The air in the gymnasium was like a compressed sponge; every breath carried a heavy weight.
When the halftime whistle blew, the numbers on the scoreboard made everyone's jaws drop—58:47, Shoyo was leading.
Fujima bent over, hands on his knees, sweat trickling down his neck into his jersey. He looked up at the Hainan half-court, meeting Maki Shinichi's gaze.
That gaze no longer held the initial disdain, only a tempered sharpness, as if to say, 'The real show has just begun.'
In the locker room during halftime, the Shoyo players' heavy breathing filled the air.
Hanagata Toru had a new kinesiology tape on his knee, and Hasegawa's shoulder was being massaged by a teammate.
Fujima twisted open a mineral water bottle and took two big gulps; water streamed down his chin to his chest. "They'll be aggressively fighting for rebounds in the second half, so focus on boxing out." His voice was a bit hoarse, but carried an undeniable firmness.
The whistle for the second half sounded like a clap of thunder.
Hainan's offense suddenly picked up speed, and Maki Shinichi, like a wild horse unleashed, drove with a devastating momentum.
In their third clash, he forcefully broke through Yongno's defense and was about to go for a layup when Fujima lunged from behind, not to steal the ball, but to block his layup path with his body.
The two collided in mid-air. Maki Shinichi stumbled half a step upon landing, but Fujima fell hard onto the floor with a dull thud that made the audience gasp.
"Are you alright?" Hanagata Toru reached out to help him up, but Fujima had already pushed himself off the floor, dusting off his jersey. "Keep going."
The next ten minutes became a wrestling match between Fujima and Maki Shinichi.
Maki Shinichi used bulldozer-like drives to tear through the defense, and Fujima countered with ghost-like passes to dismantle Hainan's zone defense.
When Maki Shinichi assisted Kiyota for a fast-break dunk, Fujima immediately retaliated with a buzzer-beating three-pointer.
When Maki Shinichi completed a bank shot under the basket over Hanagata, Fujima turned around and sank a swish from beyond the arc, contested by Muto Tadashi.
They were like two blades grinding against each other, sparks flying with every collision. The numbers on the scoreboard climbed alternately, but the gap was steadily closing.
Because Shoyo's stamina, after all, couldn't hold out.
Yongno's movements gradually slowed, Hasegawa's shots started to miss, and Hanagata Toru struggled more and more with boxing out under the basket.
Hainan seized the opportunity, taking the lead with a 12:2 run. With one minute left in the game, it was 78:76, Hainan leading.
Last 30 seconds, Shoyo ball.
Fujima stood with the ball beyond the three-point line, his vision blurred by sweat.
He could hear the shouts from the stands, feel his teammates' gazes, and see his defender—Maki Shinichi.
He stood with his arms spread, like an insurmountable mountain.
"Shoyo is done for," someone sighed from the back row.
Fujima suddenly smiled.
It wasn't his usual gentle smile, but one with a hint of desperate determination.
He dribbled, between his legs, behind his back, a series of crossovers that made Maki Shinichi's balance shift slightly.
In that instant, he suddenly drove to the left. Maki Shinichi immediately moved to block, and their shoulders collided again.
Just when everyone thought Fujima was going for a forced drive, he suddenly stopped short, leaned back slightly, and raised his right hand high—
It was a three-pointer!
The moment the basketball left his hand, Fujima felt a numb weakness in his wrist.
He watched the ball arc through the air, that arc like stretched time, slow enough to be suffocating.
Maki Shinichi instinctively jumped to block, his fingertips brushing the edge of the ball, altering its perfect trajectory.
The basketball hit the front rim, bounced up, spun twice in the air, and then slammed back down on the rim.
"Beep—"
The final whistle blew.
The basketball was still wobbling on the rim, like an unresolved question mark.
The gymnasium was so quiet you could hear heartbeats.
Fujima stood still, watching the basketball finally roll off the rim, hitting the floor with a "thump-thump" sound, like a drumbeat in everyone's hearts.
78:76, Hainan wins.
Maki Shinichi, breathing heavily, walked up to Fujima.
