The locker room door shut with a dull, echoing thud.

The noise of the arena—thousands of voices, music, commentary—was cut off instantly, replaced by the low hum of fluorescent lights and the sound of heavy breathing.

Sweat dripped onto tile.

Shoes squeaked as players dropped onto benches.

No one spoke at first.

The scoreboard still burned in everyone's mind.

Not a blowout.

Not a collapse.

But not enough.

Shunjin stood.

He didn't sit.

Didn't lean.

He just stood there in the middle of the room, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

"…Tch."

Coach Takeda was the first to speak.

"Good work out there," he said calmly. "You stayed in the game. You didn't fold. That matters."

A few heads lifted.

Marcus exhaled, rolling his shoulders.

"Yeah," he said. "We're not getting embarrassed."

That was when Shunjin snapped.

"Not getting embarrassed?" he barked, spinning around. "Is that the standard now?"

The room froze.

Yuuto looked up slowly.

Marcus frowned. "Shunjin—"

"No," Shunjin cut in sharply. "No, don't 'Shunjin' me."

He jabbed a finger toward the locker room wall—toward the court beyond it.

"They're walking us down. Smiling while they do it. And we're sitting here talking about not folding?"

Coach Hikari stepped forward, voice measured. "Watch your tone."

Shunjin laughed—but there was no humor in it.

"My tone?" he repeated. "You want polite while they're treating nationals like a scrimmage?"

Silence again.

This time, heavier.

Coach Takeda didn't raise his voice.

"Look at the score," he said. "We're still within striking distance."

Shunjin turned on him.

"And how does it feel?" he demanded. "Does it feel like we're close?"

No one answered.

Because the truth sat in everyone's chest.

They had scored.

They had defended.

They had adapted.

And yet—

It felt like Hakuro was still holding something back.

Shunjin dragged a hand through his hair.

"I hate this," he muttered. "I hate feeling like we're reacting to permission."

Marcus shifted. "Man, we're fighting—"

"—We're surviving," Shunjin snapped. "That's different."

Yuuto stood up.

Slowly.

The room turned toward him.

His legs still felt heavy from the second quarter. His hands trembled just slightly—but his eyes were clear.

"…He's right," Yuuto said quietly.

Shunjin looked at him, surprised.

Marcus blinked. "Yuuto?"

Yuuto swallowed.

"I know the score isn't bad," he continued. "I know we're 'in the game.' But that's not the same as trying to win it."

Coach Takeda studied him carefully.

"What are you saying?"

Yuuto clenched his fists.

"I'm saying that every time we stop them, it feels like they allowed it," he said. "Like we guessed right—but they already knew the question."

Itsuki leaned forward slowly.

"…You felt it too."

Yuuto nodded.

"In the last play," Yuuto said, voice low, "I read the pass. I really did. I moved before it happened."

He paused.

"And Ryu still beat me."

The room stayed silent.

Yuuto lifted his head.

"I don't want to just keep up," he said. "I don't want to be proud we didn't get crushed."

His eyes burned now.

"I want to win."

Shunjin let out a slow breath.

"…Thank you."

Coach Hikari crossed her arms.

"And how," she asked, "do you plan on doing that?"

Yuuto didn't hesitate.

"We can't play scared defense," he said. "We have to attack first. Force reactions. Break rhythm."

Marcus nodded slowly. "If we only respond, we lose."

Coach Takeda tapped the board once.

"…Good," he said.

Everyone looked at him.

"That's the mindset," he continued. "Not desperation. Intention."

He met Shunjin's eyes.

"You're right to be angry. Just don't let it blind you."

Then he turned to Yuuto.

"And you're right to challenge us. But understand this—Hakuro hasn't shown everything yet."

Yuuto's jaw tightened.

"I know."

---

Hakuro Academy — Locker Room

The atmosphere was different.

Sharper.

Colder.

Ryu ripped the towel from his shoulders and threw it into the corner.

"Tch."

The sound echoed.

"Why," he said flatly, "are they still standing?"

No one answered.

Hiroto sat on the bench, elbows on knees, staring at the floor.

Ren leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

Minato adjusted his wrist tape.

Ryu turned, eyes blazing.

"We're a Sky Kings school," he snapped. "They should not be breathing this close to us."

Still silence.

Then—

The coach spoke.

"That's enough."

Ryu stiffened.

Hakuro's coach stepped forward, presence calm—but heavy.

"You're frustrated because they adapted," he said. "That's not an insult to you. That's proof they're worthy opponents."

Ryu scoffed. "Worthy?"

"Yes," the coach replied. "Which means if you keep playing with them—"

His eyes hardened.

"—you disrespect the title you carry."

That landed.

Ryu's jaw tightened.

Hiroto finally looked up.

"…You want us to end it."

The coach nodded once.

"Not recklessly," he said. "But clearly."

Ryu exhaled slowly.

The red aura flickered—brighter than before.

"…Fine," he said.

He looked toward the locker room door.

"Let's remind them why this school produces kings."

Hiroto stood.

Gold shimmered faintly around him.

"…No more testing," he said calmly.

Ren cracked his neck.

Minato smiled—thin, sharp.

The coach turned his back.

"Show them," he said, "what the sky looks like when it falls."

---

Back at Seiryō

The halftime buzzer sounded.

Players stood.

Yuuto felt his heartbeat settle—not calm, but resolved.

Shunjin rolled his shoulders.

"…No more surviving," he muttered.

Marcus clenched his fists.

Across the court, Hakuro returned—different.

No smiles.

No looseness.

Just focus.

Yuuto locked eyes with Ryu.

For the first time—

Ryu didn't look curious.

He looked serious.

And Yuuto understood.

