Referee Sung Wo brought the whistle to his lips. Behind him, Jen Ryu, still breathing heavily, was already taking his position, determined to repeat his "feat." Mei Yu was moving to the perimeter, analyzing. The air smelled of sweat, anger, and something metallic—the smell of real struggle.
After the success of brute force, a new, unhealthy confidence hung in the air. The ball was with the newcomers again. Mei Yu, whose analytical mind was working at its limit, was already building a new scheme. He saw:
"Hong Ren is focused on Jen Ryu, on his power game. That means we need to use that as bait."
He received the ball, and instead of immediately giving it to the superheated Jen Ryu, Mei Yu began a deliberate dribble on the perimeter. His movements were economical, devoid of emotion.
"What's up, smart guy, waiting for an opening?" Lu Shen shouted from the bench, trying to rattle him. "You'll be waiting 'til morning! Your only 'opener' is Jen Ryu with his 'suckers'!"
Mei Yu ignored him. His eyes scanned the court. Jen Ryu, planted in the low post, was actively demanding the ball, but Mei Yu made an almost imperceptible hand gesture—"not now." He saw how Hong Ren was glued to Jen Ryu, leaving more space on the arc.
Suddenly, Mei Yu lunged forward. Not towards the hoop, but along the three-point line, straight at Hong Ren. It wasn't a drive, but a provocation. He forced the defender to take a step towards him. At the very moment their bodies drew close, Mei Yu, without slowing down, delivered a sharp, one-handed bounce pass. The ball flew past Hong Ren's ear, slipping through the narrow gap between him and Jen Ryu, and landed right in the hands of Xiao Li, who, taking advantage of the momentary commotion, had cut to the basket.
It was perfect execution of a "decoy maneuver" and an "assist." Xiao Li, receiving the ball two steps from the hoop with no tight coverage (Hong Ren was distracted by Mei Yu), didn't even make any extra moves. His face, usually expressing weary resignation, twisted for a moment with focused effort. He jumped and, still in the air, softly sent the ball into the basket with the simplest of close-range shots.
Swoosh.
Again, that same gentle, mocking sound.
Whistle!
On the scoreboard, the number for the newcomers' team changed from 0.5 to 1.
"YEAH!" burst from the lips of one of the five's reserve players before he caught himself and looked down again.
Xiao Li, landing, gave only a short nod, without joy but with a sense of duty fulfilled:
"Another half-point. Another step. Slow, agonizing, but a step."
On the Yoshida bench, there was genuine grumbling.
"Damn, he played him like a total sucker! Right through the defense!" Lu Shen sang out sarcastically, but a note of anxiety was creeping into his voice.
"That was a clean pass," Haru Lin hissed through clenched teeth, unable to hide his annoyance. "Hong got fixated on the bull and missed the mouse. Just stupid."
Jung Ho clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. He saw the pressure building:
"Five heads against one. They can attack from different angles, and Hong physically can't be everywhere. Something needs to change..."
But the most interesting thing wasn't happening in the stands, but on the court. Hong Ren, retrieving the ball from the net, showed neither annoyance nor anger. His dark eyes seemed to become even emptier. Another logical switch clicked inside him.
The bench's muttering, the spectators' gloating looks, Jen Ryu's heavy breathing—it was all background noise. He analyzed:
"The first attack—that was pure Jen Ryu's pressure. Brute force. I let him spend energy on that half-point, it wasn't worth it. But this second approach... that's smarter. Mei Yu diverted my attention, and passed to that guy. More economical... craftier... So they're learning. They've stopped just charging and started thinking. Well... Then I'll stop just reacting. Time to start anticipating. Time to get ahead of them!"
His confidence didn't falter. It crystallized, turning into something cold and sharp as a blade. Now he understood:
"Being just a shadow, reacting to movements, isn't enough. Need to dictate. Need to make them play my game, not try to parry theirs."
He stepped out of bounds with the ball. His posture spoke not just of determination, but of switching to a new mode. He was intent not just on bypassing the defense, but on breaking its very foundations.
Jen Ryu and Mei Yu were already waiting for him, taking up a defensive formation. Jen—on the perimeter line, ready for aggressive pressure, his eyes still blazing after his teammate's successful play. Mei Yu—slightly behind and to the side, playing the role of safety and game-reader. They didn't leave him alone, creating a double threat.
Hong Ren began to dribble. This time, his dribble was different—not low and cautious, but more confident, with a clear rhythm. He moved not straight at them, but along the arc, forcing the defenders to shift, to adjust to him. He wasn't looking for a gap; he was creating tension.
"Well, quiet guy, try to get through again!" Jen Ryu provoked, crouching in his stance. "Or are you just gonna dribble the ball around until time runs out?"
Hong Ren ignored him. His gaze flickered to Mei Yu for a moment, assessing the distance. He made a sharp shoulder feint to the right, mimicking the start of a drive. Jen Ryu flinched. Mei Yu took a micro-step in the same direction to cut off the potential path.
And that was a mistake.
Hong Ren, without completing the fake, abruptly changed direction to the opposite side, executing a swift behind-the-back crossover. He wasn't just getting around Jen Ryu—he was wedging himself into the narrow space between the two defenders, into the very point their synchronized movement had momentarily weakened.
Mei Yu, realizing the blunder, lunged to cut off the path, but it was too late. Hong Ren was already half a body ahead, speeding towards the three-point line. He took one, two powerful strides, pulling away from pursuit. Jen Ryu, roaring, turned and gave chase.
The path to the hoop opened before Hong Ren. But in the way, like a shadow, appeared Xiao Li, trying to get into position to take a charge. Hong Ren didn't close the distance. He slammed on the brakes right on the arc, making Xiao Li overshoot from inertia. There was no previous smoothness in his movements—there was steely resolve.
He straightened up, the ball already in shooting position. Jen Ryu, rushing from behind, jumped in desperation, trying to block from above.
Hong Ren jumped. Not high, but technically flawless. His body was protected, the ball released from a high point. A long, beautiful arc.
The ball flew in soundless silence, broken only by the whistle of the air and the players' heavy breathing.
Sweeeeeeee!
The whistle sounded simultaneously with the clean, crystalline sound of the ball passing through the net without touching the rim. Swish.
Three-pointer.
On the scoreboard, Hong Ren's numbers jerked sharply: from 4 to 12.
"OOF!" Lu Shen yelled, jumping up and down. "TWELVE, BABY! TWELVE! You'll be picking at your half-points 'til tomorrow, you losers!"
Jen Ryu, landing after his useless block, stared at the dangling net, then at the scoreboard. His fury was replaced for a moment by something like shock. 12 to 1. A chasm.
Mei Yu closed his eyes for a second. His rational mind helplessly noted:
"One successful attack by Hong Ren nullifies four of our perfect, synchronized attacks. The logic of the game imposed by Ming You... is merciless..."
Hong Ren, turning around, walked back to his half. There wasn't a shadow of triumph on his face. There was only the same icy focus. He had done what he intended: seized the initiative and struck not at their strength, but at the very core of their tactic—its economic inefficiency.
Referee Sung Wo, with an inscrutable face, announced:
"Score twelve to one! Ball to number twelve."