Lu Shen's shout was cut off by the referee's sharp whistle. The ball was put into play, and Haru Lin, catching it, instantly transformed. All the bravado and sarcasm evaporated, yielding to a predatory focus.
He didn't try to drive through the center. Instead, after a few quick probing moves, he dashed to the left flank, to the center mark of the three-point line. Jen Ryu and Mei Yu lunged in parallel, closing in to cut off the shooting angle.
But Haru was no longer where they expected. He stopped sharply, creating half a meter of space for himself with a change of pace, and jumped. His shot, this time, held no trace of doubt. The ball, tracing a clean arc, swished through the net with a soft, rustling sound of a pure swish, not touching the rim.
Turning to his bench, Haru Lin deliberately slowly wiped his hands on his jersey. His voice sounded with exaggerated, almost theatrical pensiveness, directed straight at Lu Shen:
"You know, Lu, your advice really helped me. It wasn't for nothing I guided my dick across your lips."
Lu Shen, who had sat back down, jumped up again as if stung and flipped Haru the middle finger:
"Go fuck yourself, you faggot!"
But this minor triumph was just a drop in the ocean of despair on the other side. So Ho punched the pole holding the backboard with force. A dull thud echoed across the court.
"Dammit!" escaped him, and his face contorted not just with anger, but with helpless fury. "We can't lose because of these stupid rules!"
Mei Yu stood nearby, arms crossed. His gaze, full of cold contempt, was fixed on the motionless figure of Ming You on the far bench.
"It's all him," Mei Yu said quietly, but in a way that made the words sound clear, like a verdict. "He turned an honest game into a farce."
Haru Lin caught fragments of their conversation, but instead of irritation, he felt a surge of cold, crystalline confidence.
Whistle. The ball with So Ho.
Haru Lin took a defensive stance in front of him, his body tensed, ready for any move. But So Ho didn't even try to drive. His eyes, full of that same bitterness, darted to the side. Haru Lin instinctively took a step left, cutting off a potential passing lane to Jen Ryu.
And at that moment, So Ho passed. But not to Jen Ryu. But to Mei Yu, who seemed to just be standing aside at the top of the key. The pass was sharp, without a wind-up. Haru Lin lunged towards Mei Yu, but the latter, without catching the ball, sent it back to the perimeter with one touch — already to Jen Ryu. Haru turned again, but it was too late. Jen Ryu, receiving the ball, immediately passed it back to So Ho, who had managed to step back behind the three-point line during this whirlwind.
Haru Lin, caught in this triangle, only managed a desperate jump, stretching his arm. So Ho was already in the air. His shot wasn't forced or furious. It was calm, focused, almost meditative. The ball left his fingers with perfect softness.
Swish. Pure swish. Score: 2:8.
On the bench, Ming You finally opened his eyes and slowly raised his head. He followed the flight of the ball, then shifted his gaze to Haru Lin, who stood with his arms down, watching the ball bounce off the asphalt. A shadow-like expression of mild interest appeared on Ming You's face.
"Hmm," he said quietly, rubbing his chin. "Not too bad. They're adapting. But Haru Lin will dominate the game regardless. The numbers are on his side."
Jung Ho, who had been silently observing until now, looked away from analyzing the opponents' movements and glanced at the captain.
"Aren't you going to intervene?" he asked bluntly. "Give advice, shout something? They've found their game."
"No," Ming You replied, and the corner of his mouth twitched in that same flat, joyless grin. "He'll handle it himself. Besides, this kind of pressure..." — his gaze slid over Haru Lin's tense back — "won't let him relax, despite his enhanced advantage."
Sung Wo, standing in his referee's spot, blew his whistle mechanically and handed the ball to Haru Lin. His stony face expressed nothing, but his gaze, sliding over the spectators, gave him away. He was only interested in the bets. He saw a few people who had bet on Haru Lin perk up after his three-pointer, but now, after So Ho's accurate shot, grow nervous again.
"Come on, guys! Press him!" rasped one of the spectators, a burly man with a flushed face who had bet on the "five."
As soon as Haru Lin started dribbling, the game turned into a strange, exhausting ritual. The five players of So Ho's team clung to their strategy — quick, almost no-look passes, attempts to wear Haru down with running and find a moment for an uncontested shot. Sometimes it worked. Mei Yu cleverly slipped under the basket and laid the ball in with two hands, So Ho hit from distance again. But each of their successes was bitter. One thought rang in each of their heads: "That's only half a point. A half."
And then the ball inevitably returned to Haru Lin. And his play was monotonous and equally relentless. He didn't force his way into the paint, where fouls and physical play could be expected. He stepped back behind the arc. Sometimes right after receiving the ball, sometimes after a couple of deceptive moves to throw them off. His face was a mask of concentration. He used his attempts like ammunition, thanks to the rules.
"We can't lose!" So Ho cried out after yet another accurate long-range shot from Haru, which made the numbers on their imaginary scoreboard even more grotesque. There was no longer rage in his voice, only a hoarse, animalistic despair. "He... he's clearly weaker than the others on his team! Look, all he does is shoot! We have to pressure him!"
But "pressuring" was becoming harder. Their strength was draining, and Haru Lin's confidence, fueled by every whistle that awarded him a point, grew. At one point, when his opponents, fixated on the score and their failures, lost their mental connection for a second, Haru didn't go for a three-pointer. Instead, he made a sharp dash to the free-throw line. Jen Ryu and Mei Yu, mentally already preparing to jump on his shot from the arc, were a fraction of a second late. That was enough.
Haru jumped from a perfectly calculated spot. His mid-range shot was as cold and precise as his long-range ones. The ball cleanly sliced through the net.
Swish!
"This is impossible!" Jen Ryu growled. His face was red not from exertion, but from powerless anger. "We can't lose to this bastard! He's not even playing, he... he just keeps throwing the ball and that's it!"
Mei Yu, breathing heavily, walked over and clapped him on the shoulder, but the gesture came out more weary than encouraging.
"Calm down," he said, and his own voice sounded strained. "We can still... theoretically. If we work together and they don't make mistakes. But we need to stop looking at that damn score. Play against him, not against the rules."
"Damn it, that's like asking not to look at a wound," So Ho added.
And then the sharp, prolonged whistle of Sung Wo cut through the tense silence, announcing the end of the first half.