Gu Jin, if it were you, what would you do?
Maki Shinichi stared in the direction of Rikawa's half-court, his steps halting.
After that steal, Rikawa clearly picked up the pace. Kawaguchi Shota's eyes were fierce as he dribbled, and even his passes carried an urgent force.
He vaguely recalled Gu Jin standing on the court, that guy always seemed to play purely. There was an indescribable purity in his offense and defense!
That's right, purely playing basketball?
Everyone, whether winning or losing, is just purely playing basketball!
This thought was like a charcoal fire that ignited without warning.
"A Mu! What are you spacing out for?"
Takato Riki's roar crashed over from the sidelines, accompanied by the crisp sound of his tactic board hitting the railing.
Maki Shinichi suddenly snapped back to reality, only to find Rikawa's players already upon him.
Maki Shinichi bent down and patted the ball. The sweat on his palm made the ball slippery, but he seemed not to notice, his fingertips suddenly applying more force. The basketball bounced urgently and loudly on the floor, "Thump-thump."
Rikawa's double-team had just lunged half a step forward when Maki Shinichi suddenly lowered his shoulder—not to the left, nor to the right, but charging straight into the gap between the two of them!
He squeezed through forcefully, his elbows rigid as he dribbled, not letting the opponents touch the ball.
"Stop him!" Sato Jiro shouted urgently from the bench.
Sota Sasuke came over from under the basket, his 193-centimeter body blocking the basket like a wall, his arms stretched out long, trying to seal off Maki Shinichi's path.
But Maki Shinichi didn't even look at the hoop.
He suddenly stopped half a step in front of Sota, his wrist flipping sharply as if it had a spring—the basketball flew past Sota's elbow, tracing an arc so fast it was almost invisible, landing precisely in Jin Soichiro's hands on the right side outside the three-point line.
A Shen didn't even look at the hoop when he caught the ball, jumping and flicking his wrist in one fluid motion.
Rikawa's players lunged but only grasped air—"Swish!" The ball went through the net without touching the rim. 57:39.
The stands erupted with a "Whoa!" Someone slapped the railing and shouted, "What a pass! Divine!"
Takato Riki's hand, gripping the tactic board, loosened slightly. His Adam's apple bobbed but he said nothing, though the light in his eyes brightened by half.
Rikawa's inbound pass had just crossed half-court when Maki Shinichi suddenly darted out from the side, his fingertips flicking the basketball in Kawaguchi Shota's hands—the ball was knocked loose!
He scooped up the ball and charged, turning. Sota Sasuke chased quickly, seemingly about to block him, but Maki Shinichi suddenly leaped up!
In that instant in the air, he also twisted his body, avoiding the defender rushing from behind, and with a light flick of his wrist, sent the ball into the hoop.
57:41. He landed without any expression, turning to run back.
In the Ryonan section of the stands, Sendoh's spinning water bottle stopped. He watched the figure on the court and smiled, "This is the 'Emperor' of Hainan."
Rikawa was truly anxious now. Kawaguchi Shota stared intently at Maki Shinichi as he dribbled, terrified of being stolen from again.
But Maki Shinichi didn't try to steal. Instead, he moved closer to the substitute center, as if to help set a screen.
Kawaguchi had just breathed a sigh of relief and was about to pass when he suddenly saw Maki Shinichi fold back like a gust of wind—it had been a deliberate feint!
He reached for the ball, his fingertips just touching the edge when Maki Shinichi already had his hand on top of the ball. The two pushed against each other, pressing it to the ground. With a "Thwack!" the ball bounced up, and Maki Shinichi, with a smooth scoop, gathered the ball into his arms and charged towards the basket again.
This time, Sota learned his lesson. He didn't extend his arms but just stood his ground, trying to force Maki Shinichi to crash into him and draw a foul.
But Maki Shinichi suddenly jumped from three steps away from the basket.
Not a layup, but a jump shot!
Sota instinctively raised his hand to block, but saw Maki Shinichi twist his wrist in mid-air. The basketball didn't go towards the hoop at all, but slammed towards the left side of the floor—Da Teng, the substitute center, had already timed his run, caught the ball, jumped, and gently laid it into the hoop.
57:43.
The referee's whistle blew, signaling a defensive foul on Rikawa, and a free throw.
Although Da Teng lacked experience, his fundamentals were solid. He calmly made the free throw, 57:44.
Muto Tadashi stood on the sidelines, his fingers digging into the plastic edge of the bench, his shoulders trembling unconsciously.
He lowered his head, his gaze fixed on the patterns of the floor—if he hadn't been so eager to steal the ball in the first half, accumulating four fouls, why would he be cowering here watching now?
A Mu wouldn't have to carry everything alone.
He was too foolish. Kawaguchi Shota's fakes were indeed clever, but that wasn't an excuse for him to fall into the trap again and again.
Kosha Kazuma, beside him, was no better off. His hand, gripping a towel, was clenched so tightly that the corners of the towel were distorted.
He also had four fouls. When boxing out under the basket, he didn't even dare to extend his arms. When Sota drove past him for a layup just now, he could have blocked it, but he froze and didn't move—ultimately, he was afraid.
"Do you two think I've given up?"
Takato Riki's voice suddenly came from behind, not loud, but it hit their hearts like a stone.
Coach Takato still held the tactic board, covered with crooked arrows. He glanced at Maki Shinichi, who was currently dribbling and breaking through on the court, then turned back to stare at them: "Not at all."
Kosha and Muto Tadashi looked up simultaneously, their eyes tinged with red.
"A Mu is holding on right now," Takato Riki's fingertip tapped the tactic board. "If he can hold on for these three minutes, and narrow the score to within ten points, then both of you get back on the court."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over their pale faces. "Kosha, you're the center. The paint is your territory. When you go in, box out. Don't shrink back like a timid girl anymore."
Kosha Kazuma's Adam's apple bobbed. The hand clutching the towel loosened slightly.
"Muto," Takato Riki looked to the other side, "don't worry about those four fouls anymore. Just remember the pain. When you go back in, don't be foolish again, but don't be a coward either."
Muto Tadashi suddenly looked up, the light in his eyes trembling, but he stubbornly held back his tears.
A burst of cheers suddenly erupted on the court.
Both turned their heads simultaneously—Maki Shinichi, caught between two defenders, had managed to pass the ball out from the baseline. Miyamasu caught the ball and sank a three-pointer. 59:46.
Maki Shinichi stood under the basket, panting, his jersey on his back so wet it could be wrung out. Yet he still looked up at the bench, his gaze meeting Kosha's and Muto Tadashi's eyes. He didn't say much, just gave a slight nod.
Muto Tadashi suddenly clenched his fist, his nails digging into his palm—it hurt, but it felt much better than the tightness in his heart just now.
He took half a step towards the court, as if afraid of missing the coach's "substitution" whistle.
Kosha Kazuma also straightened his back, glancing in Sota Sasuke's direction—even with four fouls, there was nothing to be afraid of anymore.
