Ace of the Bench

The ball dropped through the net.

Swish.

Haruto Kusanagi didn't celebrate.

He didn't pump his fist or flash a grin to the crowd. He simply backpedaled, eyes calm, posture loose—like he'd just completed a warm-up shot, not the opening three of a national-stage match.

The scoreboard blinked to life.

HAKURO ACADEMY — 3

SEIRYŌ HIGH — 0

A murmur rolled through the arena.

Not shock.

Expectation.

Yuuto Kai stood at the baseline, hands on his knees, eyes locked on the court ahead. The sound around him dulled—the crowd fading into a distant hum. He inhaled slowly as the referee tossed him the ball, feeling the familiar texture settle into his palms.

Okay, he told himself.

First possession. Set the tone.

He glanced up.

Marcus was already moving, sliding toward the wing with sharp, economical footwork. Shunjin held the top, posture confident. Daichi positioned himself near the dunker spot, ready to cut.

Everything looked right.

Yuuto dribbled forward.

The moment he crossed half court—

Pressure.

Ryu Kazen didn't rush him.

Didn't reach.

Didn't gamble.

He simply slid into Yuuto's path, stance low, arms relaxed at his sides, eyes locked—not on the ball, but on Yuuto's chest.

Those eyes.

Blue.

Grid-like.

Unblinking.

Yuuto felt it immediately.

Not intimidation.

Awareness.

Like being seen completely.

Ryu tilted his head slightly, almost curious.

"So," he said quietly, just loud enough for Yuuto to hear, "you're the one."

Yuuto didn't answer.

He shifted his dribble left, keeping it tight. Ryu mirrored him effortlessly, shoes whispering against the hardwood.

No wasted movement.

No reaction lag.

Marcus clapped once from the wing. "Yuuto!"

There.

Yuuto saw it.

Marcus had a sliver of space—Haruto had drifted just half a step too far toward the lane.

Now.

Yuuto planted his foot and snapped the pass.

It should've been clean.

A sharp chest pass, angled just past the defender's fingertips.

But—

Ryu moved.

Not fast.

Not slow.

Perfectly timed.

His hand shot out—not toward where the ball was, but toward where it would be.

The pass clipped his fingertips.

Just barely.

Enough.

The ball veered off-course.

Marcus lunged, fingers grazing leather—but it was already gone.

Hiroto Mae appeared out of nowhere, scooping it up in stride.

"Turnover!" the commentator shouted.

The crowd roared.

Yuuto's heart dropped.

No—

Hakuro was already running.

Hiroto pushed the break, eyes forward. Minato Raiji flared to the corner, dragging a defender with him. Shunpei Kanda thundered down the middle like a freight train.

Yuuto sprinted back, lungs burning, vision narrowing.

Ryu was behind the play.

Walking.

Watching.

Hiroto drove hard, forcing Daniel to step up—

—and flicked the ball back.

Ryu caught it at the top of the arc.

For a split second, the world slowed.

Ryu looked at Yuuto.

Not mockingly.

Not aggressively.

Simply… assessing.

Then he swung the ball to the corner.

Haruto.

Feet set.

No hesitation.

Bang.

Another three.

HAKURO ACADEMY — 6

SEIRYŌ HIGH — 0

The arena buzzed louder now.

Yuuto stood frozen for half a beat.

That was my fault.

Marcus jogged past him, jaw tight. "My bad," he muttered automatically—out of habit more than truth.

Yuuto shook his head. "No. That was on me."

Ryu glanced back as he crossed half court.

"First read," he said calmly. "Too loud."

Yuuto stiffened.

Ryu continued, voice even. "Good idea. Bad timing."

He didn't sound arrogant.

That somehow made it worse.

Seiryō inbounded again.

This time, Yuuto slowed things down.

He dribbled deliberately, eyes scanning, trying to feel the rhythm of the game—but Hakuro's defense was already set. No gaps. No panic. Everyone knew exactly where to be.

It felt like trying to attack a wall that breathed.

Shunjin called for the ball.

Yuuto hesitated—just a fraction—

And that fraction was enough.

Ryu slid closer, cutting off the lane, his presence heavy.

Yuuto adjusted, pivoting, searching—

Too slow.

The shot clock ticked.

Ten.

Nine.

Yuuto forced the pass inside to Daichi.

Shunpei Kanda was already there.

Waiting.

The ball was smothered.

Blocked.

Hakuro ball again.

The crowd erupted.

Coach Takeda didn't shout.

He just watched.

Eyes sharp.

Hands in his pockets.

Beside him, Coach Hikari's expression was unreadable.

On the court, Yuuto exhaled hard, chest tight.

This is different.

Not overwhelming.

Not impossible.

Just… precise.

Hakuro wasn't crushing them.

They were erasing margins.

Every tiny mistake.

Every hesitation.

Every assumption.

As Hakuro brought the ball up again, Yuuto lowered his stance, eyes narrowing.

Ryu met his gaze.

For the first time—

He smiled.

Just a little.

The kind of smile that said:

Adjust.

Or fall behind.

Yuuto clenched his fists.

The game had only just begun.

And already—

He could feel it.

This match wasn't about strength.

It was about who could see the court more clearly.

And Yuuto refused to blink.

Yuuto reset his stance as Hakuro initiated their next possession.

The ball moved crisply—one pass, two, three—never sticking, never slowing. Hakuro didn't rush, didn't probe recklessly. They placed the ball, each swing forcing Seiryō to shift just a half-step more than they wanted to.

