James Lock

Chapter 5: The Twelve Teams

The morning sun filtered through the small window of Kenzo's dorm room, casting a harsh light that only intensified the unease gnawing at him. He hadn't slept well. How could he? Every time he closed his eyes, Hiroshi's face flashed before him—disbelief, confusion, hurt. His brother had been kicked out of the academy, and it was as if a piece of Kenzo had been ripped away. They had come to James Academy together, driven by their shared dream, but now it was just Kenzo.

He hadn't had the energy to talk much after last night's announcement. He remembered trudging back to the dorm with Sora, Yuki, and Akira. They hadn't exchanged many words—what was there to say? The weight of Hiroshi's elimination and the looming game against Team B pressed down on them like a suffocating fog.

Kenzo sat on his bed, staring at the floor. His fists clenched involuntarily. They were ranked second-worst in the academy, and Coach Mason had made it clear: one more loss, and they were done. Sent home. Barred from professional basketball. The stakes couldn't be higher. The thought of Hiroshi—out there, alone, dreams crushed—kept pounding at his skull. Kenzo needed to be better, needed to be faster, smarter. He couldn't fail now. Not when everything they'd worked for was slipping away.

A knock broke through the silence. Sora peeked his head in, his usual confident demeanor softened by the tension that had settled between them all.

"Hey," Sora said quietly, stepping into the room. "We should get to the gym early. Get a head start."

Kenzo nodded, his throat dry. He had barely spoken since Hiroshi was eliminated, and now every word felt like an effort. "Yeah... we should."

The gym was mostly empty when Kenzo and Sora arrived, save for Yuki and Akira already warming up on the court. The air was thick with the smell of fresh sweat and polished wood, a silent reminder of the battle that awaited them. The four of them moved through drills mechanically at first, barely speaking. There was a sense of awkwardness, like a team that hadn't yet found its rhythm. And that was the problem—they had only known each other for a day. How could they become a team in such a short time?

As Kenzo practiced his shots, his mind drifted back to Hiroshi. His younger brother's laughter, the sound of the basketball bouncing between them on that old court back home. The memory felt distant now, like a dream fading with the dawn.

"Kenzo," Akira called out, snapping him back to reality. "You good?"

Kenzo looked up, realizing he had been standing still, lost in thought. His gaze flickered to Akira, then to Sora and Yuki, all of them watching him with concern. He didn't want their pity. He didn't want anything from them right now.

"I'm fine," he muttered, turning back to the hoop. His next shot went wide, missing entirely.

Sora sighed, jogging over. "Look, man, I get it. You've got a lot on your mind with Hiroshi and everything. But we need you focused."

Kenzo felt a flash of irritation. Of course they didn't understand. How could they? They had only known him for a day, barely long enough to grasp the gravity of what had happened. He was angry—not at them, but at the situation, at the unfairness of it all. He didn't want to snap, but the pressure was building.

"You don't get it," Kenzo shot back, his voice harsher than intended. "This isn't just a game for me. It's my brother. My life. If we lose, it's over. I can't—" He stopped, realizing he was letting his frustration boil over. He took a deep breath, but the tension didn't leave him. "I just... I can't fail."

Sora's face softened, but there was still that competitive fire in his eyes. "I do get it, Kenzo. We're all fighting for something here. But if we're going to win this, you've got to trust us. We're a team now, whether we've known each other for one day or one year."

Kenzo clenched his fists, feeling the anger simmer just beneath the surface. A team? That's what they were supposed to be, but it didn't feel like it. Not yet. How could they call themselves a team when they barely understood each other? When they were already being thrown into a do-or-die match against a group as strong as Team B?

Yuki, who had been quiet until now, stepped forward. "He's right, Kenzo. I know it's hard, but we don't have a choice. We either come together now, or we lose everything. For all of us, this is our shot."

Akira nodded, his arms crossed as he watched Kenzo. "We're not asking you to forget about Hiroshi. But we need to be on the same page. If we want to beat Team B, we have to play like a unit."

Kenzo knew they were right. Deep down, he understood that. But that didn't make it any easier to accept. He had been carrying so much weight on his shoulders—his dreams, Hiroshi's dreams, their shared future. And now, he had to rely on people he barely knew. It felt impossible. But the alternative was losing. And that wasn't an option.

Before he could respond, the door to the gym swung open, and Coach Mason's imposing figure entered. His presence alone commanded attention, his eyes sharp and assessing as he looked at them.

"You're here early," Coach Mason said, his voice as unyielding as ever. "Good. But from the looks of it, you're not anywhere close to ready."

Kenzo tensed, feeling the coach's gaze settle on him. He could sense the unspoken judgment, the pressure mounting.

"You think you're ready for Team B?" Mason asked, stepping onto the court with his hands behind his back. "You've got talent, sure. But right now, you're nothing more than a group of individuals running drills. That won't cut it."

Kenzo's jaw tightened. He knew they weren't ready. He knew it wasn't enough. But what else could they do?

Coach Mason's voice dropped, quieter but more intense. "You're up against Kei Aoki, Maya Ishikawa, Daisuke Yamamoto—players who have been together for months. They know each other's strengths and weaknesses inside and out. You've had one day. That means you have to do more than just play. You have to understand each other on a deeper level."

Kenzo met Mason's gaze, the frustration rising again. "And how are we supposed to do that? We've barely had time to learn each other's names."

Mason's expression didn't change. "Figure it out. Or you'll end up like your brother—on the outside, looking in."

The words hit Kenzo like a punch to the gut. He felt his blood boil, anger bubbling dangerously close to the surface. He wanted to lash out, to shout that it wasn't fair, that they hadn't been given enough time. But Mason was right. He hated it, but he was right.

Coach Mason turned to the rest of the group. "This isn't just about basketball anymore. This is about survival. You don't have the luxury of time, so you need to start trusting each other now. Or else, tomorrow's game will be your last."

With that, he turned and walked out, leaving the weight of his words hanging in the air.

The gym was silent for a long moment after Mason left. Kenzo felt his fists unclench, his breath slowing as the realization sank in. They didn't have time. They didn't have the luxury of hesitation or doubt. He had to trust them—Sora, Yuki, Akira. He had to believe that they could come together as a team, or everything he and Hiroshi had worked for would be gone.

Kenzo looked at Sora, then Yuki, then Akira. They were waiting, watching him. Waiting for him to decide.

"Alright," Kenzo said, his voice steady but strained. "Let's figure this out."

And in that moment, Kenzo felt a shift. The anger didn't disappear, but it was no longer alone. Determination took its place alongside it. They weren't just playing for survival anymore—they were playing for each other. For the future they all wanted so badly. And tomorrow, they would face Team B, not as strangers, but as a team.