The buzzer for the third quarter rang out sharp and unforgiving.

Hakuro Academy walked back onto the court first.

Their posture had changed.

The loose shoulders were gone. The casual chatter had vanished. Even the crowd felt it—something invisible pressing down on the arena like a storm front rolling in.

Ryu stepped onto the hardwood and cracked his neck once.

No grin.

No lazy dribble.

Just eyes forward.

Focused.

Across from him, Seiryō gathered near the sideline as Coach Takeda finished his last words.

"Remember," he said, voice low but firm, "we don't run from pressure. We force mistakes. Play your game."

Yuuto nodded, but his chest felt tight.

Because something was wrong.

Not with them.

With Hakuro.

They weren't playing anymore.

---

Scoreboard:

Hakuro Academy — 40

Seiryō High — 20

Five points.

Close enough to hope.

Close enough to hurt.

---

The ball went up.

Hakuro won the tip.

Ryu caught the inbound and didn't slow down.

He crossed half court in three dribbles.

Yuuto slid into position, feet wide, instincts buzzing—but Ryu wasn't looking at him.

He wasn't looking at anyone.

He was looking at the rim.

Ryu exploded.

A sharp crossover left, then right—Yuuto reacted, barely keeping up—but Ryu didn't finish.

He pulled.

Kick-out.

Corner.

Three.

Swish.

No hesitation.

The crowd roared.

"Back! Reset!" Marcus shouted.

But Ryu was already moving.

Next possession.

Seiryō tried to slow the pace. Marcus posted up. Hiroto matched him chest-to-chest, unmoving, unreadable.

Marcus spun.

Blocked.

Clean.

The ball flew out—Hakuro recovered.

Ryu again.

This time he didn't pass.

He drove straight through traffic, absorbed contact, and finished with a vicious layup off the glass.

And-one.

The ref's whistle screamed.

Ryu landed, eyes blazing.

"Too slow," he muttered—not at Yuuto.

At everyone.

The free throw dropped.

Hakuro — 46

Seiryō — 20

A run.

A real one.

Coach Takeda stood.

"Timeout!"

But before the horn could sound—

Ryu stole the inbound.

One dribble.

Pull-up midrange.

Bucket.

The horn finally blared, but the damage was done.

Hakuro was no longer testing Seiryō.

They were hunting.

---

On the bench, Yuuto's hands trembled.

That pressure—

It was different.

This wasn't talent.

This was authority.

"They're serious now," Shunjin muttered, jaw clenched.

Coach Takeda leaned in. "Listen to me. This is where games are decided. You don't match force with force. You disrupt."

Yuuto looked back at the court.

At Ryu.

At the way the floor seemed to bend around him.

"I can see him," Yuuto said quietly.

Everyone paused.

"What?" Marcus asked.

"I can see where he wants to go," Yuuto continued. "It's not clear—but it's there."

Itsuki's eyes sharpened.

"…Don't force it," he warned. "Instinct before technique."

Yuuto nodded.

The timeout ended.

---

Hakuro inbounded.

Ryu brought the ball up again—but this time, Yuuto didn't chase him.

He watched the space.

The angles.

Hiroto shifted left.

The weak-side defender crept in.

There.

Yuuto moved early.

He cut the passing lane before it formed, hand snapping out—

Deflection.

The ball bounced loose.

Marcus grabbed it and ran.

Fast break.

Two-on-one.

Marcus passed.

Shunjin finished.

The crowd erupted.

Hakuro — 48

Seiryō — 37

Ryu stopped.

Turned.

Smiled.

Not amused.

Impressed.

"…So you can see it now," he said softly.

Yuuto swallowed.

Ryu leaned in as they lined up for the next possession.

"Then keep up."

And then—

Ryu disappeared.

Not literally.

But the moment Yuuto shifted his weight, Ryu was already past him.

Acceleration.

No wasted motion.

He drove, drew three defenders, and kicked to Hiroto.

Hiroto didn't shoot.

He cut.

Ryu followed.

Give-and-go.

Layup.

Perfect.

Hakuro moved like a machine now.

Every action chained.

Every read immediate.

This was a Sky King school.

And they were done pretending otherwise.

---

Five minutes into the quarter.

Ryu had already added 7 more points.

The scoreboard glared down:

Hakuro — 55

Seiryō — 30

Yuuto's lungs burned.

His vision flickered again.

> Self-Actualization

Status: Active (Unstable)

Processing Load: High

He didn't panic.

He didn't force it.

He adjusted.

Lower stance.

Shorter steps.

Not copying.

Adapting.

Ryu attacked again.

Yuuto slid—

Contact.

No steal.

But the shot rimmed out.

Miss.

A rare one.

The crowd gasped.

Marcus grabbed the rebound.

Yuuto looked at Ryu.

For the first time—

Ryu looked back, serious.

Not dismissive.

Not bored.

Focused.

Good, Yuuto realized.

I made him miss.

The gap was still there.

Wide.

Terrifying.

But it wasn't infinite anymore.

And as the third quarter rolled on, one thing became clear to everyone watching—

This game was no longer about whether Seiryō belonged on the court.

It was about how long they could survive against kings who had finally decided to rule.

The air in the arena felt heavier with every possession.

Not louder.

Heavier.

