The buzzer blared, shaking the gym. Seiryō's bench exhaled in unison, sweat dripping from brows and foreheads. The scoreboard glowed 64–57, Easton still ahead, but the atmosphere had shifted. Marcus could feel it—his Pulse, the rhythm he had cultivated, flickering back into life, fragile but alive.

He wiped the sweat from his chin and met Yuuto's eyes. No words were necessary. A nod passed between them, unspoken trust. The floor was theirs to command again, at least for now.

Coach Aoyama's voice cut through the haze of noise. "Stay true to your rhythm. Don't fight their system—flow through it."

Marcus inhaled deeply, letting the words sink in. Flow. Not force. Control was useless if it suffocated his teammates.

The inbound whistle shrieked. Easton sent the ball over in a clean arc. Sho Amakusa caught it near half-court, calm as ever. His eyes scanned Seiryō like a predator, calculating and precise. But Marcus didn't flinch. He had Yuuto now.

The first pass from Yuuto was crisp, deliberate, and quiet, slicing through the chaos. Marcus moved without hesitation, cutting through lanes that had previously seemed impossible. Shunjin adjusted his path, Kento set a perfect screen, Daichi posted up low. For the first time this quarter, Seiryō's team was moving in harmony.

Thump. Thump. Thump. The Pulse was alive again, but still fragile.

Yuuto's voice was calm yet commanding. "Marcus. Shunjin. On my cue. Wait for the lane."

Marcus nodded. His heart raced, but it wasn't panic—it was focus. He held the ball at the arc, felt Itsuki Takashima's gaze like a laser scanning his every movement. But Marcus didn't look away. He trusted Yuuto.

He passed. Yuuto caught it seamlessly, stepping back behind the three-point line.

Swish.

64–60. The crowd erupted. Sweat and adrenaline mingled, vibrating through the floor. For a fleeting moment, Seiryō's Pulse surged, flowing across the team like electricity. Marcus's chest throbbed with it. They were alive.

But Easton wasn't finished.

Itsuki Takashima, the golden-eyed point guard, flexed his fingers and shifted his stance. The faint glow returned to his eyes. He didn't need to shout or gesture—he just knew. Marcus and Yuuto moved, and Itsuki anticipated. Before the ball even left Yuuto's hands, Itsuki's path was already in motion.

Swipe.

The ball was gone from Yuuto's hands before he could react. Itsuki pivoted midair, laser-focused, and launched a pass downcourt to Ajax, who powered through the lane with a slam dunk.

68–60.

Marcus's stomach twisted. The Pulse was being dissected before it could fully form. He looked at Yuuto. The usually calm sharpshooter's jaw was clenched, eyes flashing. Yuuto drove next possession, attempting a series of step-backs and fakes, but Renji stood firm. Blocked. Again. And again.

Yuuto's frustration boiled over. "Come on!" he yelled, slamming his palm into the ball.

Renji's eyes softened briefly, his voice low but audible mid-play. "It's not personal."

Yuuto froze, caught off guard by the humility in Renji's tone. The pressure didn't lighten—it intensified. Yuuto's mind screamed, he's so calm in the storm. Why do I feel so small?

Marcus pivoted, surveying the floor. The Pulse he had tried to force earlier in the game was gone. Broken. Itsuki's interception streak and Renji's dominance had torn through it. He clenched his fists.

"We adapt," Marcus muttered, almost to himself. "We find a new rhythm."

The ball came to him at the arc again. He took a breath, visualized the court, and moved—not controlling, not forcing, but flowing. Shunjin cut baseline, Yuuto slid into the center, Kento set a crisp pick. Daichi battled in the post, holding his position. The ball zipped between them like it had a mind of its own.

Marcus drove. Itsuki shadowed him instantly, sliding like liquid gold, predicting his every move. Marcus feinted left, spun right. Itsuki stayed with him. Marcus hesitated—almost caught.

But Yuuto intercepted the pass to Marcus's left and pushed it forward. Quick, clean, perfect. Shunjin cut to the corner, received, and laid it in with precision.

68–63. The gap closed slightly. The gym buzzed. The Pulse was back… but not enough to reclaim control.

Sho leaned slightly to Orson, whispering, "Keep Itsuki alive. Let him read them—they can't adjust fast enough."

Sho's calm eyes scanned Marcus. There was recognition there now—he wasn't copying him anymore. He was finding his own flow, his own Pulse, flawed but real.

Marcus shook off doubt, focusing on the next possession. He passed to Yuuto, who immediately found Marcus cutting the lane. Marcus faked, pivoted, and passed to Daichi in the post. Daichi turned, elbowed out of position by Renji, but pivoted just enough. Shot. Swish.

68–65.

The Pulse hummed through the team now, flickering like a flame in the wind. Shunjin and Kento moved with more confidence. Marcus's eyes tracked every defender, every gap, every movement. The rhythm wasn't perfect yet, but it was alive—and growing.

Then came Itsuki again. Marcus passed to Yuuto, attempting to restart their flow. Itsuki stepped forward, golden eyes narrowing. He anticipated the pass, cutting off the lane, stealing the ball clean. Downcourt he went, passing to Ajax for a fast-break dunk.

72–65.

Marcus's chest tightened. Itsuki wasn't just predicting—they were outmatched. But this wasn't failure. Not yet.

Yuuto attempted to drive again, but Renji met him, timing his block perfectly. Yuuto's frustration boiled into movement—he pushed harder, faked, feinted. Each attempt snatched away by Renji's calm dominance.

Marcus shouted, "Yuuto! Reset! Shunjin, Kento—flow with me!"

They moved like water through rocks, spacing opening, gaps forming. Marcus saw an opening near the arc. He passed to Shunjin, who drove baseline. Itsuki shadowed him, but Shunjin kicked it to Daichi. Shot… blocked by Renji.

Thump! The ball ricocheted, bouncing toward Yuuto. He caught it, pivoted. Blocked again.

Frustration. Fury. Fire. Yuuto's face burned red. His jaw tight, breathing harsh. Every blocked attempt fueled his focus. He could feel the Pulse struggling—but alive. Still alive.

Itsuki's calm was unshakable. He intercepted the next pass from Marcus and zipped it forward. Ajax dunked again. Easton led 74–65.

Marcus gritted his teeth. He wiped sweat from his eyes, feeling the sting of failure, yet determination coiling inside him. Itsuki smirked faintly, exhausted but triumphant. "I finally beat your Pulse," he said softly.

Marcus met his gaze, half-smile forming despite the pressure. "Then I'll just create a new one."

Sho leaned back slightly, observing the chaos and adaptation. Marcus wasn't copying him anymore—he was creating. Sho's eyes flickered with intrigue. "Interesting," he muttered to Orson. "This isn't over. Not by a long shot."

The gym roared. Fans sensed the turning point, even if the scoreboard told a different story. Easton's lead remained, but Marcus's team had found a spark, a heartbeat—a rhythm that, though faltering, refused to die.

The buzzer for the next possession sounded. Marcus inhaled deeply, sweat stinging his eyes. His teammates mirrored him. Shunjin's cuts were sharper, Kento's screens more precise, Daichi stronger in the post. Yuuto's passes finally cut through Renji's wall, though blocked attempts left both of them gritting their teeth.

The fourth quarter had only begun.

And the Pulse… had only begun to awaken.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.