Swish.
28 – 27.
Aizawa's face was burning.
Anger. Shame. Determination.
Everything flaring all at once.
…
Another inbound.
Dirga again.
He brought it up to the three-point line and called for a screen.
Aizawa answered.
Standard pick-and-roll.
Dirga took it.
Rolled out.
Passed back to Aizawa, who caught it in stride and attacked the lane.
Minato was there.
Waiting.
Aizawa didn't slow down.
He powered in—body tense—eyes blazing.
He jumped.
And—
Minato met him in the air.
Not just a block.
A strip.
Ripped the ball mid-flight.
Snatched it clean.
The gym gasped.
The Wolves were already running again.
Gaito didn't rush it this time.
He slowed at half-court, shepherding his team.
The Wolves flowed into position.
Set screens. Curved their cuts. Distracted, dragged, disrupted.
And all the while—
Minato moved off-ball.
Every step a feint. Every curl disguised as a drift.
It was chaos—orchestrated chaos.
And when Minato slipped free?
