Yamada stood under the basket, his knees not yet fully straightened—he was six centimeters shorter than Morishige Hiroshi, and his shoulders were narrower. When Itakura Yuta stood in front of him, Yamada even seemed a bit more robust than usual.

As Meihou's players ran to the front court, their steps seemed heavier than before. Kinoshita Shota dribbled past half-court, his eyes scanning Rikawa's half twice, feeling as if something was missing. It wasn't until he saw Morishige Hiroshi's clenched fists on the bench that he suddenly realized: the shadow that took up half the paint just by standing there was gone.

"Go!" Kinoshita Shota yelled, throwing the ball to Kudo Takuya. Kudo Takuya dribbled on the wing, trying to find his rhythm and replicate his previous three-pointer, but Takagi Yuta was guarding him extremely tightly, his fingertips almost brushing Kudo Takuya's wrist.

He panicked a bit and quickly passed the ball back to Kinoshita Shota. Kinoshita Shota was about to lob the ball into the paint when the corner of his eye caught Itakura Yuta already boxing out Yamada—Yamada had been pushed back half a step by Itakura Yuta's back, and even his motion to raise his hand seemed hesitant.

Kinoshita Shota gritted his teeth and still sent the ball over.

But just as the ball was in mid-air, Nomura Masato suddenly cut in from the side, extending his arm and intercepting the ball.

It wasn't a fancy steal; he simply took advantage of Yamada's half-second delay in reaction to gain position.

"Go!" Nomura Masato shouted, bouncing the ball once and passing it to Kawaguchi Shota, who was rushing over.

Kawaguchi Shota didn't charge forward; instead, he dribbled back two steps—Rikawa's players were moving towards the interior, Itakura Yuta was already standing at the edge of the three-second area, and Nomura Masato also squeezed towards the basket, sandwiching Yamada in the middle.

"Give it to me!" Itakura Yuta yelled. Kawaguchi Shota flicked his wrist, and the ball landed steadily in Itakura Yuta's hands.

Itakura Yuta had his back to Yamada, lightly nudging him backward with his arm and shoulder—not with much force, but just enough to block Yamada behind him.

He then rolled half a step towards the basket, turned, and attempted a hook shot. Yamada frantically reached out to block, but his fingertips struck Itakura Yuta's arm.

"Beep!" The referee's whistle blew.

"Meihou, number 13, defensive foul!"

Yamada froze, instinctively looking towards the bench—Morishige Hiroshi was still staring at him, his eyes burning.

Itakura Yuta walked to the free-throw line, took a deep breath, and shot.

Both free throws were good!

10:5.

Meihou's bench was silent, the coach's hand, gripping the clipboard, trembled.

It was Meihou's turn to attack. This time, Kinoshita Shota didn't dare to lob into the paint, letting Nakagawa Hiroki attempt a shot from beyond the three-point line—the ball hit the front rim and bounced out. Itakura Yuta jumped for the rebound, and Yamada followed, but he jumped half a beat too late. Itakura Yuta's fingertips touched the ball first, he pulled it into his arms, and landed steadily.

Itakura Yuta threw the ball to Kawaguchi Shota. Kawaguchi Shota dribbled forward two steps, then suddenly stopped—Rikawa's players had converged into the paint again.

Nomura Masato cut along the baseline, and Itakura Yuta also moved up, the two of them forming a small circle around Yamada under the basket.

Kawaguchi Shota passed the ball into the paint. Nomura Masato received the ball with his back to the basket, flicked his wrist, and the ball grazed the backboard before dropping into the net. 12:5.

Yamada stood still, his hands hanging at his sides, his fingertips white. The Meihou coach shouted from the sidelines: "Rebound! Rebound!" But despite his shouts, on the next possession, Nakagawa Hiroki's jump shot went wide, the ball hitting the other side of the rim and bouncing out—

This time, Watanabe Kenji didn't reach for the rebound; he simply used his arm to lightly block, slightly shifting Iwata Kazuya's position.

Itakura Yuta firmly elbowed Yamada aside, then immediately jumped, securing the rebound in his arms.

He clutched the basketball tightly as he landed.

"Get the ball!" Someone on the Meihou bench suddenly shouted.

Yamada finally reacted, reaching out to snatch the ball from Itakura Yuta's hands.

