The signal for the end of the first half sounded, and Haru Lin, having squeezed the last of his strength out in the final series of defensive scrambles chasing the ball passed among the five, finally stopped. His chest heaved, he breathed heavily and raggedly, trying to chase away the burning in his lungs.
Around him, the roars of the spectators who had bet on him thundered loudly. "Go on, machine!", "Mow them down!" But these voices reached him as if through thick glass.
As he headed towards his team, he caught their gazes. Hong Ren looked at him with indifference, Jung Ho with approval, Lu Shen with envious excitement, and Ming You...
Ming You sat reclined against the back of the bench, arms crossed over his chest. His face was its usual mask of impassivity, but his eyes, sharp and penetrating, tracked Haru Lin's every gesture. When Haru sank down beside him, he smelled of sweat and heated asphalt.
"Keep playing the way you want to," Ming You said without changing his posture. "But don't let your guard down. They're not broken yet. Right now, during the break, they're not crying. They're angry, and most likely, they will try to trap you. Not with a foul, but with a mistake. With fatigue."
Haru Lin nodded silently, gulping air. Inside, a storm still raged — pride, exhaustion, schadenfreude. But Ming You's words, like cold water, quelled the brightest flares.
"You played excellently," Jung Ho supported him, handing over a water bottle. His voice sounded warm, but there was a sober assessment in his eyes. "You used the rule to the fullest. But don't relax. You have an advantage in points, but not in the number of lungs and legs. They will be looking for your limit. Especially with passes like that. They've found their game, and now they'll hone it."
Hong Ren, sitting at the end of the bench, simply nodded silently, meeting Haru Lin's gaze.
"Hey, Haru!" exclaimed Lu Shen, leaning over Jung Ho, his face breaking into a grin. "You're not going to slack off now that we have a chance to make this match even more humiliating for them, are you? Make sure they don't get a chance to catch their breath! Finish them!"
"And you make sure you wiped up all your mess in the school bathroom after your morning jack-off session before you start handing out advice," he shot back without looking at Lu Shen.
Lu Shen practically jumped on the spot as if scalded.
"Fuck! I'm trying to be supportive here, build team spirit, and you! You just..."
Haru Lin turned a cold, tired gaze on him.
"Thanks, I guess. But judging by your hysterical reaction and quick change of subject, you really did jerk off there today, didn't you?"
Lu Shen froze, his mouth opening and closing. Crimson flooded his cheeks.
"Just fuck off!!!" he finally squeezed out, turning away and kicking an empty bottle with force.
Jung Ho, who had been watching with a slight smile until then, raised an eyebrow, his interest genuinely scientific:
"So... is it true?"
"...!!!" Lu Shen only made an inarticulate, furious sound and covered his face with his hands.
The bench shook with laughter. Hong Ren snorted, Jung Ho laughed openly, even the corners of Haru Lin's mouth twitched. Only Ming You, whose head was tilted back against the bench and gaze fixed on the darkening sky, made no sound.
...
Meanwhile, on the other side of the court, the team of five players gathered around So Ho, their captain. So Ho, with a serious expression, looked at his comrades. The air around them was thick with disappointment and sweat, but in their eyes, under So Ho's gaze, embers of resistance were slowly kindling.
"We can't let them continue like this," he began, his voice hoarse but with an ironclad determination in it. "These rules are complete nonsense."
"That bastard Ming You thinks he can break us so easily," exclaimed Jen Ryu, his eyes burning with anger. He couldn't contain his emotions and flipped the middle finger towards Ming You's bench, where he was calmly drinking water. "We have to show them that we can beat these scumbags even under their own rules! Let him multiply his points by a hundred! We'll still outplay them!"
"We need to focus on a fast-paced game," Mei Yu interjected. "If we continue to emphasize quick passes, we can get around his defense faster. He's alone. He has an advantage in points, but we have an advantage in numbers. He won't be able to catch us if we act fast and coordinated, like against Ming You last time. Only without stopping."
"Yeah, exactly!" Jen Ryu chimed in, punching his palm. "We have to use every opportunity, every miss, every damn second of his relaxation. If they think they can intimidate us with these numbers, they're sorely mistaken. We'll show them that a real team isn't just one fucking player with bonuses!"
So Ho nodded, his confidence growing, fueled by Jen Ryu's rage and Mei Yu's cold logic. He looked at his comrades, and a flame of determination lit in his eyes, driving away the shadow of despair.
"Mei Yu is right, we have to play as one," he said, and his words now sounded not like hope, but like an order. "Each of us has to do our part. Not just run, but cut to the basket, get open, draw him out. We can't let Haru Lin and his team think they've already won. We'll do everything possible to get this game back!"
Mei Yu, with his perfect understanding of team play, added, tracing imaginary trajectories in the air with his finger:
"Let's focus on passing the ball quickly and efficiently. No more than two touches. If we can create space and use it, we have every chance of success. And forget about the score, just count our passes and our shots."
"I genuinely hate Ming You for being a piece of shit," Jen Ryu exclaimed again, his voice full of undiminished fury.
"Yes," So Ho concluded. "And we won't give him a chance to beat us in the end. We'll show them that a team isn't just one player, but a whole group that can work together."
They stood in a circle, placing their hands on top of each other's. Their palms were sweaty, but their grip was firm. A short, hoarse cry — more like a roar — burst from their chests, no longer constrained by spectators or opponents.
The sharp, dry whistle of Sung Wo cut through the heavy air of the break. So Ho stood at the inbound line. His eyes, bloodshot with fury, glittered with more than just resolve. He silently nodded to Jen Ryu, who nodded back — curtly, sharply, without words.
The ball flew from So Ho's hands not as a mere pass. It was a shot with a perfect trajectory, slamming straight into Jen Ryu's palms as he was already on the move.
"Tear him to pieces!" So Ho barked.
Jen Ryu, catching the ball, sharply accelerated forward. It seemed the last remnants of doubt and anger in his muscles had burned up, turning into pure, explosive energy. He flew across the asphalt, and the thud of his sneakers beat out one rhythm:
"Not-gon-na-lose-an-y-more!"
Haru Lin, expecting the usual slow probing, was stunned for a second. They moved not like five bewildered players, but like a single mechanism. He threw himself into defense but already felt he was too late.
"Don't give him a single chance! Not one!" So Ho's voice thundered from behind. "Mei Yu!"
Jen Ryu, feeling Haru Lin's breath on his back, didn't even try to drive further. He sharply, almost without looking, hurled the ball over his shoulder towards the wing where Mei Yu was already positioning himself. The pass was risky, on the verge of a turnover, but it was fast.
Mei Yu caught the ball in one motion, without even bending his knees. His face, usually expressing restrained contempt, was now empty. He didn't dribble. He didn't even look at the basket. His eyes met Jen Ryu's, who, having made a sharp turn, was already cutting to the basket, bypassing Haru Lin from the other side.
"Score!" Mei Yu barked, and the ball returned to Jen Ryu's hands with a short, stabbing pass, right on the move.
Haru Lin, who had started to turn towards Mei Yu, froze in an awkward pose, caught in the trap of a simple give-and-go. He physically couldn't make it in time. He only saw Jen Ryu, receiving the ball right under the basket, soar into the air in two steps. There was no furious dunk, no shout. Just a quick, efficient movement — a soft layup off the backboard.
Swish!