The fourth quarter began without noise.

No chants.

No cheers.

No restless murmurs.

The crowd—thousands strong—fell into an uneasy silence the moment Ryu touched the ball.

It wasn't fear.

It was recognition.

Ryu dribbled past half-court slowly. Not lazily. Not casually. Each bounce was deliberate, measured, landing in the same rhythm like a ticking metronome only he could hear.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

The shot clock ticked.

Twenty-two.

Twenty-one.

Yuuto slid into his stance, knees bent, arms out. His eyes tracked the ball, then Ryu's shoulders, then his feet—trying to read something, anything.

But Ryu didn't attack.

He waited.

The red aura around him wasn't explosive like before. It didn't flare or pressure outward. It settled. Heavy. Dense. Like gravity itself had thickened around him.

"This is strange…" Marcus muttered from the wing.

Daniel didn't answer. His jaw was tight.

Ryu took one step to the left.

Yuuto mirrored.

Another dribble. Slower now.

Thump.

Ryu glanced at the weak side—just a flick of his eyes.

Minato shifted immediately.

Yuuto saw it too late.

Ryu stepped right.

Not fast.

Perfect.

Yuuto reacted—but his body moved half a beat behind his mind. Ryu slid past his hip, shoulder brushing Yuuto's chest, not even accelerating.

A single pass.

Ren caught it in stride.

Swish.

The silence broke into a low wave of stunned murmurs.

"That wasn't speed," someone whispered in the stands.

"That was control."

Yuuto clenched his teeth.

I saw it, he thought. I saw the opening.

But seeing wasn't enough.

Hakuro reset their defense instantly, like nothing had happened. Ryu jogged back, breathing steady, expression calm.

Next possession.

Same walk-up.

Same tempo.

Yuuto's pulse tried to sync with it—and failed.

The court felt slower than before, but heavier. Like every movement now had resistance.

Ryu dribbled again.

This time, he stopped near the logo.

Just stood there.

The shot clock bled.

Eighteen.

Seventeen.

Yuuto's legs burned from holding his stance. His instincts screamed at him to do something—to pressure, to reach, to force action.

Ryu noticed.

He always noticed.

"You're thinking too loud," Ryu said quietly.

Then he moved.

One step forward.

Yuuto adjusted.

A sudden stop.

Yuuto overcorrected.

Ryu spun.

The red aura flared—not outward, but inward—compressing, tightening. His body flowed through the space Yuuto had just vacated.

A no-look bounce pass threaded between two defenders.

Hiroto rose.

Gold aura flashed.

Bang.

Three points.

The arena erupted—but even then, it felt restrained. Like no one wanted to disturb the rhythm Ryu had imposed.

Seiryō called for the ball quickly.

Yuuto brought it up this time, jaw set, eyes narrowed. He pushed the pace, trying to break the spell.

Fast pass to Marcus.

Drive.

Kick out.

Miss.

The rebound fell straight into Ryu's hands.

And just like that—everything slowed again.

Haruto stood near the sideline, arms crossed, eyes wide—not with awe, but with understanding.

He leaned toward Shunjin and whispered, barely audible over the noise.

"…That's why he's King."

Shunjin didn't respond.

He didn't need to.

Ryu crossed half-court, gaze sweeping the floor—not searching, not calculating.

Claiming.

Yuuto swallowed hard and slid into position again.

Match him, he told himself. Just match him.

Ryu dribbled.

Thump.

Yuuto mirrored.

Thump.

The timing slipped.

Ryu accelerated for the first time all quarter—not fast, but decisive. Yuuto reached—

Too late.

Ryu drew the foul, sank both free throws without touching the rim.

As they lined up again, Ryu glanced sideways.

"You're talented," he said calmly. "But talent chases the game."

Yuuto's fingers curled into fists.

"And Kings," Ryu continued, eyes forward,

"decide how fast it's allowed to move."

The ball was handed back.

The court waited.

And Yuuto realized—with a chill settling deep in his chest—

This wasn't a battle of skill.

It was a battle of tempo.

And right now…

Ryu owned time itself.

The ball came back into play—and the court obeyed Ryu again.

Not because Hakuro shouted commands.

Not because plays were being called.

But because everyone, consciously or not, had begun to move to his rhythm.

Yuuto felt it in his legs first.

They reacted when they were told to react. His mind still saw the angles, still tracked the hips like Daniel had drilled into him, still sensed the blind spots the Watchtower exploited—but his body lagged, like it was wading through water while Ryu walked on air.

Hakuro's formation shifted without words.

Minato slid to the corner.

Ren hovered just above the arc.

Hiroto drifted baseline, quiet as a blade being drawn.

Ryu didn't look at any of them.

He didn't need to.

He dribbled once.

Thump.

The defense tightened instinctively.

Another dribble.

Thump.

