Chapter 180: PlayTime I…

The first half was exactly what Akira expected: brutal.

Shibuya High played as if they had been practicing street fights instead of basketball. They always set their screens with sharp elbows. Getting a rebound was like a wrestling match.

When a hard foul knocked a player to the floor, they just shrugged and gave a quick, half-hearted apology.

And the referees? They were either blind or bribed… probably both.

Still, Akira dominated.

He moved like a pro, using his enhanced skills to get past the defenders, hotting fade-away jumpers and threading passes through impossible gaps. By halftime, he had scored eighteen points and made seven assists, which made Shibuya’s coach yell on the sideline.

Akira wasn’t really bothered by the physical play. His first real basketball experience had been street ball, when Mia introduced him to the crew that played in the underground warehouse basement.

They’d taught him how to play through contact, how to keep the ball safe when someone was pulling his jersey, and how to make layups even with defenders hanging on him.

He made a mental note to thank Mia for that introduction. And to go see those guys again one of these days. They’d probably get a kick out of watching him play organized ball now.

But the physicality was still taking its toll on the entire team.

During a timeout, Akira glanced up at the VIP section.

Valerius was leaning close to Sakura, gesturing toward the court like a sports analyst breaking down film. Sakura was listening intently, her eyes following wherever Valerius pointed.

She laughed at something he said, nodding along.

“He’s doing play-by-play commentary,” Ai observed. “Framing the game through his lens. Making her see you the way he wants her to see you.”

“What’s he saying?”

“Probably something about how you’re skilled but predictable. How you favor your left when pressured. How you rely too much on individual talent instead of team play. Every observation is designed to plant doubt.”

Akira clenched his jaw and turned back to the huddle.

—

The third quarter started the same way the first half ended: aggressive, physical, and chaotic.

Akira drove baseline, spinning past two defenders. The lane opened up. He gathered himself, took one hard step, and went up for the dunk.

Takeshi came from nowhere.

He didn’t go for the ball. He didn’t contest the shot. He went straight for Akira’s legs, slamming his shoulder into Akira’s planted foot mid-air.

Akira felt himself rotating wrong before he even started falling. His left ankle twisted violently as he came down, all his weight landing on the outside edge of his foot.

There was an audible crack… not a broken bone, but a tear in the tendons. Then, white-hot pain shot through his entire leg.

He hit the ground hard, the ball rolling away uselessly.

The crowd gasped. Some people screamed.

The referee’s whistle blew sharp and long, but Akira barely heard it over the roaring in his ears.

He rolled onto his back, clutching his ankle, and felt the familiar surge of his healing factor trying to activate. Golden light began forming beneath his skin, rushing to repair the damage.

“No, Ai.”

SPIU agents were in the stands. Ayame was watching. Valerius was watching.

He couldn’t heal. Not here. Not publicly.

Akira forced the power down, gritting his teeth against the agony as the golden glow faded back into nothing. The raw pain remained.

Medical staff rushed onto the court. Coach Yamada was yelling. Teammates crowded around, blocking the view.

The system chimed quietly in his peripheral vision.

—

[HEALING FACTOR SUPPRESSED]

[ACTUAL DAMAGE ASSESSED: GRADE 2 ANKLE SPRAIN]

[RECOMMENDED ACTION: EXIT MATCH IMMEDIATELY — FULL HEAL IN PRIVATE LOCATION]

—

“No,” Akira said out loud in a hoarse voice.

“What?” One of the medical staff leaned in. “Kanzaki, don’t move. We need to assess…”

“I’m finishing this.” Akira sat up, waving them off.

Coach Yamada crouched beside him with a serious expression. “Kanzaki, you need medical attention. That ankle could be broken.”

“It’s not broken.” Akira tested his weight carefully, wincing as fire shot up his leg. “Tape it up. I can play.”

“You can’t even stand!”

“Tape. It. Up.”

The coach stared at him for a long moment, then looked at the medical staff. “Do it. But if he goes down again, he’s done. Understand?”

They wrapped his ankle in layers of athletic tape, stabilizing it as much as they could. It helped. Not much, but enough.

When Akira stood, the crowd erupted in applause.

He limped back to the bench, refusing the substitution.

—

Across the court, Kenji was standing near half-court, staring at Takeshi.

“What the hell was that?” Kenji’s voice was loud enough to cut through the noise.

Takeshi shrugged, smirking. “Just basketball, man. Maybe your boy should be more careful.”

“You could’ve ended his career!”

“And?” Takeshi stepped closer, his grin widening. “What are you gonna do about it, sell-out?”

Kenji’s fist came up fast.

He didn’t land the punch. Two teammates grabbed him from behind, dragging him backward before the refs saw. Takeshi laughed, walking away like nothing had happened.

Kenji was shaking. Whether from rage or guilt, Akira couldn’t tell.

—

The fourth quarter was agony.

Every step sent sharp, stabbing pain through Akira’s ankle. Every turn made him grit his teeth. Every landing after a jump felt like someone was driving nails into his foot.

But he stayed in.

He moved less, relied more on positioning and timing. He used Combat Precognition to read plays two steps ahead, compensating for his reduced mobility with perfect decision-making.

He passed more, shot only when open, and trusted his teammates to finish.

And they responded.

The team rallied around him. Even Kenji, clearly drowning in guilt, started playing like his life depended on it.

He set brutal screens that left defenders sprawled on the floor. He took charges, dove for loose balls, did every bit of dirty work he could to make up for what he’d done.

The score climbed. Shibuya’s lead evaporated.

With thirty seconds left, the game was tied.

Timeout. Kawakami’s ball.

Coach drew up the play. “Kanzaki gets the ball. Everyone else clear out. Let him work.”

The team broke the huddle.

Akira stood at the top of the key, the ball in his hands, his ankle screaming with every slight shift of weight.

Takeshi stood in front of him, grinning.

“You’re done, cripple,” Takeshi said, crouching into his defensive stance. “Should’ve stayed on the bench.”

Akira dribbled once. Twice. His vision narrowed.

Twenty seconds on the clock.

He could feel the weight of every eye in the gym. The crowd. The media. SPIU. Ayame. Valerius.

Sakura.

“Darling,” Ai said quietly. “Your ankle won’t hold up for a full drive. You need to end this fast.”

“I know.”

“You’re going to use Flow State, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s going to hurt. A lot.”

“I know that too.”

Fifteen seconds.

Akira took a deep breath and activated the skill.

[FLOW STATE: ACTIVATED]

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep