"Time to match it," Kaito muttered under his breath.
Reaching the three-point arc, Kaito's eyes scanned the floor—a point guard's sixth sense guiding him. Spotting the center closing in for a block, he sidestepped, his foot planting just outside the free-throw line. He soared upward, defying gravity as the rim loomed closer.
The release was flawless. The ball arced high, spinning delicately against the gym lights before it sliced cleanly through the net with a crisp swish.
The scoreboard updated: a perfect tie.
A buzz swept through the stands, excitement laced with tension.
Kaito landed lightly, already turning to face the stunned Lakeside players. His sharp smile deepened as he tapped his chest twice with a clenched fist—a gesture of confidence, of challenge.
"The game's not over," He called out, his voice cutting through the noise like a rallying cry. "Let's see what else you've got."
----
The game continued, slowly moving into a different rhythm, every play dripping with the tension of a chess match between masters. The crowd buzzed, sensing that both teams had shifted gears.
It wasn't just about scoring now—it was about control, outwitting each other, and claiming dominance.
Jen had the ball and she dribbled near the perimeter, her ponytail whipping with each crossover.
Henderson shadowed her tightly, forcing her to pivot. She faked a pass to Marcus, but Derrick was already moving to intercept. Sensing the trap, Jen switched her weight and passed to Kaito, her instincts trusting him implicitly.
Kaito caught the ball near the arc, his stance relaxed but deliberate. His defender—a broad-shouldered junior—clamped down on him immediately. The player puffed his chest, crowding Kaito with the physical presence of someone hoping to intimidate him.
But Kaito wasn't fazed. His movements were deliberate, sharp, and unpredictable. He feinted left, a smooth shoulder drop that made his defender lurch slightly. Then, in a fluid motion, Kaito spun to his right and dashed toward the paint. The defender scrambled to keep up, but Kaito's pace was deceptive—his calm appearance hid razor-sharp execution.
"Switch! Help him!" Henderson barked, but it was too late. Kaito stopped abruptly at the free-throw line, pivoting mid-motion. His defender, expecting a drive, overshot, leaving Kaito enough space to pull up. With perfect form, he released a clean mid-range jumper. The ball arced gracefully, the net snapping with a crisp swish.
The crowd erupted as the scoreboard ticked: 21: 24.
"Clever," Henderson murmured under his breath. "You're reading us too, aren't you?"
On defense, Kaito's focus sharpened further. Vincent received the ball at the top of the key, a confident glint in his eyes. He dribbled twice, faking a drive before stepping back for a deep three.
Kaito had been watching him. He knew Vincent's habit of stepping back to create space—and he was already there.
Leaping with precision, Kaito's hand tipped the ball mid-flight, sending it off-course. Vincent's shot clanged against the rim, and Marcus leaped for the rebound.
The Lakeside bench groaned audibly.
"Nice block, Kaito!" Marcus yelled, already passing the ball forward to Jen. But Kaito waved Marcus down, urging him to take it slow.
"Calm. We play our pace," Kaito said, his voice steady yet commanding. His teammates nodded, feeding off his composure.
The play evolved methodically. Kaito found pockets of space where no one thought to look. His movements weren't flashy but precise—steps calculated to manipulate spacing on the court. When Marcus fumbled slightly under pressure, Kaito slid into his blind spot, clapping twice to draw attention. The pass was quick, almost reflexive.
Kaito barely held the ball for a second before flicking a no-look pass behind his back to Amir, cutting toward the baseline. Amir received it cleanly, spinning around his defender for a clean layup.
The crowd roared again. 23: 24.
Amir grinned, jogging back to their side. "Man, you don't even look like you're trying. You gotta teach me that no-look pass."
"I can try but it's not about style," Kaito said, his voice low but firm. "It's about control."
Kaito's sharp play wasn't just inspiring his team. On Lakeside's bench, the coaching staff exchanged looks, murmuring.
Henderson, now guarded more heavily, still managed to weave through Jen and Ryan, executing a quick spin move and sending the ball to Derrick in the corner. Derrick launched a three-pointer, the ball slicing cleanly through the net.
23: 27!
Brooks Academy hustled back, sweat dripping off their brows, but the exhaustion weighed more on their opponents than on Kaito.
While his teammates struggled to match Lakeside's growing tempo, Kaito still moved with a calm intensity. His jersey clung to his chest from the sweat, his legs pumping steadily—but his expression remained focused, unreadable.
"Push harder!" Lakeside's coach barked. "Force turnovers!"
Lakeside's defense turned aggressive.
Vincent pressed Jen, cutting off her sightlines, while Henderson and Derrick doubled up on Marcus, forcing a quick, awkward pass that went slightly off-target.
Kaito's sharp eyes tracked the ball's flight—it wasn't aimed directly at him, but he lunged forward anyway, sliding low to recover possession before Vincent could intercept it.
As Kaito rose, his defender closed in. But instead of panicking, Kaito pivoted on one foot, slipping the ball behind his back and stepping away to reset the play. A collective gasp went through the crowd at the sheer finesse of his motion.
"Stay on him!" Henderson called, his tone more urgent now.
But Kaito thrived under the pressure. With Vincent and Derrick closing in, he sliced through their double-team with a quick crossover, using his body as a shield before flicking the ball out to Ryan. Derrick scrambled, trying to recover, but Ryan had already drained the three.
26: 27
By now, Lakeside players were throwing furtive glances at Kaito. His movements weren't loud or commanding, but they carried a gravity that demanded attention. Each step seemed to manipulate their positioning, pulling them where Kaito wanted.
"He's orchestrating everything," Vincent whispered to Derrick during a break. "It's like... he's playing a different game."
"You're not wrong," Derrick muttered back. "But he can't do it alone."
Lakeside tried upping their intensity. Henderson powered down the lane again, colliding with Amir in mid-air for a contested dunk that rattled the rim. The crowd screamed in awe, and the scoreboard read 29-26.
But even then, Kaito didn't falter. On the inbound, he moved decisively, spreading the floor and calling plays. With every possession, he broke Lakeside's rhythm, catching them overextended or too cautious, forcing their defense to react instead of acting.
And when the final minutes of the first set ticked closer, it was Kaito standing alone just outside the arc. Vincent was marking him this time, his face drenched in sweat.
But Vincent hesitated—not because he wasn't ready to defend but because Kaito's calm, unhurried demeanor had him questioning everything.
Kaito caught the ball, squared up, and held Vincent's gaze. "You're thinking too much."
Then, with a flick of his wrist, Kaito launched the ball in an arcing, perfect trajectory that sailed over Vincent's reach and cleanly through the net.
29: 29!
The crowd exploded, the gym roaring with tension.
And through it all, Kaito's sharp smile remained.