Yuuto stayed low, teeth clenched, forcing himself not to bite on feints, not to overreact.

Wait. Don't chase. Read.

Ryu leaned forward—just slightly.

Yuuto slid.

Ryu stopped.

Yuuto stopped too, heart hammering.

For half a second, they were frozen in front of each other.

Then Ryu smiled.

It wasn't mocking.

It was delighted.

He stepped back—not to create space, but to invite pressure.

Yuuto felt it like a hook in his chest.

Now, his instincts screamed.

He lunged.

And the moment he did, the pace shifted.

Not faster.

Sharper.

Ryu's dribble snapped low, the ball ricocheting between his legs as his shoulders dipped. Yuuto tried to recover, pivoting, hips turning—

Too much.

Ryu slipped past his lead foot, brushing by him with infuriating ease. No burst. No explosion.

Just perfect timing.

Daniel rotated immediately, voice sharp. "I've got ball!"

Ryu didn't challenge him.

He slowed.

Again.

Daniel's eyes narrowed. He didn't chase. He held the line, feet active, arms wide—textbook defensive discipline.

For the first time that quarter, Ryu didn't score.

He passed.

A quick dish to Ren, who swung it to Minato.

Marcus closed out hard.

Minato hesitated.

Thump.

The rhythm changed again.

Minato drove, kicked it back out—

Ryu had already repositioned.

Catch.

Rise.

Release.

The net barely moved.

The scoreboard ticked upward.

Hakuro — 46

Seiryō — 39

The gap wasn't crushing.

But the weight of it was.

Seiryō huddled briefly as play paused. Sweat dripped down Yuuto's chin. His chest rose and fell too fast.

"I can't sync with him," Yuuto muttered, frustrated. "Every time I think I've got the timing, he changes it."

"That's the point," Daniel said, steady but strained. "He's not playing against us. He's playing the game itself."

Marcus wiped his face with his jersey. "So what—he just decides when we're allowed to move now?"

Shunjin's eyes burned.

"No," he said. "We decide how much we let him."

They broke the huddle.

Seiryō pushed the ball with intent this time—not recklessly, but decisively. Shunjin took the lead, forcing a quicker tempo, snapping passes, pulling Hakuro out of their comfort spacing.

For a moment—just a moment—the rhythm cracked.

Marcus drove hard, drawing contact.

And-one.

The crowd surged back to life.

Hakuro inbounded.

Ryu walked again.

But Yuuto noticed something now.

It was subtle.

Ryu's breathing was deeper.

Still controlled—but deeper.

Even Kings spend stamina, Yuuto realized.

He settled lower, letting go of trying to mirror perfectly.

Instead, he watched everything.

The hips.

The shoulders.

The space between dribbles.

Ryu dribbled.

Thump.

Yuuto didn't move.

Another dribble.

Thump.

Still.

The third bounce was quicker.

Yuuto slid immediately.

Ryu's eyes flickered—just a flash of surprise.

He attacked.

Yuuto stayed with him for two steps. Three.

The fourth broke him.

Ryu spun, drawing Yuuto's weight forward—

But this time, Yuuto didn't bite fully.

He recovered just enough to contest.

The shot went up.

It rattled.

The crowd gasped.

The ball bounced high—

Hiroto tipped it in.

Two points.

Hakuro jogged back.

Ryu glanced at Yuuto again.

This time, his smile was sharper.

"You're learning," he said. "Good."

Yuuto's heart pounded—not with fear.

With resolve.

I don't need to control the pace, he thought. I just need to survive it.

The fourth quarter bled on.

Ryu continued to dictate, but Seiryō no longer shattered under it. They bent. They scraped. They adapted.

Daniel intercepted a pass.

Marcus forced a turnover.

Daichi battled for a loose ball like his life depended on it.

The score tightened.

Hakuro — 48

Seiryō — 44

The crowd was fully alive now, roaring with every possession.

Ryu wiped sweat from his brow as he crossed half-court again.

This time, he didn't slow completely.

He sped up—just a little.

Yuuto felt it immediately.

He's shifting gears.

Ryu drove.

Yuuto stayed attached.

Daniel rotated.

Marcus collapsed.

For the first time all game, Hakuro hesitated.

And Ryu laughed.

A low, thrilled sound.

"Yes," he said. "This is how it should feel."

He pulled up from deep.

The ball arced high, spinning perfectly.

As it flew, Yuuto realized something terrifying.

Ryu wasn't just controlling the pace anymore.

He was testing who could survive it with him.

The shot fell.

Hakuro — 51

Seiryō — 44

And as the crowd erupted, Yuuto stood there, chest heaving, eyes burning—

Knowing one truth with absolute clarity:

To challenge a King of the Court…

You didn't need to steal his crown.

You needed to prove you could stand in his time without breaking.

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