Yuuto tracked Ryu as he floated along the perimeter, always a step removed from pressure, always positioned where help should be.

That's the problem, Yuuto realized.

He's never where you want him to be—only where you can't ignore him.

Hiroto Mae drove hard from the wing, forcing Daichi to step up. For a moment, the lane opened behind him. Yuuto saw it and reacted instantly, sliding into the gap, arms up.

Hiroto kicked the ball out.

Not to Ryu.

To Minato.

The corner three went up.

Clang.

The sound echoed like relief.

Rebound.

Marcus.

"Push!" Shunjin shouted.

Yuuto was already moving.

The ball hit his hands in stride, and for the first time since tip-off, Seiryō ran. Not scrambling—running. Marcus sprinted wide, Shunjin cut diagonally through the lane, dragging a defender with him. Daichi sealed Kanda for just a heartbeat.

There.

Yuuto drove.

Ryu stepped in front of him.

Again.

But this time, Yuuto didn't force it.

He slowed.

Just a fraction.

Ryu's eyes narrowed—barely noticeable, but Yuuto caught it.

Then Yuuto exploded the other way, crossing over low and hard. Ryu slid with him, still perfectly aligned, but the help defense hesitated.

That hesitation was enough.

Yuuto kicked the ball out to Marcus.

Open.

Marcus rose.

Release—

Clang.

The rim rejected it.

A collective groan surged through the Seiryō section.

Marcus cursed under his breath as Hakuro secured the rebound.

"Damn it," he muttered, already sprinting back. "That was it."

Yuuto nodded once, jaw tight.

We're close.

Too close not to feel it.

Hakuro slowed the pace again, unfazed by the miss. Ryu brought the ball up this time, his dribble measured, rhythmic—each bounce steady, unhurried.

Yuuto met him at the arc.

This time, Ryu spoke first.

"Better," he said quietly.

Yuuto didn't look away. "You haven't seen anything yet."

Ryu's lips curved slightly. Not a smile. More like interest.

"We'll see."

Ryu leaned left, then right—testing balance, testing response. Yuuto stayed grounded, refusing to bite, refusing to blink.

Then Ryu accelerated.

Not explosively. Economically.

Two steps past Yuuto's hip.

Help came late.

Ryu drew it in and kicked to the wing—Haruto again.

But Marcus was ready this time, closing out hard, hand up, body squared.

Haruto didn't shoot.

He attacked the closeout, one dribble inside, then stopped short and flicked a pass behind him.

Shunpei Kanda caught it mid-lane.

Daichi jumped.

So did Kanda.

The difference was undeniable.

Kanda finished through contact, the ball kissing glass before dropping in.

And-one.

The whistle pierced the air.

The crowd roared.

Hakuro Academy — 8

Seiryō High — 0

Daichi landed hard, grimacing, but nodded once toward Yuuto as if to say I tried.

Yuuto clenched his jaw.

They're punishing every inch.

Kanda sank the free throw without ceremony.

9–0.

Coach Takeda finally raised a hand.

The referee nodded.

Timeout.

The arena buzzed as players jogged to their benches. Yuuto wiped sweat from his brow, chest rising and falling as adrenaline thumped through his veins.

On the bench, Coach Takeda leaned forward, eyes sharp.

"Listen," he said calmly. No yelling. No panic. "They're not faster than you. They're not stronger everywhere. They're just earlier."

He tapped his temple.

"They read before you act. So stop acting first."

Yuuto looked up.

Takeda met his gaze. "Yuuto. You don't need to win the possession. You need to delay it."

Yuuto's brow furrowed.

"Delay?" Marcus echoed.

"Make them uncomfortable," Takeda continued. "Break rhythm. One extra dribble. One fake. Force them to react instead of predict."

He turned to Marcus. "Shoot ready. Misses happen. Don't hesitate next time."

Marcus nodded, jaw set.

Takeda stood. "Next possession. One clean look. That's all."

The horn sounded.

Yuuto stood slowly, fingers flexing.

Delay the read.

Make them react.

As play resumed, Seiryō inbounded. Yuuto brought the ball up again, but this time, he didn't rush into the set.

He dribbled high.

Waited.

Counted the spacing.

Ryu watched him closely, head tilted slightly, eyes sharp.

Yuuto made a small move left.

Then didn't go.

He pulled the ball back out.

Ryu adjusted.

Good.

Yuuto jabbed right.

Paused.

Ryu hesitated.

There.

Yuuto drove—not to score, not to pass—but to pull the defense inward. Two defenders collapsed.

Yuuto kicked the ball back out.

Shunjin.

Open.

Shot up—

Swish.

The net snapped clean.

Seiryō High — 3

Hakuro Academy — 9

The Seiryō bench erupted.

Shunjin backpedaled with a sharp grin. "There we go."

Yuuto exhaled, shoulders loosening just slightly.

On the other end, Ryu glanced at the scoreboard, then back at Yuuto.

That small smile returned.

"You learn fast," he said.

Yuuto didn't respond.

But his eyes stayed locked.

The game flowed on, possession after possession, each one a test—not of strength, not of skill alone, but of perception. Hakuro still controlled the tempo, still dictated spacing, but now Seiryō was resisting.

Forcing extra passes.

Forcing thought.

Forcing Ryu to engage.

And as Yuuto settled into his stance once more, heartbeat steady, breath controlled, he realized something crucial.

The crack had already formed.

Not in Hakuro's dominance.

But in its certainty.

And Yuuto Kai intended to widen it.