The air on the court froze, with only a light breeze rustling the torn net on the hoop. Haru Lin stood at the center circle, his posture relaxed, almost nonchalant, but his gaze, cold and focused, was fixed on Jen Ryu opposite him. The ball in referee Sung Wo's hands seemed unnaturally bright in this silence.
"Let's go, Haru!" came a shout from Lu Shen on the bench. Hong Ren, sitting next to him, muttered through gritted teeth without turning his head:
"Is it just me, or did you just distract him..."
On the court, Sung Wo blew his whistle sharply and tossed the ball up. Haru Lin exploded into motion like a spring. His jump was higher and swifter. He tipped the ball to himself, and before Jen Ryu could react, Haru was already streaking towards the opponent's free-throw line. The asphalt hummed under the quick, precise taps of the ball.
But So Ho, standing at the edge of the court, rasped a shout:
"On him! Don't let him build momentum!"
Jen Ryu and Mei Yu lunged to intercept, closing in like pincers. Haru tried to slip between them with a sharp crossover, but Mei Yu, reading the move, put his shoulder in. The ball bounced away a little too far for a moment. That moment was all Jen Ryu needed. His hand, long and tenacious, shot out like a cobra, swatting the ball away and sending it into a ringing bounce.
"Don't underestimate us!" Jen Ryu hissed, already turning and making a dash for the opposing hoop. His eyes burned with vengeful malice.
He threw a sharp pass and the ball rolled to So Ho. The latter, without thinking, hurled it the length of the court forward, into the gap. Jen Ryu caught the pass at full speed, taking just two powerful strides from the free-throw line. He soared into the air, his figure momentarily blotting out the dim streetlight. With a slam that made the backboard tremble, he hammered the ball through the hoop. The torn net jerked helplessly.
"YES!" His roar, full of triumph and hatred, tore through the silence. Landing, Jen Ryu immediately turned towards Ming You's bench. His gaze found the seemingly sleeping figure of the captain. "Suck it, Ming You!" he fiercely flipped the middle finger in that direction.
On the bench, Lu Shen gasped, grabbing his head. Hong Ren just cursed under his breath. Jung Ho continued to watch.
But Haru Lin, standing on his own half, didn't move. He wasn't looking at the celebrating opponents, but at the numbers that had just flashed in his head. 'Their one point... divided by two. Half a point. And mine... will multiply by four.' The corner of his mouth twitched in something vaguely resembling an icy smirk.
So Ho, not celebrating, merely clenched his teeth so hard the muscles in his jaw bulged. He stared at his palm as if trying to see the phantom half-point on it. Despair, thick and viscous, washed over him again.
Meanwhile. The dull thud of the ball against the asphalt was the only sound Haru Lin made. He received the inbound pass from the referee, his face a stone mask, but inside everything burned with a cold, calculating fire.
He moved forward, unhurried, dribbling the ball low. His gaze slid to the hoop, gauging the distance.
"Gotta focus," he muttered to himself, almost inaudibly. "The main thing is not to fuck this up now."
Sharply changing his rhythm, he darted to the right corner, behind the line marked by cracked paint. Jen Ryu, expecting a drive to the basket, was caught off guard for a moment and lunged sideways, but it was too late. Haru was already bringing his arm up for the shot. His motions were polished, mechanical: jump, push, release.
The ball traced a high arc. But at the last moment, the hand of Mei Yu, who had managed to jump for the contest, flashed in Haru Lin's peripheral vision.
Thump!
The ball hit the back of the iron backboard, bounced off the rim, and fell onto the asphalt with a dull thud.
"Yee-e-es!" Jen Ryu roared, grabbing the rebound. His cry held a wild, animalistic joy. He didn't dribble himself. Instead, his gaze, sharp as a blade, shot to So Ho on the wing. "So Ho!"
The ball shot from his hands in a sharp, cutting pass. So Ho caught it against his chest, not even trying to turn towards the basket. He saw Haru Lin, recovering after the shot, already charging towards him. A grimace of cold satisfaction flickered across So Ho's face.
"Mei Yu! Catch!" he called out across the court, sending the ball back to the center.
What happened next was like a cruel, rehearsed dance. The ball turned into an orange lightning bolt, flashing between the three of them. They stood, forming a wide triangle, passing to each other with such insane speed it seemed like there were three balls. Snap, snap, snap — the sounds of the passes merged into a single, mocking staccato.
Haru Lin darted between them like a cornered animal. He lunged at Jen — the ball was already flying to So Ho. He turned to So Ho — the pass went behind his back to Mei Yu. His breathing grew ragged, cold sweat beading on his forehead. He was alone against three, bound by a single pulse of desperation and malice.
"Ha! You thought we were all pushovers here?!" Mei Yu shouted, releasing another lightning pass back to Jen.
"Run, you idiot, run!" So Ho jeered, and in his voice, a kind of frenzy finally broke through, not just anger.
Jen Ryu, receiving the ball at the top of the key, didn't pass it on this time. Determination flashed in his eyes. He took an explosive step, crashing towards Haru's position, who had just lunged at Mei Yu. Using the moment of confusion, Jen swept past, heading for the basket.
"You won't make it in ti-i-ime!"
Without slowing, he took two more powerful strides, leaped, and soared up. This time his dunk was even more ferocious and humiliating. He hung on the rim for a moment, looking down at the panting, turned-around Haru Lin, before dropping down. The asphalt even shook under his landing.
"SCORE!" he bellowed, addressing not so much the referee as the entire court.
Haru Lin stopped, straightening his back. He breathed heavily, looking at the numbers burning in his mind:
'Another two points for the opponents. Plus half a point. That's one and a half of their points total. I just need to hit once, at least once, just one fucking time.'
He slowly wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. His stony face showed nothing. No frustration, no anger. Only cold, absolute concentration.
Lu Shen, unable to hold his nerves, barked, jabbing a finger at the court:
"Hey, you fucking wanker, don't slack off! Wake the hell up!"
Haru Lin, returning to his half to receive the ball, didn't even turn his head. His voice, icy and even, carried across the court:
"I'll take advice on jacking off from the master of it."
Jung Ho, sitting nearby, quietly snorted, watching the opponents who were already taking their positions.
"Well," he murmured, "seems he's still got it in him."
"Bullshit!" Lu Shen wouldn't let up, jumping up. "Dribble the ball like you do your dick! With force!"
This time Haru turned. His impassive gaze met Lu Shen's burning eyes for a second. A thin, sardonic slit appeared on his lips, like a smirk.
"You mean, dribble it like I guide my dick across your lips, right? With force and precision?"
Lu Shen choked on "rage," his face flushing crimson.
"Go fuc—!"
Whistle!