The buzzer for the end of the first quarter faded into a low murmur from the stands. The team huddled around the bench, sweat dripping, jerseys clinging to skin. Coach Takeda crouched in front of them, eyes sharp.
"Good start," he said, voice firm but steady. "But don't get comfortable. They're rookies—you're supposed to be miles ahead of them. I like the energy, I like the hustle, but you're making mistakes we don't make in practice. Stay sharp. Stay focused. This isn't the time to relax."
He tapped the clipboard with his finger. "Second quarter, we go back to what we drilled all week: pressure defense, smart passes, attack the rim. Put some distance on them now, before they even think about a comeback."
He clapped once, loud enough to echo. "Lock in, execute, and break this game open. Let's go!"
The buzzer shrilled—BUZZZZZZ!—signaling the start of the second quarter. Marcus inhaled, shoulders tense, eyes sweeping the court. Seiryō jogged onto the hardwood, the polished floor gleaming under the overhead lights. Sweat already clung to foreheads, sneakers SQUEAK-SQUEAK! in anticipation.
Across the court, the Shikoku rookies had changed. Where before they relied on simple plays and cautious movement, now they were explosive, aggressive. Their coach had called a man-to-man defense—a bold adjustment that immediately put pressure on Seiryō.
"Man-to-man! Don't give them space!" Nishimura barked, pointing at Marcus. "Lock them down! Move your feet!"
The whistle PHWEEET! blew, and the rookies sprang to life. Akira Hoshino, the shooting guard, darted forward like a jagged shadow. Every step, every shift, every hesitation of the Seiryō players was analyzed and punished. The court was no longer familiar—it was a living, shifting wall of blue and white energy.
Marcus felt it instantly. Every dribble mirrored, every pass contested. The rookie small forward, Haruto Fujii, anticipated his movements before he made them.
They're reading me.
He dribbled past midcourt—POCK! POCK!—trying a crossover that had worked in practice a hundred times. Fujii slipped under the ball, fingertips brushing the leather—SNATCH!—forcing Marcus to retreat.
The crowd gasped as Marcus spun, breaking free, only to meet another rookie defender: Kaito Mizuno. Fast, compact, and deceptively strong. He didn't overcommit; he didn't need to. He simply blocked Marcus' line of attack, nudging him just enough to slow his momentum.
They're disciplined… smarter than I thought.
From the bleachers, Ayaka leaned forward, eyes wide. "They're… not just fast. They're thinking three moves ahead."
Kana nodded, clenching her fist. "That's why rookies like these are scary. Raw skill, yes—but disciplined. They don't panic. They read patterns and act, not react."
Meanwhile, Shunjin James, the small forward, faced Daigo Nishimura, Shikoku's center. The two locked eyes across half-court.
"1-on-1," Shun muttered, bouncing the ball—POCK! POCK!—feeling the weight of his role as the team's ace.
The whistle PHWEEET! shrilled again. Shun dribbled forward, quick steps punctuated by sharp sneakers—SQUEAK! SQUEAK!—against the polished hardwood. He feinted right, spun left, trying to create an opening, but Nishimura anticipated. Hands raised, stance wide, mirroring Shun's footwork perfectly. The crowd's cheers—"OOHH!"—felt distant.
He tried a behind-the-back crossover—WHOOSH!—but Nishimura's hand came down—SMACK!—forcing Shun to stop mid-dribble. He flicked a glance for an open teammate.
Marcus darted toward the left wing, the space narrow but enough. Shun spun, bouncing off Nishimura's shoulder—BUMP!—and snapped a no-look pass.
SWISH!
Shun didn't take the shot. Timing, precision, patience—the play was bigger than him.
Downcourt, Akira Hoshino received a crisp pass from Kaito Mizuno—THWAP!—pivoted midair, and launched a jumper over Riku Tanaka. SWISH! The scoreboard lit: Seiryō 14 – Shikoku 12.
