Another roar of excitement exploded from the crowd, echoing across the gymnasium like a thunderclap.
Throughout the intense match, Kouhei had become the center of attention, sinking four consecutive three-point shots with flawless precision—an incredible twelve-point streak that sent waves of energy through the court.
Now, the once daunting thirty-point lead held by Sotomura had been chipped down to just twenty-one. The opposing team still hadn't managed to add to their score, and their grip on the game was starting to feel shaky.
There were still roughly seven minutes left on the clock. The point difference remained significant, but if Kouhei and his team kept up this momentum for the remainder of the match, it wasn't out of the question—they might actually catch up. And if things continued , they could even surpass Sotomura.
And that… that would be humiliating.
Especially for someone like Sotomura—a player who had always been considered a basketball prodigy. Praised and admired for his skills in the club, respected for his technique, and known for being one of the top-tier talents. Losing to someone like Kouhei—who didn't even seem like he'd played basketball seriously before this—was something his pride couldn't stomach.
That was precisely why he couldn't afford to let them build any further momentum. One spark could lead to an inferno, and if it got out of control… it'd be game over for him.
And so, the next five minutes of the match played out like a tug-of-war with pressure mounting on both sides. The gap between the scores gradually narrowed, inch by inch, as Kouhei pushed forward with relentless determination. But no matter how close they got, it wasn't quite enough to overtake Sotomura.
Kouhei had become the main target now—three members of Sotomura's team were on him like a pack of wolves, closing in every time he tried to make a move. His breathing grew heavier, his steps more calculated, as he tried to maneuver around the suffocating defense. He could barely shift his position without being met with resistance. The score gap still stood at thirteen points.
It wasn't as crushing as it had been earlier, but with only two minutes left, they still weren't out of danger. Time was ticking, and the clock felt louder with every passing second.
The atmosphere in the stands had shifted entirely. A thick tension hung in the air, palpable and nerve-wracking. The crowd had gone from wild excitement to gripping anticipation.
Among them stood Hiyori, her eyes wide, her breath caught in her throat ever since Kouhei had entered the court. Her hands were clenched tightly together in front of her chest, knuckles white.
She felt her heart pound each time Kouhei made a shot—fluttering with excitement and pride—but at the same time, the creeping anxiety gnawed at her. No matter how hard he pushed, they still hadn't managed to bridge the gap completely. It was as if time and points were slipping through their fingers.
She wanted to scream, to shout his name and cheer him on with all her heart—but embarrassment anchored her voice down. So instead, she mouthed her encouragement silently, lips trembling with nervous energy.
"Okumura-kun, you can do this…!"
The words passed through her lips, unheard by anyone else. She whispered them into the air, hoping he could somehow feel her support across the court.
Of course, no one would have known who she was cheering for—at least, not visibly.
No one, except the white-haired girl who stood right beside her—Hina.
"You seem to be cheering for someone, Ichinose Hiyori…" Hina said, her voice cool and unwavering as her sharp eyes shifted toward Hiyori. "Am I mistaken, or are you directing your support to a particular person?"
"E-Eh? What do you mean, Saionji-san?" Hiyori responded, eyes blinking rapidly as her face flushed a deep shade of red.
"I'm asking whether you're cheering for only one specific person… and by that, I mean Kouhei."
The word escaped her lips in a high, panicked tone, her cheeks burning. "N-No! That's not it! I'm obviously cheering for everyone."
Her voice cracked slightly—pitched higher from embarrassment. It wasn't just because she'd been caught, but because Hina was actually speaking to her properly. Normally, Hina would only offer the shortest responses—a nod here, a curt "yes" or "no" there. This was the first time she'd engaged her in an actual conversation.
"There's no need to pretend, Ichinose Hiyori," Hina said flatly, not even blinking. "You're in love with Kouhei, aren't you?"
The words dropped like a weight between them.
Right then, another cheer erupted from the crowd. Kouhei had sunk another three-pointer.
The timing was perfect. The noise drowned Hina's words to the rest of the spectators. No one else heard her.
Hiyori froze. Her voice faltered, her brain struggling to catch up with what she'd just heard. Confusion, shock, and overwhelming embarrassment filled her chest like a balloon ready to burst.
"You're very much in love with Kouhei," Hina repeated, her voice devoid of emotion.
"I-Is that bad…?" Hiyori stammered out. "That I'm in love with him? I mean… it's not like you're dating him, right?"
