The jump ball reset things.
But it didn't reset the tension.
Marcus wiped his palms against his shorts, chest rising and falling harder than he wanted to admit. Hiroto stood across from him, posture unchanged, expression unreadable—but Marcus could feel it now.
This wasn't a duel anymore.
It was an evaluation.
Hakuro inbounded. The ball rotated through hands once, twice—safe passes, deliberate movement. Ryu stayed high, almost passive, watching instead of commanding.
That alone felt wrong.
Yuuto noticed it too.
Why isn't he taking over?
The answer came quietly.
Hiroto didn't call for the ball.
He simply stepped forward.
The gold around him didn't flare—it tightened, drawing closer to his body, sharper, denser. Like a blade being slid from its sheath just an inch at a time.
Marcus swallowed.
Something shifted.
Hiroto caught the ball at the wing and didn't move immediately. He stood there, dribbling once… twice… eyes half-lidded.
Waiting.
