With three minutes left in the game, the score was 67:59, with Hainan trailing by 8 points.
“Substitution!”
Takato Riki’s voice cut through the gymnasium’s noise, carrying an undeniable resolve.
The two substitutes on the sideline almost jogged off the court as if pardoned—Da Teng rubbed his arm, sore from colliding with Sota, while the other rookie clutched the hem of his jersey, his fingertips still trembling.
Kosha Kazuma and Muto Tadashi rushed onto the court almost simultaneously.
As Kosha took his position under the basket, he deliberately leaned closer to Sota Sasuke, this time not hunching his shoulders as before, quietly raising his elbows with a determined, all-out effort.
Muto Tadashi ran to the forward position, bent down, and slapped the floor, the sweat from his palm smearing on the wood grain, but he felt much more grounded than he had on the bench.
Maki Shinichi retreated beyond the three-point line with the ball, and as he passed the two, he whispered, “You’re in?”
“We’re in!” Kosha and Muto Tadashi said in unison, their voices slightly hoarse.
The referee’s whistle blew, and Maki Shinichi started dribbling.
Rikawa’s guard still tried to double-team him as before, but Muto Tadashi suddenly blocked him from the diagonal rear—this time he didn’t use brute force, merely held his position, creating a clear path for Maki Shinichi.
In that half-second gap, Maki Shinichi had already surged past, flipping his wrist while dribbling, and the basketball, hugging the floor, passed into Kosha’s hands.
Kosha received the ball under the basket; Sota was about to reach out and steal it when Kosha suddenly spun around, using his back to push against him and squeeze towards the basket—the concern about his four fouls was long forgotten; he only wanted to get the ball into the hoop now.
Sota was pushed back half a step; as he reached out to block, Kosha suddenly jumped, flicking his fingertips lightly—the basketball grazed the backboard and dropped into the hoop.
67:61.
A burst of cheers erupted from the stands; someone yelled “Go Hainan!” at the top of their lungs, the sound wave even louder than before.
After Rikawa inbounded the ball, Kawaguchi Shota tried to fast break but was tightly guarded by Muto Tadashi.
Muto Tadashi didn’t back down this time, extending his arm straight to block him, and even when Kawaguchi’s elbow grazed his waist, he still didn’t let him pass.
Kawaguchi became anxious, raised his hand to pass, but Maki Shinichi reached out from behind and intercepted it—the ball was fumbled!
Maki Shinichi scooped up the ball and charged forward; Jin Soichiro and Miyamasu simultaneously moved into position on both sides, instantly throwing Rikawa’s defense into disarray.
Sota Sasuke chased quickly, seemingly about to block him in front of the basket, but Maki Shinichi suddenly flung the ball to the left—Jin Soichiro had already positioned himself on the three-point line, caught the ball, jumped, and snapped his wrist, his movements so fast they created a breeze.
“Swish!”
The basketball swished through the net. 67:64.
Sato Jiro abruptly stood up from the Rikawa bench, slamming his tactics board onto the floor: “Guard Maki Shinichi tightly! Don’t let him pass!”
After Rikawa’s turnover, in the next Hainan offensive possession, Rikawa’s defense instantly tightened; two players stuck to Maki Shinichi, leaving him almost no space to dribble.
But Maki Shinichi suddenly accelerated, charging towards the basket—he was like a stubborn ox, forcefully squeezing between the two players, and when he reached the basket, he suddenly jumped, twisting his body in the air to send the ball into the hoop.
Sota Sasuke reached out to block, his fingertips brushing Maki Shinichi’s wrist—the referee’s whistle blew.
“2+1!”
Maki Shinichi stumbled two steps upon landing, his wrist red from the graze, but he still looked up at the hoop—the basketball spun twice on the rim and then “thwacked” into the hoop. 67:66.
The entire venue erupted; applause and cheers mixed together, making people’s ears tingle.
On the Ryonan side, Sakuragi Hanamichi stood up, clenching his fists, his red hair swaying with his movements: “How is this guy not tired yet!” Sendoh leaned against the stands, twirling a water bottle with his fingertips, but the previous ease was gone from his eyes, and he softly said, “It’s a one-point difference.”
Maki Shinichi took a deep breath and stepped to the free-throw line. His wrist was still trembling as he raised his hand to shoot, but the basketball still steadily dropped into the hoop. 67:67.
A tie!
Only one minute and twenty seconds remained until the end of the game.
Rikawa was truly panicked now.
After Kawaguchi Shota inbounded the ball, Muto Tadashi reached out and swiped at him while he was dribbling, almost causing him to lose possession.
He hurriedly passed the ball to the power forward; Sota charged towards the basket with the ball, but Kosha Kazuma didn’t give way this time—the two collided under the basket with a dull thud; Kosha was pushed back half a step but stubbornly held his position.