There was a subtle shift in her tone. It was no longer just defensive—it sounded like a challenge. She was confronting a rival. She had something to protect.
Hina's eyes flicked to her. For a moment, she looked like she was about to say something—something important. That she and Kouhei were actually dating now.
But she stopped herself. That was still a secret. A carefully guarded one.
"I'm not saying it's bad or wrong," Hina said quietly. "I'm just saying… you might not be able to handle him."
"What do you mean exactly by that? Are you saying I don't measure up to him? Or that I'm just not his type or something?"
Hiyori's voice trembled slightly, her brows furrowed in confusion and a hint of frustration. Her chest tightened, trying to decipher what Hina was getting at.
"No, it's not that. It's..." Hina replied, her voice low and calm. She slowly leaned closer, closing the distance between them until her lips were right by Hiyori's ear. Her breath brushed softly against her skin, sending an involuntary shiver through her body. And then, in a whisper that cut straight through the air, she uttered a single, taboo word—
Hiyori nearly choked on the word. Her voice cracked sharply, and her cheeks immediately burst into flames. She instinctively looked around, panicked, praying no one else had heard that explosive word escape her lips.
"That's right," Hina continued, unfazed and composed. "Sex. You know? You're not ready for that. You can't handle it. His thing is… , you know?"
Without warning, she lifted her hand and placed it casually near her own crotch, holding her palm flat against her lower abdomen—then slowly slid it upward until it hovered just above her navel. Her fingers marked the size with shocking confidence, her hand tracing the shape Kouhei had hidden beneath his clothes.
Hiyori's eyes widened in disbelief, her breath caught in her throat. Her face went from red to crimson in an instant. Her brain struggled to process what she had just seen, what she had just heard—especially coming from Hina, of all people.
"W-Wait, Saionji-san, d-don't tell me you've…!?"
It was then that Hina finally showed something Hiyori had never seen from her before. A smile. But not just any smile—a sly, dangerous, teasing one that curled at the corners of her lips like a spark about to ignite something wild. It wasn't kind. It wasn't warm. It was mischievous. And it made the hairs on Hiyori's arms stand on end.
"Although we're not dating," Hina said with a cool, almost indifferent tone, "that doesn't mean we can't do it, right?"
Then, without another word, Hina turned her back and walked away. Her posture was elegant, composed—but something about her steps, the sway of her hips, felt victorious. Confident.
Hiyori stood frozen in place, watching the distance between them grow with every click of Hina's heels on the floor.
"D-Did she really just come here just to tell me that…?" the thought echoed inside her head like a bell tolling.
It didn't feel like casual gossip.
No… it felt like a challenge.
On the court, the tension was suffocating. The match between Takahashi and Sotomura had reached its boiling point. Only thirty seconds remained on the clock, and the scoreboard flashed with a difference of just five points.
Takahashi had the ball. His movements were sharp, weaving through defenders like a blade through silk. He swept across the floor with purpose, eyes locked on the basket—but then, sensing danger, passed the ball toward Kouhei.
But Sotomura was fast—too fast. He intercepted immediately, forcing Kouhei to redirect the pass once again. The ball sailed to another teammate, who didn't hesitate to shoot.
The crowd held their breath.
Now only three points stood between the teams.
The moment the ball hit the floor, Sotomura grabbed it and darted to the opposite side of the court. He didn't stop to think. He didn't calculate. He simply moved. And then, without pause, he launched the shot.
But Kouhei wasn't done.
He appeared like a shadow out of nowhere, leaping high into the air—arms outstretched—slamming his hand against the ball. A clean, brutal block.
It was unreal. Sotomura was massive, built like a tank. And yet, Kouhei had denied him.
Without missing a beat, Kouhei landed, pivoted, and sprinted down the court. The arena roared in a frenzy. Only ten seconds left.
He could feel the clock ticking in his veins. The noise. The weight of the ball. The pressure was crushing.
As he reached the edge of the three-point line, Sotomura came charging in like a freight train.
Kouhei planted his feet and took the shot.
The ball rose high into the air, arcing like a slow-motion bullet. Everyone's eyes followed it—time itself seemed to freeze.
It didn't sink cleanly.
It bounced against the rim once.
It rolled around the edge—teasing, circling, dancing on the edge of fate.
And then—it dropped off the side.
Silence blanketed the court.
The shot didn't make it.
And just like that, it was over.