Itakura Yuta was prepared; he flicked his wrist, bounced the ball, and used the momentum of bending over to slip under Yamada's armpit. By the time he straightened up again, he had already thrown the ball to Kawaguchi Shota, who was rushing to the front court.

As Kawaguchi Shota dribbled across the half-court line, he caught a glimpse of Watanabe Kenji running along the sideline. Meihou's defenders hadn't fully recovered, and Iwata Kazuya was rotating to the paint, leaving Watanabe Kenji open.

He flicked his wrist, and the ball landed steadily in Watanabe Kenji's hands.

Watanabe Kenji didn't stop when he received the ball; he charged directly towards the basket, meeting Kudo Takuya who was rushing over.

Kudo Takuya stumbled forward half a step, reaching out to grab Watanabe Kenji's jersey—he was anxious after seeing Morishige Hiroshi get into foul trouble earlier.

But Watanabe Kenji seemed to have eyes in the back of his head, suddenly changing direction to the left, lightly bumping his shoulder, hitting Kudo Takuya's arm, and simultaneously going up for a layup.

"Swish!" The ball grazed the rim and fell into the net.

Almost simultaneously, the referee's whistle blew: "Meihou, number 7, defensive foul!"

Watanabe Kenji landed and naturally retreated half a step. He glanced at Kudo Takuya, who stood still, clenching his fists, but said nothing, walking to the free-throw line and taking his stance.

The Meihou coach slammed his clipboard on the bench, his voice heavy: "Calm down, all of you! Don't let him dictate the pace!"

Watanabe Kenji bent his knees, raised his hand, and flicked his wrist—the basketball went straight through the net.

The scoreboard changed to 15:5.

The stands were silent for a moment, then a Rikawa fan softly cheered, "Good shot!"

Morishige Hiroshi suddenly stood up from the bench, quickly restrained by a teammate beside him. He struggled twice but couldn't break free, his eyes still fixed on Watanabe Kenji's back, a muffled grunt escaping his throat.

"Meihou Industrial calls a timeout!"

Kinoshita Shota threw the ball to the ground, not bothering to pick it up, and walked to the bench with his arms hanging.

Yamada followed at the very end, his head bowed so low it almost touched his chest, his sneakers scuffing dully on the floor.

As soon as Meihou's five players on the court stood still, the coach's clipboard slapped onto the bench in front of them with a "thwack": "Look at what you just defended?! When Watanabe charged to the basket, who was helping?!"

No one spoke.

Iwata Kazuya gripped his towel, wiping sweat, his eyes secretly darting to the corner of the bench—Morishige Hiroshi was still sitting, his hands tucked into his jersey, his face hidden in shadow, his expression unclear, only his shoulders tightly tensed.

"15 to 5, down by 10 points!" The coach's voice was very low, yet more unsettling than when he had shouted earlier. "Yamada, remember this: if you can't box out for the rebound, reach out and snatch it! Don't stand there like a pole! Kudo, if Watanabe drives again, don't reach out to grab him, block his path with your body!"

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the pale faces of his players, finally shifting towards Morishige Hiroshi: "A-Kuan, warm up a bit more. You're going back in soon—but you better remember, one more foul, and you'll sit on the bench for good."

Morishige Hiroshi didn't respond; he simply stood up from his chair, grabbed the water bottle next to him, and took two big gulps. Water streamed down his chin, dripping onto his jersey and spreading into a small dark patch.

When he looked up at the court, he saw Watanabe Kenji high-fiving Kawaguchi Shota. Kawaguchi Shota said something, and Watanabe Kenji's lips curved—the smile was faint, but it seemed as if he intentionally wanted Morishige Hiroshi to see it.

Morishige Hiroshi slammed the water bottle onto the ground, the bottom hitting the floor with a startling thud.

The coach glanced at him, said nothing more, just picked up the clipboard again, his fingertips moving rapidly across it: "Next, we'll switch to a zone defense..."

The timeout countdown on the court began to flash. Rikawa's players were gathered together, laughing. As Watanabe Kenji bent down to tie his shoelaces, his peripheral vision caught Morishige Hiroshi on the Meihou bench, doing small hops in place with clenched fists, his knees bent lower than usual.

He paused while tying his shoelaces, then tied them even tighter.