their own ways one ice, one gold.

Marcus stood ready, chest heaving, every nerve alive. Across from him, Sho's lips curled into a faint smile.

Two minutes left.

Tie game.

One rhythm left to break.

The whistle blew.

And the war for control began again.

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