“Beep!”
The referee's whistle sounded, and Morishige Hiroshi's fourth foul gesture was particularly glaring under the lights.
Meihou Industrial's bench instantly fell silent. The cheering that had been boiling just a moment ago was cut off, leaving only the dull thud of a basketball rolling on the floor.
Rikawa's players didn't waste any time. Kawaguchi Shota picked up the ball and inbounded it. Watanabe Kenji received the ball, accelerated, broke through, and scored a layup with Itakura Yuta's screen—25:19. The lead was narrowed by two points again.
“Meihou Industrial calls a timeout!”
The Meihou coach almost yelled this sentence. He grabbed the tactics board and rushed to the sidelines, his steps half a beat faster than usual.
Morishige Hiroshi stood still, looking down at his sneakers, his knuckles white. His back, where Sota Sasuke had bumped him, still felt faintly stiff.
“A-Kuan! Come here!” The coach's voice carried an undeniable urgency.
Morishige Hiroshi slowly walked towards the bench. As he passed Sota Sasuke, the Fat Man was still panting under the basket. Seeing him look over, he even nodded at him foolishly—he didn't look like an opponent, but rather like he was 'recognizing a relative,' which made Morishige Hiroshi clench his back molars. He just clenched his fists and quickened his pace.
On the bench, several players kept their heads down and remained silent.
Kinoshita Shota gripped his towel, wiping sweat, his eyes secretly glancing at the coach's expression—the coach was squatting on the ground, his fingers tracing lines on the tactics board, his brows furrowed like an unravelable knot.
“There are two minutes left in the first half, A-Kuan can't go back in.” The assistant coach leaned over, his voice very low, “With four fouls, Rikawa will definitely try to draw a fifth. If he fouls out, we'll be in a passive position in the second half.”
The coach didn't say a word, tapping his fingertips on the tactics board. After a few taps, he suddenly stopped and looked up at Morishige Hiroshi, who had just walked over: “You sit down and rest. Yamada, you go in, replace A-Kuan.”
Morishige Hiroshi suddenly looked up, his lips moving as if to say something, but meeting the coach's stern gaze, the words at the tip of his tongue were swallowed back.
He knew what the coach meant—fouling out in the first half would be a fatal blow to the team's morale. But to be 'forced' off the court by that Fat Man who only knew how to crash into people, his heart felt as if it was stuffed with cotton.
“What are you standing there for?” The coach urged again, his voice less urgent than before, but carrying an irresistible force, “A-Kuan should be calm, especially at a time like this!”
“...Understood.” Morishige Hiroshi responded sullenly, walked to the end of the bench, and sat down, draping a towel over his neck. His eyes, however, remained fixed on the court—Sota Sasuke was standing under the basket, stretching his wrists, his loose, sloppy appearance making his hands itch again.
Yamada Akira quickly took off his jacket and ran onto the court. As he passed Morishige Hiroshi, he hesitated, then patted his arm: “I...I'll try my best to defend.”
Morishige Hiroshi ignored him, only staring at the basket.
The coach squatted in front of Yamada Akira, explaining rapidly: “You don't have to go head-to-head with Sota. If he tries to post up, just take half a step back. First, protect the rebound!
Rikawa's Watanabe will definitely drive to the inside. Don't reach out. Wait for the right moment to jump and block. Do you hear me?”
“Understood!” Yamada Akira nodded vigorously, sweat dripping down his cheeks from his forehead.
The assistant coach looked at Morishige Hiroshi's tense profile and whispered to the coach: “A-Kuan's temper, I'm afraid he's holding back a lot of anger.”
The coach glanced at Morishige Hiroshi, said nothing, but pointed to the tactics board: “Miyato, you need to move more later and draw Watanabe's attention; Kinoshita, don't lob the ball inside anymore, look for Nakagawa for three-pointers! Iwata, you stand closer to the basket and help Yamada with rotations!”
“Understood!” Several players quickly nodded.
The timeout whistle blew, and Yamada Akira took a deep breath as he walked onto the court, his steps looking a bit heavy.
Morishige Hiroshi sat on the bench, his fingers unconsciously picking at the edge of the seat—when he was on the court, how dared Rikawa charge the basket so recklessly?
It was Meihou's possession. After Kinoshita Shota dribbled past Kawaguchi Shota, he indeed didn't lob it inside, but passed the ball to Nakagawa Hiroki in the corner.
Nakagawa Hiroki caught the ball and shot immediately, the basketball flying in an arc—
“Swish!” A three-pointer, nothing but net. 28:19.
A sparse cheer erupted from the Meihou bench, but Morishige Hiroshi didn't move, his eyes still fixed on the basket: Yamada Akira was being tightly guarded by Sota Sasuke, not even touching the edge of the rebound.
Rikawa attacked. As Watanabe Kenji dribbled past half-court, he specifically glanced at Meihou's interior. Seeing Yamada Akira standing there, he smirked, then suddenly accelerated, broke through, and charged straight for the basket—he didn't take Yamada Akira seriously at all.
Yamada Akira gritted his teeth and stepped forward, wanting to reach out to stop him, but then remembered the coach's instruction, “Don't reach out.” His hand, half-raised, retracted.
In that moment of hesitation, Watanabe Kenji had already brushed past him and easily scored a layup—28:21.
As Watanabe Kenji landed, he specifically looked towards the bench, his gaze sweeping over Morishige Hiroshi with undisguised triumph.
Morishige Hiroshi suddenly clenched his fists, the towel twisted out of shape by his grip.
On the next possession, when Sota Sasuke was posting up under the basket, he deliberately leaned into Yamada Akira. Yamada Akira lost his footing and stumbled back two steps.
Sota Sasuke took the opportunity to catch a pass from his teammate and was about to turn for a layup—
“Beep!” The referee's whistle blew, “Defensive foul!”
Yamada Akira's face turned pale, and he quickly explained: “I didn't touch him!”
The referee ignored him and signaled for a free throw.
Morishige Hiroshi suddenly stood up, about to speak, but was pulled back by a teammate next to him: “The coach is watching.”
He looked back and saw the coach frowning at him, his eyes carrying a warning to 'behave'.
Morishige Hiroshi sat down disgruntled, but the fire in his heart burned even stronger—if he were on the court, how could Sota be so arrogant?
Sota Sasuke made one of two free throws, making the score 28:22.
In the stands, Gu Jin sighed softly: “Meihou is really in a passive position now. With Morishige Hiroshi out, their interior completely lacks deterrence, and Rikawa can play without any inhibitions.”
Sendo nodded: “Rikawa calculated that they needed to wear down Morishige Hiroshi in the first half—without him, Meihou loses half its life. Meihou can't avoid this 'fear of repercussions' situation.”
With only ten seconds left on the game clock, Yamada Akira stood under the basket, his back ramrod straight, but no matter how he looked, he exuded a sense of powerlessness.
Morishige Hiroshi sat on the bench, watching the Rikawa players moving on the court, his knuckles white—he had never felt two minutes pass so agonizingly slow.