Sota raised his hand for a forced shot but Kosha reached out and pinned the ball—the referee’s whistle blew, and Kosha Kazuma fouled out with five fouls.
Da Teng replaced Kosha, with only fifty seconds left until the end of the game.
Sota was now at the free-throw line, took a deep breath, and made the first shot, 68:67.
It was as if all the spectators held their breath at that moment!
As Sota shot the second free throw, he knew the force was too weak. He quickly shouted, “Rebound!”
The basketball hit the front rim with a “clank” and bounced high, the orange ball drawing a sharp arc under the lights, then suddenly plummeting as it hung directly in front of the backboard—in that instant,
The shouts from the sidelines seemed to be cut off for half a second; countless eyes in the stands were fixed on the ball, even the hands clutching cheer sticks forgot to wave.
Hainan’s substitute center had already jumped, his fingertips almost touching the ball, but a stronger figure suddenly surged from diagonally behind him.
It was Rikawa’s center—Itakura Yuta!
With a burst of power, he suddenly rose half a head taller than Da Teng, his broad palm firmly gripping the ball!
As he landed, he pulled the ball into his chest, his back knocking away Muto who was rushing in, firmly pressing the rebound against his chest.
Only then did Rikawa’s cheering section in the stands erupt with shouts of “Well done!”, mixing with the Hainan fans’ sighs of regret, further raising the heat of the game.
Itakura quickly passed the ball to Watanabe, who dribbled half a circle outside the three-point line, then suddenly raised his hand to shoot—Miyamasu was half a step too late in rushing over, and the basketball flew in an arc towards the hoop, “swishing” through the net. 71:67.
As Watanabe’s three-pointer swished through the net, the scoreboard jumped to 71:67, and the digital timer was stuck at 15 seconds.
Those red numbers were like hot needles, abruptly lowering the shouts of Hainan fans in the stands by half; even Sakuragi Hanamichi forgot to be boisterous, only staring at the court, clenching his fists.
Takato Riki suddenly jumped up in front of the bench, not caring that a button on his suit jacket had popped off.
He had no timeouts left to call, so he could only scream until his throat was raw: “Maki! Drive in! Get a three-pointer first, then fight! Hurry—!” His voice crashed against the gymnasium’s dome, mixing with the urgent “beep-beep” of the timer, making people’s hearts tighten.
Maki Shinichi bent down, cradling the ball in his arms, sweat from his forehead dripping down his jawline, hitting the floor and spreading into a small wet mark.
He looked up and scanned the court—Rikawa’s defense was closing in like an iron net, Sota was blocking under the basket, two guards were pressing in from left and right, and even Jin Soichiro’s side was being tightly guarded.
“Go!” he growled, suddenly dribbling and charging to the right.
His speed was even more ferocious than when he broke through earlier, his shoes scraping the floor with a piercing “screech,” forcing a gap between the two defenders.
Someone in the stands was already standing and shouting “Make one!” Takato Riki clenched his fists, his eyes fixed on the court—it all came down to this!
But just as Maki Shinichi raised his hand to pass, a figure suddenly darted from diagonally behind him.
It was Watanabe Kenji!
He had been guarding outside the three-point line, and no one noticed him circling to the side, his fingertips like iron tongs, swiping at Maki Shinichi’s dribbling wrist—
“Smack!”
The sound of the basketball being fumbled was exceptionally loud.
Watanabe was quick-eyed and quick-handed, bending down to scoop up the ball and immediately hugging it tightly to his chest.
The “beep-beep” of the electronic timer suddenly became a continuous sound, so sharp it seemed to tear through the air—the final buzzer rang.
71:67.
When the referee’s hand signal dropped, Rikawa’s bench instantly erupted.
Sato Jiro threw his tactics board to the ground and jumped up to hug the assistant coach beside him.
Itakura Yuta was still standing under the basket, his shoulders, tensed from fighting for the rebound, suddenly relaxed, and he slowly slid down to the floor with his back against the backboard, breathing heavily.
Maki Shinichi still held his arm out, his wrist suspended in mid-air.
After two seconds, he slowly lowered his arm, saying nothing.
Muto Tadashi stood in place, looking at the ball in Watanabe’s arms, his eyes slowly turning red.
Takato Riki stood on the sideline; he had yelled so hard earlier that now his mouth was open but no sound came out, he merely raised a hand to wipe his face—he didn’t know if he was wiping sweat or something else.
The stands were silent for a few seconds, then Rikawa’s cheering section erupted in deafening cheers, shouts of “Rikawa won!” rolling over like a wave.
Meanwhile, on Hainan’s side, some buried their faces in their arms, the voices that had been shouting encouragement at the top of their lungs slowly diminished into fragmented sighs.