Hakuro Academy moved like they had flipped a switch that only they could see. Their spacing tightened. Their passes sharpened. Every cut had intent behind it, every screen angled just enough to hurt.

Seiryō was still fighting.

But now they were reacting.

Ryu walked the ball up again, sweat finally visible along his temples. Fifteen points already, and he didn't look satisfied. He looked irritated.

"Reset," Hiroto said calmly, raising two fingers.

Ryu nodded once.

They flowed into a staggered set—Hiroto drifting high, the weak-side shooter pulling wide. Yuuto tracked Ryu's hips, eyes flicking between ball and space, Self-Actualization humming faintly in the background like static.

Don't chase the man. Read the intention.

Ryu slowed.

Too slow.

That alone was a warning.

He jab-stepped. Yuuto didn't bite. Ryu crossed. Yuuto slid. For a split second, it felt right—like the floor aligned under his feet.

Then Ryu stopped.

Dead stop.

Yuuto's momentum betrayed him by inches.

Ryu rose into a pull-up jumper from just inside the arc.

Nothing but net.

Hakuro — 57

Seiryō — 30

Ryu exhaled sharply and turned back on defense without a word.

Marcus clenched his jaw.

"Stay together!" he barked. "Next play!"

Seiryō inbounded.

They tried to answer immediately—Marcus driving downhill, forcing contact, getting to the line. The free throws fell, steadying the bleeding just a bit.

Hakuro — 57

Seiryō — 30

But Hakuro didn't slow.

They never did.

Hiroto caught the ball at the elbow this time, Marcus pressing him tight. For the first time all game, Hiroto attacked.

Not explosively.

Precisely.

One dribble. Shoulder bump. Pivot.

Fadeaway.

Smooth.

Effortless.

Marcus landed, eyes wide.

That wasn't power.

That was mastery.

Hakuro — 59

Seiryō — 30

On the sideline, Coach Takeda's fingers dug into his clipboard.

"They're carving us," one assistant muttered.

"No," Takeda corrected quietly. "They're testing who breaks first."

---

Yuuto felt it then.

The difference between playing to survive—

And playing to dominate.

Hakuro wanted to crush belief.

The next possession, Ryu didn't even look at the rim.

He drove hard, drew Yuuto and Shunjin, and flicked the ball behind his back without turning.

Hiroto was already there.

Three.

Swish.

Hakuro — 62

Seiryō — 30

The crowd exploded.

Seiryō called timeout again.

Yuuto bent over, hands on his knees, lungs screaming. His head buzzed—not pain, not fear.

Information.

Too much of it.

Paths overlapping.

Angles collapsing.

Itsuki knelt in front of him.

"Listen," he said low. "You don't need to see everything."

Yuuto looked up.

"Just one thing," Itsuki continued. "One intention at a time."

Yuuto swallowed and nodded.

Across the court, Ryu leaned against the scorer's table, towel draped over his neck. His eyes never left Seiryō's huddle.

"They're still standing," he muttered.

Hakuro's coach stepped beside him.

"And that bothers you."

Ryu scoffed. "It should've been over already."

"Then end it properly," the coach replied. "Kings don't rush."

Ryu straightened.

A thin smile returned.

"Fine."

---

Play resumed.

Seiryō came out aggressive—full-court pressure, Marcus stepping up, Yuuto shadowing passing lanes instead of chasing Ryu.

For two possessions, it worked.

A forced turnover.

A missed shot.

Hope flickered.

Yuuto intercepted a pass meant for the wing and pushed the break himself, legs moving on instinct alone. He didn't think.

He cut.

Passed.

Shunjin finished at the rim.

Hakuro — 62

Seiryō — 31

The crowd roared again—this time for Seiryō.

Yuuto felt it.

That click.

That feeling of belonging in the chaos.

Ryu clapped once.

"Good," he said. "Now watch."

The next play, Ryu took over completely.

No sets.

No patience.

He waved Hiroto off.

Isolation.

Yuuto squared up, low and ready.

Ryu attacked.

Crossover.

Hesitation.

Acceleration.

Yuuto stayed—

Stayed—

Too fast.

Ryu blew by him, rose into traffic, and finished with a reverse layup that kissed the glass like it was guided.

And-one.

The whistle shrieked.

Yuuto stumbled back, stunned.

Ryu stared straight at him as the free throw dropped.

Hakuro — 65

Seiryō — 33

"That's the difference," Ryu said quietly.

---

Three minutes left in the third.

Ryu had reached 15 points with that play.

And he wasn't done.

Hakuro's lead ballooned back to double digits. Every Seiryō score was answered immediately—sometimes brutally.

Marcus fought.

Shunjin screamed.

Yuuto adapted, adjusted, learned.

But Hakuro was operating on a different clock.

A different level.

The quarter wound down, the scoreboard glaring down like a verdict:

Hakuro Academy — 68

Seiryō High — 40

As the horn sounded to end the third quarter, the arena erupted again—but this time, the noise felt distant.

Yuuto stood still at center court.

Chest rising.

Mind racing.

He'd been exposed.

He'd been challenged.

But he hadn't been erased.

Ryu passed him on the way to the bench and paused.

"You're annoying," he said flatly.

Yuuto looked up.

Ryu smirked. "That's a compliment."

Then he walked away.

The fourth quarter loomed.

And for the first time since the game began, Yuuto didn't feel small.

He felt unfinished.

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