Hours earlier, sunlight streamed through the windows of the school gymnasium as the team of newcomers to the Yoshido basketball club, the ones who hadn't shown up for the games, gathered in a tight, awkward circle around Coach Chang Wo.
"Coach Chang Wo, we... we wanted to report on the recent games," began one of the newcomers, his tone nervous.
"Yes, go ahead," the coach nodded, raising his eyebrows. "What's going on?"
"We were playing streetball," the newcomer continued, his voice trembling. "Against one of the main roster players. Ming You."
"What happened?" asked Chang Wo, his eyes narrowing.
"We... we lost all three games," he admitted, looking down. "And the fourth one is happening now. We had to pay money to the gangsters for the losses."
"Gangsters?" the coach exclaimed, his face paling. "What do you mean?"
"They organize these games," the player explained. "We play for money, and if we lose, we have to repay the debt. And Ming You... he became one of those gangsters."
A tomb-like silence hung in the air for a moment. Chang Wo clenched his fists, his face turning to stone.
"This is unacceptable," he said, trying to remain calm. "Do you understand this could end badly? You can't play with fire."
"We didn't know he'd become a gangster," said the same player, his voice trembling with fear. "We just wanted to show we could play."
"And now we have large debts," added another player, looking at the floor. "If we don't pay... They're threatening us and our parents."
"I can't just call the police over nothing," Coach Chang Wo said quietly and tersely after a short pause. "Nothing serious has happened yet. But that doesn't mean I'll leave you in trouble."
"Coach, what should we do?" asked the player who had first come to report the games, his voice barely a whisper. "We can't keep playing, but we can't just walk away either."
"We have to go to the court," Chang Wo said decisively. "I won't leave you alone with this problem. Let's see what's happening."
The young players exchanged glances, and in their eyes, flickering from each other to the coach and back, a whole storm of emotions mixed.
"Where is this court?" asked Chang Wo, already taking his tracksuit jacket from the hook.
"A couple of blocks from here," the tallest of the newcomers hurriedly replied. "We... we'll show you."
They began to move like mechanisms set in motion by his will. Silently, without looking each other in the eye, they grabbed their backpacks and headed for the school exit.
…
"You're too predictable, Haru Lin!" Mei Yu said mockingly.
"And you're too much of a fag, Mei Yu or whatever your name is," he retorted, to which Mei Yu grinned even wider.
Receiving the ball after another scored basket, Haru Lin didn't retreat to the three-point line. He went forward. Slowly, bearing down on Jen Ryu, who was waiting for him at the arc.
"Catch me if you can," Haru Lin threw out sarcastically.
He began to dribble. Not just handling, but a dance. A sharp crossover right to left, then back again, the ball tapping between his legs, bouncing off the asphalt at varying rhythms. He was trying not just to get past, but to confuse and disrupt their rhythm. He made fake shot attempts with an empty palm, making Jen Ryu jump, stopped sharply and accelerated again.
For a moment, he thought he'd found a gap. Jen Ryu retreated half a step. It was a trap.
Mei Yu, observing from the side, wasn't in front of Haru Lin, but to the side. He wasn't watching the ball, but the pattern of Haru's movements, his habit of holding the ball at his left hand a fraction longer on the third crossover repetition. When Haru Lin, trying to burst right again, shifted the ball to his left once more, Mei Yu was already there.
His hand, precise and fast as a whip, shot out not at the ball, but at the trajectory of its bounce off the asphalt.
Snap.
A clean steal from behind. The ball was knocked away before Haru felt he had full control. It rolled across the court, straight to Jen Ryu.
"Take it!" Mei Yu shouted, not even looking, already knowing where the ball would go.
Jen Ryu caught the rolling ball at full speed. He even paused, looking at Haru Lin, who was frozen in an absurd pose, still trying to catch the non-existent ball.
Then he turned towards the basket. His shot wasn't a dunk or a jumper. It was a simple, confident close-range shot.
The ball, tracing a short arc, swished cleanly through the net, barely touching it.
Swish!
Haru Lin felt the ground slipping from under his feet. Not figuratively, but in the most literal sense — his legs felt like jelly from fatigue. He watched as So Ho's team, having scored another basket, leisurely spread out to their positions.
They had the relaxed, almost lazy confidence of winners. So Ho said something to Mei Yu, who smiled — briefly, soundlessly. They were already celebrating a victory that hadn't technically happened yet.
"Persist!" Haru Lin exhaled through gritted teeth, gripping the inbound ball. "One more time. One more shot, even if it's lucky."
He didn't wait for them to set up their iron defense. The moment referee Sung Wo blew his whistle, Haru Lin, without looking around, simply charged forward. He wasn't running to the three-point line, but further, to the center of the court, while the five opponents were scattered near their basket, not expecting any threat from there.
In the center circle, he stopped sharply and turned to face the far backboard. The hoop seemed tiny, almost a dot in the encroaching dusk.
"Holy shit…" came a muffled exclamation from the bench from Lu Shen, a mix of bewilderment and a final spark of excitement.
Everyone, including the spectators, froze. Jen Ryu, standing the closest, merely snorted contemptuously, not even attempting to lunge.
Haru Lin jumped from center court and took the shot. The ball sailed on a high, nervous arc. It flew agonizingly long. Haru could already see it flying past, Jen Ryu smirking, everything finally collapsing…
Clang-thump!
The ball hit the back rim with such a ring that the echo carried through the vacant lots between the buildings. It bounced up, hung for a millisecond… and with a dull, tired slap, dropped through the basket. The torn net jerked.
A second of complete, deafening silence ensued. Even Sung Wo froze for a moment with the whistle at his lips.
"YES!" A hoarse, strained cry tore from Haru Lin's very throat. He couldn't contain himself — he raised clenched fists into the air, his stone mask shattering into fragments of wild, unbelievable joy.
But his triumph lasted exactly three seconds.
"That fucking bastard... his points..." Jen Ryu's voice wasn't a shout, but a low, animalistic growl, full of such savage, powerless hatred it sent shivers down the spine. "Fuck his game! Fuck his rules! This isn't basketball, it's some bullshit!"
It was at that exact moment, when the tension on the court reached its boiling point, that movement at the court entrance made everyone turn.
Chang Wo stepped onto the asphalt with a firm, measured stride. Behind him, like shadows, several of his solidly built players. Chang Wo's face wasn't just serious — it was icy, as if carved from granite. His eyes, sliding over the exultant Haru Lin, over Jen Ryu crimson with rage, over the impassive Ming You on the bench, settled on referee Sung Wo.
Chang Wo's voice, thunderous and brooking no argument, rolled across the court, shattering the fragile moment of triumph into pieces:
"STOP! The game is over!"