The sharp blast of Coach Scheyer's whistle sliced through the gym, silencing the idle bounce of basketballs and low chatter. The players lined up for the three-man weave, their energy subdued but tense. Riku stood in the middle, the ball resting in his hands, its familiar weight grounding him amidst the anticipation.
"Precision. No dribbles. Defense starts at half-court," Scheyer called out, his voice even but commanding. His sharp blue eyes flicked across the players, assessing, measuring. "If you can't handle that, then you can't handle the game. Let's move."
Riku's grip on the ball tightened slightly as he glanced to his left, where Ogano bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, and to his right, where Takao stood with a lazy grin plastered across his face. Without hesitation, Riku passed the ball to Takao, sending him sprinting forward, while Ogano moved up the sideline to catch the next pass.
Takao returned the ball smoothly, his movements effortless, as Riku pivoted sharply and sent it across to Ogano just before they reached the half-court line. Their timing felt clean, almost natural, but Riku could feel his body lagging behind his instincts. His legs burned, and his breath came harder than it should have, but he pushed the discomfort aside. This was his moment.
"Defense!" Scheyer's voice rang out, cutting through the rhythm of the drill.
Ogano and Takao exchanged quick glances, shifting into their two-on-one setup. Ogano caught the ball at the top of the key, his dribble casual, almost dismissive. Takao lingered near the arc, his sharp eyes watching Riku with a glint of amusement.
"Take it easy on Mat-chan," Takao called, his tone light and teasing. "Don't want him running back home after this."
Ogano smirked, his movements relaxed. "Yeah, big guy. Show us what you've got."
Riku's gaze didn't waver. His mind was already working, tracking their movements, reading the angles, calculating possibilities. Ogano stepped forward, testing him with a quick jab to the left. Riku didn't bite. Ogano spun back toward the middle, flicking the ball out to Takao, who caught it with an exaggerated flourish.
"Showtime," Takao declared, lining up his shot. But Riku's body moved before the words even registered. His feet shifted, his muscles coiling and releasing in one fluid motion. Time seemed to slow as he closed the gap.
This position... This timing... This angle... It's perfect!
The ball left Takao's fingertips, arching gracefully through the air. Riku's hand was there to meet it, swatting it mid-flight with a force that sent it careening to the sideline. The sound of the block echoed through the gym, halting all movement.
For a moment, everything was still. Takao stood frozen, his grin replaced by wide-eyed disbelief. Ogano stared, mouth slightly open, the usual smirk wiped clean from his face.
"Wait... what just happened?" Takao finally managed, his voice tinged with astonishment.
Riku landed hard, his legs protesting the sudden strain, but his stance remained firm. His chest heaved, sweat trickling down his temple, but inside, a spark ignited. The block wasn't just a lucky play—it was a confirmation. His instincts, sharper than ever, were aligning with his actions.
The drill reset, and Riku rotated out. From the sideline, he watched as the energy in the gym shifted. Ogano and Takao exchanged sharper passes, their movements more deliberate. When it was Riku's turn again, he was ready.
On offense, something clicked. Catching the ball in the post, he felt Takao press against his back, but instead of tensing, his body flowed. A pivot here, a spin there—it was as if his feet already knew where to go. His post moves weren't fast, but they were clean, deliberate. The ball rolled off his fingers, bouncing softly off the glass and into the net.
Ogano raised an eyebrow. "Where'd that come from?"
Riku didn't answer. His breath was heavy, his muscles screaming, but his mind was clear. The game slowed around him, every movement, every angle revealing itself like a map only he could see.
The whistle blew sharply again, cutting through the players' panting breaths. "Not bad," Scheyer called, his voice calm but laced with expectation. "But basketball isn't about one play; it's about consistency. Grab a ball. Shooting drill. Twenty makes in the paint, twenty mid-range, twenty one-dribble pull-ups, and twenty from three. No slacking."
The gym erupted into motion. Riku's body protested with every step, but he pushed through, the adrenaline keeping him upright.
Ogano finished first, his shots smooth and controlled. "That's how it's done!" he called, tossing his ball into the rack with a confident smirk.
Takao wasn't far behind, his casual grin returning as he sank his final three-pointer. "Told you, Mat-chan, it's all in the follow-through."
Even Aoi, despite his hesitance, completed his reps before Riku, his long mid-range shots finding the net more often than not. He gave Riku a shy nod as he moved to the sideline, the faintest hint of pride in his posture.
Riku, however, struggled to keep up. His muscles screamed with every shot, his legs trembling under the strain. But his mind stayed sharp. Each miss brought a flood of data—his release point, his balance, the rotation of the ball. His instincts dissected every detail, making adjustments his body couldn't yet keep up with.
By the time he stepped back for the three-pointers, exhaustion weighed heavily on him. His arms felt like lead, and his legs wobbled with every attempt. But with each shot, his instincts sharpened, his mind compensating for the weaknesses in his form.
When his final shot arced cleanly through the net, the gym had quieted. He was the last to finish, but he felt no shame. His jersey clung to him, soaked with sweat, but his chest swelled with a quiet pride.
The whistle blew one last time, signaling the end of practice. The gym quieted as the players began to gather their things, their earlier energy now replaced by exhaustion. Riku's jersey clung to him, soaked with sweat, his body screaming for rest. But his mind was alive, replaying the drills, the moments of clarity on the court.
Coach Scheyer stepped forward, clipboard in hand, his sharp eyes locking on each player in turn. "Progress," he said, his tone even. "But progress isn't enough. Matsuda."
Riku straightened despite the weight pulling at his limbs, meeting Scheyer's gaze head-on.
"You've got instincts," the coach continued, his voice calm but deliberate. "And a natural grasp of fundamentals. But instincts alone won't carry you. Your body needs to catch up to your mind."
The words struck something deep in Riku, igniting a fire that burned brighter with every breath. Takao jogged past, clapping him on the back with a grin. "Look at you, Mat-chan. Coach already likes you more. Just don't let it go to your head."
Ogano smirked as he tossed his ball into the rack. "Yeah, don't get comfortable. We've got a long season ahead next year."
Riku didn't reply, his gaze drifting back to the hoop. The block. The post moves. The way the court seemed to open up, revealing angles and opportunities he hadn't seen before. He wasn't there yet, not even close. But for the first time, he believed he could get there.