Shoyo poured everything into their offense, trying every tactic they could, but no matter how they adjusted, the score difference remained stubbornly unyielding.
The 13-point lead was a wall, immovable and oppressive. Every offensive attempt felt like wading through molasses. Faces streaked with sweat, jerseys clinging to their bodies, breaths coming faster with each dribble—fatigue slowly crept into their movements.
Meanwhile, Ryonan remained composed. With Akashi orchestrating from the center, every player moved with precision. Sendoh drove the wings, drawing defenders; Fukuda Kiccho attacked the paint; Uozumi guarded the rim. And Akashi, the team's very nervous system, threaded it all together with one perfect pass after another.
Each pass was a marvel—predicting defensive movements with uncanny precision, leaving opponents frozen.
The first pass.
Sendoh sprinted down the sideline, Mitsuru Nagano chasing desperately, half a body-length behind. It seemed interception was inevitable.
Akashi, several meters away with a human wall of Shoyo defenders between him and Sendoh, flicked his wrist lightly. The ball shot into the air, tracing a steep, almost vertical arc.
The court froze.
Fujima Kenji blinked, stunned. Spectators gasped. The ball traveled nearly ten meters and landed precisely a meter ahead of Sendoh, perfectly positioned for his next stride. Mitsuru Nagano could do nothing but watch as Sendoh caught it effortlessly.
Sendoh leapt, slammed the ball into the hoop. Clang… swish.
The second pass.
Akashi held the ball outside the three-point line, facing Fujima's tight defense. A slight lean, a subtle shoulder tilt to fake a drive—Fujima's balance shifted just enough.
Then the ball dropped, bouncing in a broken, unpredictable line: around Takano Shoichi's ankle, grazing Hanagata Toru's shoe, landing at Uozumi's feet.
Uozumi reacted in time, soaring to slam it home over his own defense. Clang… swish.
The third pass.
Fukuda Kiccho ran the wing, tightly marked by Hasegawa. No chance of receiving the ball—or so it seemed.
Akashi flicked the ball in a straight, laser-like trajectory, threading it between two Shoyo defenders. Fukuda froze in disbelief, then instinctively cut to the basket and scored effortlessly. Swish…
The fourth pass.
Koshino Hiroaki was pressed by Hasegawa. Akashi dribbled at the center line, faking three times left and right, shifting Fujima's weight. In that fraction of a second, he slaps the ball between Fujima's legs.
The ball bounced perfectly, threading the narrow space and arriving in Koshino's hands. Without hesitation, Koshino launched a three-pointer. Swish.
Each pass was a masterpiece—high arcs, low bounces, straight lines, and clever between-the-legs feeds. Every shot found its mark. The crowd erupted, watching in disbelief.
Yet Shoyo refused to break. Every time Ryonan scored, Shoyo responded with their own calculated offense. Every brilliant pass Akashi delivered was met with quick defensive adjustments on the next possession.
Still, the 13-point gap loomed like an invisible barrier. No matter how hard they tried, Shoyo could not close it… until now.
20 to 7. 25 to 12. 28 to 16…
The first half wound down. Fatigue weighed heavily on the players. Sweat drenched Fujima Kenji's face as he leaned over, chest heaving, staring at the scoreboard: Ryonan 30 – Shoyo 17.
Only five minutes remained. Possession returned to Shoyo.
Fujima wiped sweat from his face and dribbled to the three-point line, signaling a pick-and-roll with Hanagata Toru. Hanagata immediately pressed his shoulder against Sendoh, creating a crucial opening.
Fujima surged toward the basket, the ball bouncing perfectly in his palm. Akashi rushed to intercept—but Fujima was ready. In a single fluid motion, he passed to Hanagata Toru, who scooped the ball and feinted over Uozumi.
Uozumi reached instinctively, fingertips brushing the ball. Hanagata pulled back, tilted right, and released.
Swish… The referee blew the whistle.
"Ryonan number 5, shooting foul, basket counts. One free throw awarded."
Uozumi gritted his teeth, silently cursing, while Sendoh reassured him: "Don't worry. We'll get it back."
Hanagata stepped up to the line, breathed deeply, and released the ball. Swish…
Ryonan 30 – Shoyo 20.
Fujima high-fived Hanagata. "Good job! Keep drawing fouls and looking for openings. Slowly, we'll narrow the gap."
Hanagata nodded, eyes sharp with determination.
For the first time in minutes, Shoyo had made real progress—closing the gap to within ten points.