Marcus exhaled, gripping the ball. The rookies weren't just fast—they were synchronized. Every defensive stance, pick, and cut was calculated.
They're playing like monsters.
Riku Tanaka called out, "Marcus! Control the tempo! Don't let them push us!"
Marcus nodded, ball heavier in his hands. Every decision scrutinized, every pass intercepted. The lead rookies were running the court.
Shun moved again, facing Nishimura with lightning speed. He darted left, spun—WHOOSH!—but Nishimura was ready. BLOCK! Shun's path sealed.
He tapped the ball backward to Kento Sato—TAP!—pivoted, midrange jumper ready, and released. Akira leaped—LEAP!—fingertips grazing it—TIP!—but the ball bounced harmlessly off the rim—CLANG!
Score: Seiryō 14 – Shikoku 16.
Coach Takeda's voice cut through the noise. "Marcus! Calm! Lead them. Don't chase the game—control it!"
Marcus nodded, trying to breathe through the adrenaline. Sweat poured down his face, sticking to his jersey. He adjusted his captain's armband, feeling the weight of responsibility pressing against his bicep.
The gym roared around him: SQUEAKING SHOES! POCK-POCK BALLS! SHOUTING! Every move magnified, every decision critical.
Shun, back on the ball, dribbled toward the baseline—POCK! POCK!—feinted left, darted right, but Nishimura anticipated. Magic alone wouldn't break this wall.
Time to set up the team.
A flick of his wrist—WHOOSH!—Shun passed to Daichi Moriyama, slipping past a rookie with a clever screen—BUMP! Daichi drove the lane, spun past Kaito Mizuno, and laid the ball in.
SWISH!
The home crowd erupted: "SEI-RYO! SEI-RYO!" Score: 18 – 20.
Marcus exhaled, narrowing his eyes. He had to regain control. Dribbling, scanning, defending, he lunged—SNATCH!—forcing a turnover and sprinted the fast break—TAP-TAP-TAP!
He looked for Shun, but rookie defense shifted. Every lane cut off. He pivoted, saw Riku Tanaka near the paint. Faked left, drove right, bouncing a pass over a rookie's arm—BOUNCE!
Shun caught it midstride, spun for a layup—WHOOSH!—but Nishimura leaped—LEAP!—fingertips grazing the leather—TIP! The ball clanged off the backboard—CLANG!
Score remains: 18 – 20.
Coach Shimizu slammed his clipboard—BANG!—shouting, "Focus! Discipline! Adjust to their speed!"
The rookies didn't flinch. Nishimura's defense, Mizuno's screens, Akira's cuts—executed with near-unnatural precision. Seiryō was talented, yes, but today the rookies were running a clinic.
The quarter ticked down. Marcus dribbled, passed, pivoted, shot—every action countered. Faster, sharper, thinking ahead.
A quick pass from Haruto to Akira—THWAP!—spin move around Riku—WHOOSH!—jump shot—SWISH! Three more points for the visitors.
Scoreboard flashed: Seiryō 20 – Shikoku 23.
Marcus' jaw clenched. Calls weren't perfect. Missed screens punished immediately.
The whistle PHWEEET! shrilled. Timeout. Players jogged to benches—TAP-TAP!—chest heaving. Marcus sat, towel in hand—WIPE!
Coach Takeda leaned close. "Don't panic. Lead them. First real test as captain. They're disciplined, yes—but you have experience. Trust your instincts."
Marcus exhaled, sweat stinging his eyes. Looked at Shun, Kento, Daichi, and Riku. We can't let them run this court. We just can't.
Crowd buzzed: "OOHH…!" Rookies taking a double-digit lead against senior veterans? Unheard of. Scoreboard confirmed: Seiryō High 24 – Shikoku High 37.
Marcus inhaled deeply. The rookies had shown their power—but fire was building in his chest. This isn't over. We'll adjust. We'll adapt. And I'll lead this team.