The roaring crowd hit them the moment Shinseong stepped into Daehan High's basketball gym.
It was bright, loud, and stifling — the kind of place that smelled like sweat, polish, and competition. Banners hung high, chanting students in Daehan's colors lined the bleachers, and the floor gleamed like glass under the overhead lights.
The air felt thick with rivalry.
"Daehan sure doesn't do small crowds," Hyun-Sik muttered, slinging his bag off his shoulder.
"Neither do we," Ji-Woon replied simply, eyes narrowing toward the court. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried weight.
They were here to make a statement.
Coach Gang barked, "Warm up! Ten minutes!"
Balls hit the floor instantly — thud, thud, thud. The team spread out, movements crisp and coordinated. Even the sound of their sneakers had rhythm, discipline.
From the stands, Daehan's students were already chanting. "Let's go, Daehan! Crush Shinseong!"
Raon, stretching near the bench, smirked. "They're loud. I like it."
Jae-Hyun, standing with his arms crossed beside Coach Gang, didn't react. He just watched — quiet, calculating, eyes following every player like he was already in the middle of a chess match.
When the whistle blew to signal lineup, he turned to the team.
"Gather up," Jae-Hyun's voice cut through the chatter, low but commanding. Instantly, the team circled around him, sweat already glistening on their necks from warmups.
Coach Gang stood a few feet back, arms folded, letting Jae-Hyun handle it. He didn't interfere when leadership took its natural form — and Jae-Hyun's presence didn't just lead; it anchored.
"Starting lineup," Jae-Hyun began, eyes scanning the team. "Ji-Woon, Hyun-Sik, Won-Bin, Min-Seok, Jun-Young."
There was a brief murmur of approval and slaps on the back — the chosen five heading forward to grab their jerseys.
Then, from the back, Raon blinked. "Wait—what about me?"
The gym noise dulled in his ears for a second.
"You're not putting me in?"
Jae-Hyun didn't blink. "No."
Raon's brows shot up. "But I've been training like hell. You've seen me — I've mastered the fundamentals, I've perfected—"
Jae-Hyun raised a hand slightly, silencing him. "You've improved fast. That's exactly why you're not going in."
Raon froze. "What?"
"You're an ace, Raon. And aces don't get thrown into practice games. They're saved for matches that matter."
He stepped closer, voice quiet but razor sharp. "Pay attention today. Watch the flow, the spacing, how the team handles pressure. You'll pick up more from the sidelines than you think. Every small detail — memorize it."
Raon stared for a moment, then exhaled, his defiance melting into focus. "...Got it."
Jae-Hyun's mouth tilted into a small, confident smirk. "Good. Because the next time you play, I expect you to dominate."
Coach Gang clapped once, snapping everyone's attention back. "Alright, focus. It's Daehan High you're facing — tough, fast, and unpredictable. But so are we. They'll come in thinking Shinseong's lost its edge after last year's third-years graduated. Let's make them regret that assumption."
The whistle blew.
The game began.
The ball flew.
Daehan's captain, Joon-Ha, lunged first — long reach, clean grab — and before anyone could blink, a sharp pass flew to Byung-Woo. He darted in, dodged Min-Seok, and scored with a fluid layup.
2–0.
The Daehan bleachers roared.
Hyun-Sik clicked his tongue. "Damn, they're fast."
"Then keep up," Ji-Woon shot back.
Shinseong reset. Ji-Woon took the inbound, eyes flicking around the court like he was scanning code. Hyun-Sik cut through, Min-Seok created space — but Byung-Woo was already there, marking Min-Seok tight, body blocking every path.
Min-Seok feinted left — no luck. Spun right — Byung-Woo anticipated.
The ball slipped out to Jun-Young — a three-pointer attempt — clang.
Miss.
Rebound. Daehan ball.
Another swift counter. This time, Joon-Ha himself broke through Shinseong's defense with a step-through move and clean mid-range jumper.
4–0.
The noise grew deafening.
Jae-Hyun, standing by the bench, didn't flinch. He tracked Joon-Ha's every pivot, the way his left foot planted just before a fake.
"Coach," he said quietly. "Their captain's left shoulder drops every time he prepares for a drive. It's his tell."
