The referee's whistle PIIIIIIIIIIIIIII! cut through the gym like a starter gun.
The ball spun high, slicing a perfect arc toward the gym lights. All eyes fixed on the two tallest players: Riku Tanaka of Seiryō High and Daigo Nishimura of Shikoku High.
Both landed beneath the ball, sneakers SQUEAK! SQUEAK! on the hardwood as they shifted.
Tanaka's broad shoulders tensed, legs coiled like springs. Nishimura mirrored him, damp hair clinging, eyes narrowed. They rose together, slicing the air—jerseys rippling, a soft WHOOOOSH!—and Tanaka's extra half-inch tipped the ball slightly toward Marcus. He lunged forward, lightning-fast, cradling the ball under his arm.
His vision went almost mechanical. Every player, teammate and opponent alike, moved in fractions of seconds. Tiny misalignments, subtle gaps, rookie overextensions—they all leapt out.
"Why did they do that?" Ayaka whispered from the bleachers, her voice lost beneath the bouncing ball—POCK! POCK!
Kana nudged her. "See the tip-off? Two tallest players usually. Centers get it—they control the jump, control the first possession. That's everything. Watch Marcus. He's deciding the opening play."
Marcus dribbled past half-court—POCK! POCK! POCK!—while Shunjin James sprinted diagonally, weaving through rookie defenders like a needle threading fabric.
"Small forward speed and timing are everything," Kana whispered, almost swallowed by the SQUEEEEEEEAK! of sneakers and the sharp SLAP! of palms on thighs.
Shun cut into the soft spot between power forward and center—deliberately.
The gym erupted: SQUEAK-SQUEAK! THUD! THUD!—and chants, "SEI-RYO! SEI-RYO!"
Marcus feinted left, drove forward, eyes on Shun. A flick of Shun's wrist signaled readiness. Marcus spun the ball around a defender, tapping into a narrow gap in Shikoku's defense.
This is threading the needle, he thought. One wrong move, and it snaps shut. Timing is everything.
He tossed a sharp pass to Shun, who cut toward the baseline, spun midair, and launched. But rookie power forward Kaito Mizuno leapt—BLOCK!—and the crowd gasped. Even Ayaka flinched.
Kana whispered, "See that? Don't underestimate rookies. First-form players like him react instinctively. Timing, instincts—it's raw but deadly."
Marcus clenched his jaw. They're not weak, as I thought.
Riku Tanaka positioned near the paint, ready for a rebound. Nishimura mirrored him, muscles tense, eyes locked. The ball bounced high. Tanaka leapt—but Nishimura anticipated. With a precise swipe—SMACK!—the ball landed in Akira Hoshino's hands, Shikoku's small forward.
Akira spun, lightning-fast despite his five-five frame, weaving past Marcus with tiny, unpredictable steps—TAP! TAP! TAP! The ball hit the rim—CLANG!—then bounced out, a near miss.
"Wow…" Ayaka murmured. "Even the small ones can make plays."
Kana nodded. "Size matters, but instincts and footwork level the field."
Seiryō's defense regrouped. Marcus barked instructions: "Riku, block the lane! Shun, cut inside! Kento, cover the shooter!"
The court became chaotic rhythm: sneakers squeaking—SQUEAK! SQUEAK!—balls bouncing—POCK! POCK! POCK! Marcus spotted a small opening between Mizuno and Akira. Pivot. Pass to Shun. Mid-range jumper—SWISH!
First score on the board. 2–0.
Coach Takeda clapped—CLAP! CLAP! "Good, but stay alert! Rookies are unpredictable."
Marcus wiped sweat from his brow. Fast… and smart. Not easy, this quarter—it's alive.
The crowd chanted, intensity building. Even bench rookies leaned forward, eyes wide.
Kana explained quietly to Ayaka, "Every position has a role. Point guard controls flow, shooting guard opens mid-range, small forward creates angles, power forward sets screens and rebounds, center anchors the paint."
Daichi Moriyama, Seiryō's power forward, set a screen on Kaito—BUMP! Marcus dribbled past—POCK! POCK!—pivoted, and passed to Riku Tanaka, who spun inside for a jump hook.
The ball kissed the backboard—KISS!—and dropped in. Score: 4–0.
"See Daichi's screen? Timing and coordination create space, even against strong defense."
Ayaka leaned forward. "Basketball is like… chess with movement."
Kento Sato, Seiryō's shooting guard, sprinted toward the baseline—TAP! TAP!—received the pass, and launched a perfect three-pointer. NET SWISH! Score: 7–0.
Coach Shimizu whistled—PHWEEET! "Good start. Keep the pace!"
Shikoku regrouped. Nishimura called a pick-and-roll with Akira. The rookies moved as one, exploiting small missteps. Akira faked left, spun right—WHOOSH!—and scored. First points for the visitors: 7–2.
Marcus blinked. Sharper than expected.
The quarter roared on. Haruto Fujii intercepted—SNATCH!—raced downcourt—TAP-TAP-TAP!—and slammed it home—SLAM-DUNK! Daichi tipped a rebound—BOUNCE! SWISH!—layup immediately after.
The clock ticked—BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!—tension rising. Every play carried weight, every mistake amplified crowd roar: "OOOHHH!"
Finally, the buzzer blared—BUZZZZZZZ! Score: 14–6. Seiryō led, but the Shikoku rookies had flashes of brilliance that made every veteran pause.
On the bench, Yuuto Inoue clenched his fists, eyes locked on the court. Next quarter, I'll show them what I can do. I won't be invisible.
Ayaka nudged Kana. "I can't believe they're rookies…"
Kana smirked. "Age doesn't matter. Skill, timing, and instinct can beat experience if used right."
The crowd roared—"SEI-RYO! SEI-RYO!"—as both teams jogged off, hands clapping—CLAP! CLAP! Students cheered, but every player knew: the game had only just begun.