The second half wouldn't be about learning anymore.

It would be about endurance.

Because the Sky Kings were done playing.

And they were coming to prove it.

The buzzer echoed through the arena, sharp and final, signaling the end of halftime.

Players began filing out of the locker room tunnel, sneakers squeaking against polished concrete as Coach Takeda led Seiryō back toward the court. His posture was steady, hands clasped behind his back, eyes already locked ahead.

"Focus," he said without turning. "No distractions. We're not behind—we're learning."

Shunjin nodded, jaw set. Marcus rolled his shoulders. One by one, the team followed.

Yuuto stepped forward—

"Yuuto."

He stopped.

Coach Hikari stood just behind him, one hand raised slightly—not urgent, not sharp, just enough to hold him in place. Her eyes weren't stern.

They were searching.

"Go ahead," she said to the others. "I'll catch up."

Coach Takeda glanced back once, reading the moment, then gave a small nod. The team disappeared down the tunnel, their footsteps fading into the rising roar of the crowd.

Silence settled between them.

Not awkward.

Heavy.

Coach Hikari folded her arms slowly.

"Tell me something," she said. "And don't dodge."

Yuuto swallowed. "…Okay."

She stepped closer.

"Did I imagine it," she asked quietly, "or were you copying the Watchtower?"

Yuuto's breath hitched.

For a second, he considered denying it.

But something in her tone—calm, precise, already knowing—made that pointless.

"…Something like that," he admitted.

Her eyebrow lifted.

"Something like that isn't an answer."

Yuuto rubbed the back of his neck, eyes dropping to the floor.

"I wasn't trying to copy Itsuki," he said. "At least… not consciously."

Coach Hikari watched him carefully.

"Then explain what you were doing."

Yuuto closed his eyes.

The images came back instantly.

Ryu's foot angle.

Hiroto's spacing.

The pass that hadn't happened yet—but already existed in his mind.

"I stopped reacting," Yuuto said slowly. "I stopped chasing the ball. I focused on what everyone wanted to do."

Coach Hikari's expression sharpened.

"And?"

"And once I did that… my body moved on its own." He clenched his fist slightly. "I wasn't faster. I wasn't stronger. I was just… early."

Coach Hikari exhaled softly.

"That's dangerous," she said.

Yuuto looked up. "Dangerous?"

"Yes," she said. "Because anticipation without understanding burns people out. Or gets them injured. Or worse—locks them into a ceiling they can't break."

Yuuto frowned.

"But—"

She raised a finger.

"However," she continued, "what you did wasn't imitation."

Yuuto blinked.

"…It wasn't?"

"No," she said. "The Watchtower is about omnidirectional awareness—seeing everything equally. What you did was selective."

She tapped her temple lightly.

"You chose what mattered."

Yuuto's heart thudded.

"That's why it felt unstable," she said. "You weren't borrowing Itsuki's vision. You were building your own."

Yuuto hesitated.

"…I named it."

Coach Hikari paused.

"Oh?"

Yuuto took a breath.

"Self-Actualization."

For a second—

She stared at him.

Then she laughed.

Not loudly.

Not mockingly.

A sharp, surprised exhale of disbelief.

"…Of course you did," she muttered.

Yuuto blinked. "That's bad?"

"No," she said quickly. "It's just—" She shook her head. "Do you remember months ago, when you asked me what that word meant?"

Yuuto nodded slowly.

"You said it was about becoming who you already were," he recalled. "Not copying someone else's path."

Coach Hikari smiled faintly.

"And now you're telling me you stumbled into it mid-game against Hakuro Academy."

Yuuto winced. "…When you say it like that, it sounds crazy."

"It is crazy," she said. "And impressive. And terrifying."

She grew serious again.

"Yuuto," she said, "Self-Actualization isn't a skill you turn on. It's a process. If you force it, you'll break."

Yuuto nodded.

"I know," he said quietly. "I felt it slipping. Like I was reaching for something my body couldn't hold yet."

Coach Hikari studied him.

"Then why didn't you stop?"

Yuuto met her gaze.

"Because if I don't reach now," he said, "I'll never know how far I can go."

Silence.

Then she nodded.

"…Fair answer."

She glanced toward the tunnel where the game waited.

"But understand this," she said. "Ryu saw it. Hiroto probably did too."

Yuuto's jaw tightened.

"I know."

"They will target you."

"I know."

"And you will fail again."

Yuuto didn't flinch.

"I know."

Coach Hikari smiled—this time fully.

"Good," she said. "Then you're ready."

She stepped back, gesturing toward the court.

"Just remember," she added, "Self-Actualization isn't about becoming perfect."

Yuuto paused beside her.

"…Then what is it?"

She met his eyes.

"It's about choosing your own mistakes."

Yuuto nodded once.

"Thank you," he said.

Then he ran.

---

The third-quarter horn sounded as Yuuto burst onto the court, sliding into position beside Marcus.

Marcus glanced at him.

"…Coach Hikari give you the secret sauce?"

Yuuto shook his head. "More like a warning label."

Marcus smirked. "Figures."

Across the court, Ryu stood already waiting.

Eyes sharp.

Posture steady.

No red aura flaring.

Not yet.

Hiroto flexed his fingers once, gold presence coiled and patient.

Ryu leaned forward slightly.

"…You felt it too," he said to Hiroto under his breath.

Hiroto nodded.

"He's not copying anymore."

Ryu's lips curved.

"Good."

The referee tossed the ball up.

The second half began.

Yuuto lowered into his stance, heart steady, vision wide—but focused.

Not trying to see everything.

Just what mattered.

And as the ball moved—

For the first time—

Yuuto didn't chase the future.

He walked toward it.

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