Coach Gang's lips curved. "You caught that fast."
"I don't miss much."
On the court, Ji-Woon finally found an opening — a fake pass to Hyun-Sik, no-look bounce to Won-Bin, and a clean drive in. Layup — swish.
Cheers erupted from Shinseong's small side of the bleachers.
4–2.
The intensity climbed with every possession.
Daehan's defensive formation was suffocating. Byung-Woo's defense on Min-Seok was merciless — he didn't just guard; he shadowed. Every time Min-Seok moved, Byung-Woo was there like his reflection.
"You glued to me or what?" Min-Seok snapped between breaths.
"Coach told me to," Byung-Woo smirked. "You're the only one who can shoot from range."
"Oh yeah?"
Next play, Min-Seok tricked him — a fake drive, then a fadeaway jumper from the edge.
Swish.
The bench exploded in applause.
4–4.
"Keep it up!" Hyun-Sik shouted, slapping Min-Seok's back.
But Daehan adjusted fast —
Next play, Hyun-Sik spun past his defender, eyes locked on the rim—But Do-Hoon was there.
Daehan's defensive ace stepped in like a wall, reading his every move.
Hyun-Sik feinted left, tried to break through—
Do-Hoon anticipated it perfectly, cutting him off clean.
The ball slipped from Hyun-Sik's grip, bouncing out of bounds.
The Daehan bench roared.Joon-Ha shouted, "Nice block, Do-Hoon!"
Hyun-Sik clenched his jaw, forcing a breath through his nose.
Do-Hoon only smirked, mouthing, "Try again."
And by the end of the first quarter, Daehan was ahead 22–14.
Shinseong gathered at their bench, panting, sweat dripping.
"Their number seven's shutting Min-Seok down," Jun-Young said.
"Joon-Ha's reading my every move," Ji-Woon added, wiping his face. "And their number five has been going after Hyun-Sik. They've studied us."
"Then we'll rewrite what they think they know," Hyun-Sik growled.
Jae-Hyun stepped forward, calm and cold. "You're reacting too late to every fake. Stop chasing the ball and start reading their shoulders."
Min-Seok looked up, eyes narrowing. "You're saying that like it's easy."
"It is," Jae-Hyun said simply.
"Right. Until you're the one getting elbowed in the ribs," Min-Seok muttered.
Jae-Hyun's expression didn't change. "Then hit back harder."
A quiet laugh escaped Ji-Woon. "You really are a tyrant."
Jae-Hyun's smirk was slow and dangerous. "If you lose today, you'll see what a real tyrant looks like — during practice."
That shut everyone up.
Coach Gang burst out laughing. "You heard him, boys! Unless you want hell for drills, go make Daehan regret ever thinking we were rusty!"
They broke out of the huddle.
Back on court, Shinseong's coordination tightened. Ji-Woon and Hyun-Sik started reading Daehan's rhythm, predicting their passes before they even landed. Min-Seok switched to quick cuts and smart feeds instead of long shots, threading the ball through narrow gaps.
Won-Bin powered through screens, using his build to bulldoze openings for teammates instead of forcing contact. Jun-Young's court vision came alive — a sharp assist here, a clean intercept there — holding the tempo together like glue.
Every play was sharper. More focused.
By halftime, the scoreboard read: Daehan 41 – Shinseong 33.
Still behind. But now, the crowd felt it — the tide was shifting.
Jae-Hyun stood quietly by the sideline, arms folded. His eyes gleamed like someone who already knew how this match would end.
The buzzer split the air. Second half.
Sweat clung to every inch of Shinseong's team. Their jerseys — black and white — looked darker under the gym's bright lights, heavy with effort and pride. Across the court, Daehan's players were grinning. They'd led the first half by eight points, confident, loose, taunting even.
But as Ji-Woon gathered the team in a huddle, something shifted.
"Eight points isn't a gap," he said quietly, voice steady. "It's bait."
Hyun-Sik smirked, rolling his shoulders. "So let's bite."
They broke the huddle.
The play restarted.
Daehan pushed hard, their rhythm tight, passes clean.
Hyun-Sik went for the steal but missed by a breath — Joon-Ha caught it, pivoted, shot.Swish.
Daehan crowd roared. Eight-point lead again.
