The third quarter began without ceremony.

No dramatic pause.

No roaring statement.

Just the quiet, merciless click of a machine starting back up.

Hakuro Academy inbounded the ball, and the moment it touched Ryu's hands, Seiryō felt it.

Not speed.

Not power.

Precision.

Ryu didn't rush the dribble. He didn't need to. His red aura burned low and steady now, no longer flaring with ego. It moved like a furnace—contained, efficient, inevitable.

"Same spacing," Hiroto said calmly as he jogged into position.

Hakuro flowed.

That was the word.

Not running plays—transitioning states.

Ren slid to the corner, his defender forced to trail him an extra half-step. Haruto hovered near the dunker spot, timing his cuts with unnerving patience. Minato stayed high, hands ready, eyes scanning like a radar dish.

Yuuto noticed it immediately.

They aren't reacting to us.

They're reacting to each other.

Seiryō set their defense—Marcus on Hiroto, Yuuto shading toward Ryu, Shunjin anchoring the paint.

Ryu waved once.

The first gear turned.

Minato set a screen—not hard, not obvious—just enough to shift Yuuto's angle by inches. Ryu dribbled left, then snapped the ball behind him without looking.

Ren caught.

Second gear.

Yuuto lunged to recover. Ren didn't shoot. He didn't hesitate either. One touch. Swing pass.

Haruto cut baseline at the exact moment Ren released.

Third gear.

Shunjin stepped over.

Too late.

Haruto finished with a clean reverse layup, barely touching the rim.

Hakuro — 70

Seiryō — 40

No celebration.

They were already rotating back.

Marcus clenched his jaw. "They're not even forcing it."

Coach Takeda's voice cut through the noise. "Stay disciplined! Don't chase!"

Easier said than done.

The next possession, Seiryō tried to slow things down—Marcus initiating, Yuuto spacing wide. They ran a simple high pick-and-roll, trying to reassert control.

Hiroto switched.

Not rushed.

Not panicked.

Perfect angle.

Marcus drove, met Hiroto's chest, and felt it immediately—the difference.

Not strength.

Balance.

Hiroto absorbed the contact like water around a stone. Marcus kicked the ball out to Yuuto, who rose for a three.

Clang.

Minato secured the rebound before anyone else even jumped.

Fourth gear.

Outlet to Ryu.

The machine accelerated.

Ryu crossed half-court and didn't slow. Yuuto stepped in front of him, heart pounding, vision sharpening—Self-Actualization humming faintly.

Ryu changed pace once.

Yuuto matched.

Twice.

Yuuto stayed.

Ryu smiled.

Then he passed.

Not to the open man.

To the next open man.

Hiroto caught at the wing, Marcus closing hard. Hiroto didn't shoot. He stepped inside the arc and dumped the ball to Haruto, who had sealed his defender perfectly.

Easy two.

Hakuro — 72

Seiryō — 40

"They're layering it," Ruki muttered from the bench. "Each action hides the next one."

Hakuro reset on defense, and that's when Seiryō truly felt the machine.

Ren picked up Yuuto at half-court, feet light, arms wide. Not aggressive—annoying. Every dribble felt contested. Every lane felt narrower than it should've been.

Yuuto tried to accelerate.

Ren matched him.

Not faster.

Earlier.

Yuuto passed to Marcus. Marcus drove, but Haruto slid over from the weak side—perfect help defense, chest square, hands straight up.

Whistle.

Offensive foul.

The Hakuro bench didn't cheer.

They nodded.

That was the fifth gear engaging.

Ryu inbounded again, eyes sharp.

"Same thing," he said.

But it wasn't the same.

Minato faked the screen this time and popped instead. Yuuto hesitated—half a second too long.

That was enough.

Minato caught and fired from the top of the key.

Swish.

Hakuro — 75

Seiryō — 40

Coach Takeda called out, voice tight. "They're playing like one mind."

And they were.

Each Hakuro player wasn't exceptional alone—not like Ryu, not like Hiroto.

But together?

Ren was the lubricant—spacing, timing, silent efficiency.

Minato was the processor—reading, redirecting, stabilizing.

Haruto was the piston—inside power, relentless finishes.

Hiroto was the regulator—tempo, control, inevitability.

Ryu—

Ryu was the engine.

And engines didn't get tired.

Seiryō fought back.

Marcus forced a tough bucket through contact. Shunjin muscled in a putback. Yuuto intercepted a lazy pass—one of the few mistakes Hakuro made—and pushed the break himself.

For a moment, the crowd surged.

Hakuro — 75

Seiryō — 40

Yuuto exhaled sharply.

We're still here.

Ryu clapped once.

The machine adjusted.

The next possession was surgical.

Hiroto initiated instead of Ryu, drawing Marcus out. Ryu drifted off-ball, curling around a double screen set by Minato and Ren.

Yuuto tracked him—

Lost him.

Ryu caught at the elbow, rose, and hit the jumper without jumping high.

Hakuro — 78

Seiryō — 40

Seiryō wasn't crushed.

But they were drowning in inches.

Every mistake punished.

Every hesitation exploited.

Every adjustment met with another layer.

Yuuto planted his feet on defense again, sweat dripping down his nose, legs burning.

They're not better because they're stronger, he realized.

They're better because they trust the system more than themselves.

Ryu dribbled once more at the top of the key, eyes scanning the floor like a commander surveying a battlefield already won.

"Don't break," Marcus shouted.

Yuuto nodded.

He didn't feel broken.

He felt—

Behind.

The gears of Hakuro turned again.

