Basketball is simple, at least in theory. Two teams, a ball, a court, and two hoops. The goal: score more points than the other team by putting the ball through their hoop from above. Five players work together: the point guard controls the pace, the shooting guard hunts for points, the small forward balances attack and defense, the power forward battles in the paint, and the center protects the rim.
But simplicity is an illusion. On the court, nothing is uncomplicated.
In basketball, height isn't just an asset, it is currency. A tall player can block shots without leaping, snatch rebounds before they are contested, and turn layups into casual tosses. Coaches dream of players with wingspans like silhouettes and legs that cover the court in three strides.
That's why most legends stand head and shoulders above the ordinary man. Michael Jordan? 6'6". Kobe Bryant? 6'6". Shaquille O'Neal? 7'1". The game has always been kind to giants.
Yuuto Kai knew this better than anyone. At fifteen, he stood a mere 5'3", a head shorter than the giant kids dominating youth leagues. But he had something else, wind-like speed, vision sharper than anyone's, and ball-handling so tight it made defenders trip over their own feet. Coaches called him The Prodigy of the Court. Height did not matter when you were this fast, this sly, or so he thought.
The ball was alive in his hands.
Yuuto sprinted up the court, low to the ground, sneakers screaming with each change of direction. The hardwood pounded beneath his feet in an accelerated rhythm, his body tilted like a sprinter out of the blocks. His eyes scanned the floor faster than defenders could react, two on the left, one behind, the center planted in the paint like a tree trunk.
"Get him!" the opposing coach yelled, his voice cracking above the roar of the crowd.
They had been calling it all game: trap the small one, make him pass.
Yuuto did not.
He feinted right, got his defender leaning, then whipped the ball behind his back and cut left in one smooth motion. The crowd oohed. The defender's shoes betrayed him with a squeak as he stumbled.
The center charged, arms out, mouth twisted in a snarl, wingspan swallowing the lane. Yuuto planted, slid the ball under his arm in a flick, and kissed it high off the glass.
The ball danced on the rim.
Swish.
The gym erupted. Parents screamed. Students jumped to their feet. Yuuto's teammates slapped his back as they rushed to set up again.
Overtime. 70–70.
This was not just any game. It was the national middle school championship. The air hummed with the kind of tension only a tied title game could summon. Every dribble echoed louder. Every whistle cut sharper.
And for Yuuto, this was more than a championship.
Before the match, in the locker room hallway, his arch-rival Shun had leaned against the wall with that lazy smile.
"Bet you won't even survive this game, Kai," he had murmured. "When you break, I'll replace you as the prodigy."
Yuuto had scoffed, tossing his headband into Shun's chest. "Keep dreaming. I'm not going anywhere."
But now, with the score tied and the clock dwindling, those words simmered in the back of his mind like barbed wire.
This was not about winning anymore. This was about proving he belonged.
Overtime. 1:32 left. Score: 76–75. They were down by one.
Yuuto took the inbound pass at half-court. His heart thudded in his ears, matching the bounce of the ball. His teammates cleared out.
"Clear out!" Coach bellowed from the sideline, arms slicing the air.
The lane gaped like a challenge.
Yuuto rocked the ball from hand to hand, eyes locked on his defender's stance. The taller boy crouched low, reaching for the steal. Yuuto let him think he had one.
Yuuto's heart thumped against his ribs, adrenaline sharpening everything.
One more drive, just one more bucket to seal it.
He faked right, exploded left. The defender bit. Yuuto sliced into the lane, weaving between two players.
The rim loomed. One more step.
His foot planted hard. Too hard.
POP.
It was not just a sound. It was a shockwave that ripped up through his body. Pain detonated in his knee so violently he almost blacked out mid-step. His vision flickered, sweat chilling instantly.
He tried to go up for the layup, but his leg gave out completely. His body twisted midair before crashing to the floor. The ball rolled away, forgotten. The crowd gasped. The whistle shrieked.
"Yuuto!" his teammate shouted, sliding beside him.
Yuuto clutched his knee, his fingers trembling. It felt wrong, like the joint was no longer holding together. Warmth flooded under his skin. Not sweat. Blood.
He gritted his teeth, trying to push himself up, but the moment his leg moved even a centimeter, AGHHH! The scream tore out of him before he could stop it.
Two teammates knelt beside him. One reached out, but Yuuto flinched so hard the boy pulled back.
Coaches sprinted over. Shun stayed at half-court, still and unreadable. His smirk was gone.
"Don't move, don't move!" the coach barked. "Someone call an ambulance!"
His hearing started to fade in and out. The overhead lights blurred into blinding halos. The throbbing in his knee was wild and chaotic. Every pulse felt like another snap inside.
The medic team rushed onto the court. One gently placed a hand on his shin, another stabilized his thigh. Even that tiny adjustment made Yuuto jolt violently.
"What happened?" the medic asked.
"He planted and pop, he just collapsed," his teammate stammered.
Yuuto tried to breathe, tried to focus, but his stomach churned with nausea. The air around him felt too thick to inhale.
The medic's voice was low and urgent. "Possible ligament tear. Could be all three, ACL, MCL, and meniscus. Get him to the hospital, now!"
Yuuto's eyes widened. Those were not walk it off injuries. Those were goodbye, basketball injuries.
He tried to sit up. His body screamed, get up, but his knee was wrong, too loose in some places, too tight in others, bent at an angle no knee should go.
As they strapped his leg and lifted him onto the stretcher, the crowd's roar was gone. The only sound was the pounding in his head.
His teammates surrounded him, their encouragement barely reaching through the haze.
"Hang in there, Yuuto!"
"You'll be back, bro!"
He wanted to believe them.
As they wheeled him toward the exit, the ceiling lights passed overhead in stabbing intervals. The muffled sound of the final buzzer echoed from far away.
His coach walked alongside, eyes tight with worry. "Stay with us, Yuuto."
They rushed him through the side doors toward the waiting ambulance. The night air hit him like a bucket of ice water.
Yuuto's chest heaved. He gripped the stretcher rails until his knuckles went white. In his mind, one fear kept repeating, louder than the pain itself.
Please, do not let this be the end.
The ambulance doors slammed shut. Sirens wailed. They sped off toward the hospital.