Sunlight streamed through the high windows, falling on both of them, one with the fatigue of a victor, the other with the calm of a loser.
"Good game," Maki Shinichi's voice was deep.
Fujima didn't reply. He looked up at the scoreboard, then turned to his teammates—Hanagata Toru was holding his knees, Hasegawa wiped his face, Yongno was squatting on the ground, but no one was crying.
They lost, yet it seemed they had won something.
A thunderous applause suddenly erupted from the stands, more enthusiastic than for any victory.
Fujima smiled, a genuine smile this time, the red marks at the corners of his eyes mixed with sweat, dripping onto the floor, spreading into a small dark stain.
Perhaps this is basketball.
Not every persistence yields a result, but some persistence can make the result less important.
The echo of the final whistle hadn't completely faded when the murmuring in the stands surged like a tide.
"My goodness, Shoyo played an amazing game!" Someone gripped an empty mineral water bottle, their voice still trembling with excitement.
"If Fujima's last three-pointer had gone in..." The person next to them clicked their tongue, not finishing the sentence, but their eyes were full of regret.
"A pity, but Hainan still won," someone sighed, then quickly changed the subject, "But then again, Ryonan versus Ryokufu in two days, that's the main event, isn't it?"
"Exactly! Hainan is already set, so the remaining National Tournament ticket will depend on these two teams fighting to the death!"
"Ryonan has been on fire lately, and Gu Jin is an unsolvable presence."
"Ryokufu is no pushover either. They were already frustrated by their loss to Hainan, so they'll definitely bring their A-game against Ryonan this time."
Amidst the discussions, some began to pull out the schedule to take photos, others were already discussing their viewing route for two days later, and even spectators in the aisles slowed their steps, arguing in twos and threes about the outcome—Ryonan's fast break versus Ryokufu's half-court offense, Gu Jin's all-around play versus Ryokufu's core player's drives, became unavoidable topics in everyone's conversations.
Meanwhile, that evening, the atmosphere in the Ryokufu gymnasium was as heavy as if it had been chilled.
In the tactics room, Ryonan Team player profiles were still taped to the whiteboard, and Gu Jin's photo was circled again and again with a red pen.
The Ryokufu coach stood in front of the whiteboard, tapping his marker on the table with a "thump-thump" sound, each tap like a knock on the players' hearts.
"Shoyo lost," the coach began, his voice not loud, but it instantly silenced the noisy room. "This means that our game against Ryonan in two days is our only chance."
He raised his hand to point at the scoreboard on the whiteboard, where Ryokufu's name was followed by a glaring record of one win and one loss.
"If we win, we still have a chance to get a National Tournament ticket; if we lose, this season ends here."
The coach's gaze swept across each player's face. "Shoyo showed everyone today that even without hope of advancing, they can still play their own basketball. But we are different—we still have hope, and a reason we must win."
In the corner, Ryokufu's ace player, Mike Okita, clenched his fists.
He recalled the frustration from their last game against Hainan, the silent backs of his teammates in the locker room, and also, that person was Gu Jin, he absolutely couldn't lose!
And the coach just said this was "the only chance."
"Limiting Ryonan's inside play, limiting Sakuragi's rebounds and Uozumi's post-ups are also key," the coach began drawing tactics on the whiteboard. "Their overall fast break is fierce, so we must slow down the tempo and play a half-court offense for efficiency. And Gu Jin..." He paused, tapping his finger on Gu Jin's photo. "This person, we cannot let him get the ball easily."
None of the players spoke, only nodded vigorously.
Sweat trickled down their foreheads, dripping onto the floor, spreading into small dark stains—a stubbornness similar to Shoyo's players, a determination to face the tiger even knowing the mountain holds danger.
That showdown in two days hung over them like a massive rock, pressing heavily on everyone's nerves, yet also igniting the last flame in their eyes.
"Everyone, snap out of it," the coach put away his marker, a hint of ruthlessness in his voice. "This battle, it's either live or die."
A unified response echoed through the room, making the windowpanes tremble slightly.
Everyone knew that the gymnasium in two days would be a bloodbath.