And Seiryō, battered but unyielding, dug in—knowing now exactly what they were fighting.

Not a team.

A machine.

And machines didn't stop unless something jammed them.

The machine didn't slow.

So Seiryō changed how they fought it.

Shunjin realized it first.

Not during a highlight play.

Not during a stop.

But during a possession where nothing happened.

Hakuro swung the ball—clean, sharp, perfect spacing. Ren to Minato. Minato to Hiroto. Hiroto glanced inside for Haruto, then reset to Ryu.

Shunjin felt the pull.

That invisible pressure telling him to help, to slide, to overcommit.

That's how they break you.

He didn't move.

Instead, he dropped half a step backward, cutting off the second option instead of the first.

Ryu drove.

Shunjin stayed vertical.

Haruto flashed behind him—no passing angle.

Ryu stopped.

For the first time this quarter, Hakuro hesitated.

The shot still went up—Ryu, contested, fading.

Clang.

The rebound bounced long.

Marcus grabbed it with both hands like it owed him money.

"Push!" Coach Takeda roared.

Marcus didn't need to be told twice.

He exploded upcourt, aggression radiating off him. No hesitation. No reset. He lowered his shoulder and drove straight at Hiroto.

Hiroto slid.

Marcus kept going.

Contact.

Hard.

The whistle blew.

And this time, it wasn't offensive.

Marcus hit the floor, popped up instantly, jaw clenched, chest heaving.

"That's one," he muttered.

The free throws dropped clean.

Hakuro — 78

Seiryō — 42

The crowd stirred.

Not roaring.

Watching.

Because Seiryō wasn't trying to outplay Hakuro anymore.

They were trying to interrupt them.

On the next defensive set, Daniel took command.

"Switch on second touch," he barked. "No ball-watching!"

Daniel's voice carried—not loud, but firm. He pointed, adjusted angles, dragged Shunjin half a step left before Hakuro could exploit the gap.

Minato tried to slip behind the screen.

Daniel was already there.

Chest first.

Hands straight up.

Minato kicked it out instead of shooting.

That one decision broke Hakuro's rhythm.

Ren caught and swung it again, but the timing was off—just enough.

Shot clock at five.

Hiroto tried to initiate late.

Marcus was on him immediately.

Aggressive.

Hands active.

No fear.

Hiroto spun—Marcus stayed.

Pulled up—Marcus contested.

The shot rimmed out.

A rare miss.

Shunjin secured the rebound and immediately outlet to Yuuto.

Yuuto didn't hesitate.

He sprinted.

Not recklessly.

Purposefully.

Self-Actualization hummed faintly—not fully formed, but guiding him into space rather than forcing him into plays.

He drove, drew Ren, kicked to Shunjin in the corner.

Shunjin caught.

Didn't rush.

Rose.

Swish.

Hakuro — 78

Seiryō — 45

Shunjin exhaled sharply.

That's it.

I don't need to beat them.

I just need to stop helping them beat us.

Hakuro inbounded.

Ryu's eyes narrowed.

They felt it now.

Not danger.

Resistance.

Hiroto gestured with two fingers—change.

Hakuro shifted into a tighter formation, shorter passes, faster decisions.

But Daniel was reading it.

"Early switch!" he shouted.

Seiryō rotated before the action completed.

Haruto tried to seal—Shunjin fronted him early.

Minato flared—Yuuto denied the passing lane with his body, not his hands.

The ball swung back to Ryu.

Three seconds.

Ryu stepped back and fired anyway.

Swish.

Of course.

Hakuro — 81

Seiryō — 45

But something had changed.

Ryu didn't jog back this time.

He walked.

Slow.

Thinking.

Marcus took the inbound, breathing heavy, eyes burning.

"Again," he said.

They ran a simple action—nothing fancy. Marcus drove hard right, forcing Hiroto to commit. Daniel slid into the dunker spot, dragging Haruto with him.

That left Shunjin open at the elbow.

Marcus kicked.

Shunjin caught.

Pump fake.

Ren flew past.

One dribble.

Pull-up.

Good.

Hakuro — 81

Seiryō — 47

Coach Takeda clapped once. "That's it! Force choices!"

Hakuro still looked composed.

Still efficient.

But now, each possession took effort.

Each basket had weight.

Hiroto glanced at Ryu.

Ryu nodded once.

The engine revved higher.

Ryu drove on Yuuto, shoulder brushing past him, red aura flaring brighter. Yuuto slid, stayed attached, forced him wider than he wanted.

Ryu kicked to Minato.

Daniel rotated instantly.

Minato swung to Ren.

Marcus closed out like a missile.

Ren hesitated.

That hesitation killed the play.

Shot clock violation.

The crowd erupted—not because Seiryō was winning, but because Hakuro had stalled.

Marcus slapped the floor once. "That's how!"

Seiryō pushed again.

Yuuto drove baseline, got trapped, but instead of panicking, he pivoted and dumped the ball to Daniel under the rim.

Layup.

Hakuro — 81

Seiryō — 49

Respectable.

Dangerously so.

Hiroto exhaled slowly, eyes sharp now.

"They've adapted," he said.

Ryu's jaw tightened—not angry, but focused.

"Good," Ryu replied. "Then we stop testing them."

Hakuro reset.

Seiryō set their defense, bodies tired, minds locked in.

They weren't winning.

Not yet.

But they weren't drowning anymore.

They were fighting in the current—matching strokes, refusing to sink.

And for the first time since the third quarter began, the machine of Hakuro wasn't just moving forward.

It was being pushed back—inch by inch.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.