But Shinseong didn't flinch.
They moved with quiet precision — Jun-Young cut across, setting a screen; Ji-Woon slipped behind; Min-Seok drew two defenders, then fired the ball to Won-Bin.
A clean catch.
A clean shot.
Thud — net.
Two points shaved off. Just like that.
Do-Hoon started shadowing Hyun-Sik, cutting off his lanes, forcing him wide. Hyun-Sik countered by pulling him out of position, opening space for Ji-Woon to drive in. The ball zipped through the air — Ji-Woon jumped, twisted, laid it up before Daehan's defense could adjust.
Swish.
Crowd noise rippled. The gap narrowed.
Daehan retaliated fast — their captain signaling a quick rotation, their passes crisp, sharp.
They tried to break Shinseong's defense again — but Jun-Young read the play early, intercepted mid-pass, and sent it flying to Min-Seok who didn't hesitate.
Long-range shot.
Perfect arc.
Clean.
Shinseong bench stood — roaring, clapping, fists in the air.
Daehan called timeout.
Their coach barked orders, frustration cracking through his voice, drawing new defense formations on his clipboard.
Across the court, Shinseong gathered, forming a loose circle, breathing hard, sweat glistening under the lights. For a moment, no one spoke — just the sound of their breathing, heavy and alive.
Then Ji-Woon broke the silence. "Daehan's tightening defense. They're watching our wings."
Hyun-Sik nodded, wiping his face with his wristband.
"Their number five is all over me. Can't get a clean shot."
Min-Seok leaned in, grin crooked. "Then pull him wider. I'll cut through the gap."
Jun-Young added quietly, "They're fast. We'll need to be faster."
A small silence followed — then Ji-Woon said, tone low but hard, "If we lose, he's doubling practice."
Everyone froze for half a second.
That line alone was enough to light a fire under them.
Min-Seok groaned. "Hell no."
Hyun-Sik clicked his tongue. "I'm not dying in drills again."
Jun-Young muttered, "Then don't miss."
Ji-Woon's lips curved. "Exactly. We win — or we crawl home."
And that was all the motivation they needed.
Because sometimes, the dread of practice burns hotter than the will to win. And right now, survival meant victory.
Back on court, they unleashed.
Their tempo exploded — one seamless rhythm of speed and instinct. Ji-Woon shifted into control mode, reading the court like a chessboard. Pass — fake — drive — spin — shot. Every move connected.
Hyun-Sik found his rhythm again, his speed slicing through Daehan's defense like a blade.
Jun-Young boxed out clean, snagging rebounds that should've been impossible.
Min-Seok shot fire from the perimeter — two threes in under a minute, clean as glass.
Won-Bin bulldozed through Daehan's center, forcing them to adjust their formation, giving Ji-Woon the space to break through.
The scoreboard blinked.
Daehan 57 – Shinseong 59.
Shinseong had taken the lead.
The last few minutes were war. Daehan fought back viciously — pushing, shoving, fouling, desperate to reclaim control. But Shinseong didn't yield.
Every time Daehan scored, Shinseong answered sharper. Every time they tried to pressure Ji-Woon, Hyun-Sik cut through their blind spot.
Even Jun-Young — quiet, grounded Jun-Young — drove a perfect block that sent the crowd gasping.
Their chemistry was terrifying. It wasn't luck or chance — it was willpower sharpened by fear and pride. And Daehan couldn't keep up.
The buzzer sounded — shrill, final.
Shinseong 73 – Daehan 65.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then the realization hit — they'd done it. Cheers burst out, laughter, shouts, high-fives that stung palms.
Their bodies were burning, lungs on fire, but the thrill — the thrill was worth every bruise and every drop of sweat.
From the sidelines, Coach Gang crossed his arms, trying to look unimpressed but failing.
"Not bad," he said dryly. "Next time, lead from the start."
The boys groaned. "Coach!"
"Can't we enjoy the win for a second?"
Coach Gang smirked. "Enjoy it. You've earned it — but don't get comfortable. He'll raise the bar again."
A collective groan rippled through the team.
Somewhere deep down, they all knew it wasn't just relief. It was a warning.
Because if this was how hard they had to fight to survive Jae-Hyun's standards…
what would it take to meet them?