The ball hit the floor once.
Twice.
Yuuto's pass sailed just a fraction too high.
Marcus leapt—fingertips grazing leather—but it slipped past him, skidding out of bounds near the sideline.
The whistle blew.
Turnover.
A murmur rippled through the arena.
Yuuto winced, his hand clenching unconsciously. Too fast… I rushed it.
"Relax," Marcus muttered as they jogged back on defense, though his eyes never left the opposite court.
Hakuro inbounded instantly.
No wasted motion.
No chatter.
The ball moved like it already knew where to go.
Shunjin narrowed his eyes.
"…They don't hesitate."
Ryu didn't even bring the ball up this time.
Instead, the inbound pass went to Hiroto Mae—Hakuro's defensive hound—who pushed forward with a low, predatory dribble. His shoulders were relaxed, eyes half-lidded, but his feet moved with sharp intent.
Marcus slid into his stance.
This guy's not a scorer, he thought. But—
Hiroto didn't try to beat him.
Didn't try to cross.
He simply waited.
