Ace of the Bench

The squeak of sneakers and the thud of basketballs echoed through the gym like a heartbeat. Afternoon light slanted through the high windows, streaking the polished floor in bright bars. Coach Matsuda stood near the scorer's table with his whistle between his teeth, clipboard in hand.

"All right!" he barked. "Today we're going live. Two five-minute halves. Losers buy the winners ice cream. You've got five minutes to warm up and pick your poison."

A ripple of laughter and murmurs moved through the players. Some rolled their shoulders, others stretched. The stakes were small, but the pride wasn't.

Marcus grinned and leaned over to Yuuto. "Losers buy ice cream. Easy. We're not losing."

Yuuto tightened the laces on his sneakers, feeling the hum of adrenaline under his skin. For a second he thought he could see it thin waves of heat-mirage air rolling off his own hands. "You talk like you're already eating."

"I am," Marcus said. "Chocolate swirl, double scoop."

Across the gym, Shun spun a ball on his finger. A faint shimmer clung to his outline like heat off asphalt, an aura of command. "I'm captaining. Who's running with me?"

Immediately three hands shot up upperclassmen who'd been thriving under his leadership since Yuuto's injury. Shun's smirk deepened. "Good. Let's show the comeback kid what pace looks like."

Coach Matsuda clapped. "Teams are set: Shun, Kento, Ishida, Riku, and Arata on blue. Yuuto, Marcus, Sora, Daichi, and Tsubasa on white. Tip-off in thirty seconds. Run it hard but keep it clean."

Yuuto glanced at his teammates: Marcus's easy grin, Sora's wiry frame, Daichi's broad shoulders, Tsubasa's quick feet. Not the starting five, but a blend of hustle and height. He exhaled slowly. This was still a scrimmage, but it felt like something more his first real test since the injury.

The edges of his vision tightened; the gym's colors dulled except for the blue jerseys in front of him, which burned bright like targets.

Tip-off.

The ball arced up; Daichi out-jumped Arata and tapped it back to Yuuto. The gym noise dimmed in his ears. System text flickered behind his eyes like a heads-up display: Weakness becomes strength. Control what you can.

He crossed half court, scanning the floor. Shun crouched low, eyes sharp two thin streaks of cold light cutting through the shadows. "Mr washed up" he called. "Let's dance."

Yuuto jab-stepped, ball low, probing. Shun mirrored him perfectly, aura flaring with each movement no wasted steps, no lean. Kento slid over from the wing; their overlapping presences looked like twin currents pressing Yuuto into a corner.

He spun back, barely keeping his dribble alive. "Damn"

A whistle. "Three seconds!" Coach barked. "Reset blue ball."

Shun smirked as he took the inbound. "Still rusty."

Possession after possession blurred. Blue jerseys streaked down the court like comets, the air behind them rippling. Kento hit a pull-up jumper. Riku cut backdoor for a layup. Each time Yuuto touched the ball, Shun crowded him with a hard hedge; a faint pulse of pressure radiated from his stance, like he was dragging Yuuto into his tempo.

On the sideline, Coach Matsuda scribbled on his clipboard, eyes flicking between the players as if trying to decipher the same energy.

Marcus jogged over during a dead ball. "Breathe," he said quietly. "They're blitzing you. Slow it down. Make them chase."

Yuuto wiped sweat from his brow. "Feels like the floor's tilted."

Marcus grinned, his own eyes catching a glint of steel blue. "Tilt it back."

Three minutes left. Blue leads 8–4.

Yuuto caught the inbound from Sora and slowed at half court. Instead of looking at Shun, he looked at the corners their feet, their spacing. The noise of the gym fell away; thin lines of light seemed to map passing lanes across the floor.

Hard dribble left, then a no-look bounce between two defenders to Tsubasa cutting baseline. Layup. 8–6.

Next trip, blue pressed again. Yuuto dribbled up the right sideline, then suddenly fired a cross-court skip to Marcus at the wing. Marcus pump-faked, two dribbles, floater. 8–8. The ball left his fingers with a small shockwave of sweat and air thwip like a panel slash.

Shun's head whipped around. "Stay home on shooters!" he barked, but his glowing eyes flicked to Yuuto, acknowledging the passes.

Camera-angle moments flickered like manga panels:

Ball spinning off Yuuto's fingers in slow motion, a streak of white tracing its arc past outstretched arms.

Marcus rising in the lane, body angled, finishing through contact, a hazy crown of heat shimmering above him.

Shun's glare, sharp as glass, as his lead slipped.

It wasn't superpowers. It was timing, vision, and trust, but under the gym lights it looked like something more.

"Two minutes!" Coach called. "Keep your pace!"

Blue attacked again. Shun called for a high screen, snaked around it, pulled up from midrange. Swish. 10–8.

Yuuto took the inbound, chest heaving. Marcus slapped his back. "We answer."

This time Yuuto pushed hard up the middle, faked a hand-off to Marcus, then zipped a behind-the-back pass to Sora on the cut. Layup rolled in. 10–10.

The gym buzzed with a low hum of excitement. Even the players waiting for their turn leaned forward, eyes glinting with reflected light.

Last minute. Blue ball. Shun dribbled at the top, aura steady but flaring at the edges. He drove left, spun back, stepped back beyond the arc. Release pure. Net barely moved. 13–10.

"Game point for the half," Shun said under his breath.

Yuuto swallowed his frustration. His knee felt solid. His lungs burned. He glanced at Marcus. "One more."

Marcus grinned. "Let's run the double cut."

Yuuto brought the ball up, motioning Sora to the corner. He dribbled right, Marcus cut hard left, dragging the defense. Yuuto hesitated, then whipped a pass to Daichi rolling down the lane. Dunk off the glass. 13–12.

Coach blew his whistle. "Time! End of first half. Blue up by one."

Players bent over, hands on knees, sweat dripping. Shun wiped his forehead and gave Yuuto a short nod not mocking, but measured, his glowing eyes dimming back to normal.

"Not bad," he said. "But you're still a step behind."

Yuuto straightened, meeting his gaze. For a heartbeat, his own pupils flashed electric blue. "We'll see in the second half."

Marcus bumped his shoulder. "Now we know what they're doing. We flip it next half."

Coach gathered them at midcourt. "Good tempo. White team you adjusted well. Blue team don't get comfortable. Second half starts in three. Hydrate."

As they broke for water, Yuuto sat on the bench, towel around his neck, heart pounding but a faint smile tugging at his lips. The first half had been messy, but he'd begun to see the seams in the defense the threads he could pull.

Weakness becomes strength, the system had said. Maybe this was how: not by out-jumping or out-muscling, but by out-seeing.

He looked across the court. Shun was laughing with his teammates, but every so often his eyes flicked back at Yuuto, like a predator checking its prey. That was enough to keep the fire burning.

Marcus dropped onto the bench beside him. "You good?"

Yuuto nodded. "Yeah. Next half… we're not buying the ice cream."

Marcus grinned. "That's my guy."

And as the whistle blew for the second half warm-up, the gym's air felt different charged, like a storm building. Thin threads of light curled around players' shoulders and wrists, invisible to the crowd but vivid to anyone on the court.

Yuuto rolled his shoulders, eyes narrowing at Shun. The first half had been about finding his footing. The second half would be about taking it back.

This time, his aura burned steady and bright.