The second quarter started like a fist to the throat.
Not one big punch. Not even a dramatic one. Just a steady tightening, a slow squeeze that turned breathing into work.
Health Track came back onto the court with a plan, at least on paper.
Keep the pace. Move the ball. Don't chase highlights. Don't bite on provocation. Protect HS. Protect the lane. Win the small battles until the big one tilts back.
That was what XH told himself as he bounced the ball once at half court, eyes scanning the defense.
That was what he told his ribs, too.
Ignore pain. Ignore the echo. Ignore the audience. Ignore the cameras. Ignore the rain tapping the roof like someone was counting down.
VT's cohort didn't care about Health Track's plan.
They cared about pressure.
They came out physical again, shoulders leaning into screens, hands grabbing jerseys just long enough to be deniable. Every contact was calculated. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough to disrupt rhythm.
The referee watched it like it was normal.
That was the part that made XH's jaw tighten so hard it hurt.
XH drove left, baiting the defender, then kicked the ball out to JP. JP caught and rose for a shot. A defender closed late and slapped JP's wrist mid-release.
The ball clanged off the rim.
JP's eyes went wide.
He turned toward the referee and shouted, "That's a foul."
The whistle didn't blow.
The crowd murmured. Some booed. Some laughed. Some cheered because they liked the chaos.
XH felt something sharp spark behind his eyes.
He ran back on defense, jaw clenched, and the thought arrived uninvited, hot and ugly.
Fuck.
Not shouted. Not said. Just in his skull, like a match struck.
VT's cohort scored on the fast break. Easy layup. Clean.
The scoreboard ticked.
The camera zoomed.
The announcer's voice rose, cheerful, like this was a school festival instead of survival.
Kitty's section erupted in nervous noise. Not cheering, not fully. Just sounds that came from holding breath too long.
Kitty gripped the edge of her seat until her fingers hurt. Every time XH inhaled sharply, she felt it in her own chest.
June didn't move much. Her face stayed controlled, but her eyes were sharp, tracking every contact like she was building a case in her head.
Cherry muttered something behind them, low and bitter. NC didn't respond. NC's focus stayed on the court, watching for the moment the game turned into something worse.
The rain kept tapping the roof.
Heavy enough to be heard through the crowd.
No forecast. No warning. Just there.
Like a reminder that the world doesn't always explain itself before it hits you.
On the court, HS got the ball for the first time in a clean way.
XH swung it to him because HS needed confidence, needed to feel like he still belonged on the floor.
HS caught it, hesitated half a second, then tried to pass back to XH.
A VT defender jumped the lane, stole it, and went straight for a dunk attempt that turned into a loud layup. The crowd roared anyway.
HS froze.
His face went pale, then red, then pale again, like his blood couldn't decide where to go.
XH's chest tightened.
"HS," XH called, voice sharp but not cruel. "Reset."
HS nodded too fast.
JP ran over and clapped HS's shoulder. "You're fine."
HS didn't look fine.
He looked like he could hear the red list scrolling again in his head.
VT's cohort smelled it.
They started targeting him.
Not with obvious bullying. With pressure disguised as defense. They funneled him toward corners. They forced him into quick decisions. They bumped him on rebounds. They whispered things that cameras couldn't pick up but bodies could feel.
HS missed a rebound and flinched when a defender brushed him.
XH saw it and felt his stomach twist.
The institution didn't need to cut HS again.
They were cutting him right now, in public.
XH tried to stabilize the game. He drove harder, drew contact, tried to force the whistle into honesty.
He absorbed a shoulder, fell, slid on the wood, ribs screaming.
He looked up at the referee, waiting.
No whistle.
The ball moved the other way.
VT's cohort scored again.
XH pushed himself up, breath ragged, vision hot.
Fuck.
The thought again, louder.
He didn't say it yet.
He swallowed it and ran.
The third quarter was worse.
Not because the scoreboard was impossible. The score was still within reach. The gap wasn't fatal.
What was fatal was the feeling that every time Health Track did something right, the game punished them anyway.
A clean block by NS got called as a foul. VT's player went to the line and smiled as he sank free throws like it was a joke.
A clean steal by TZ got called for reaching, even though his hand was on the ball first.
JP got elbowed in the chest on a drive. No call.
XH got clipped on the jaw by a forearm on a rebound. His head snapped back. He tasted blood again.
No call.
The crowd was louder now.
Not because they cared about fairness.
Because they could sense a story.
Underdogs getting shoved.
Officials looking away.
A captain getting angrier by the minute.
It was entertainment to them.
It was life to Health Track.
Kitty couldn't sit still anymore. She stood up for a second, then sat down, then stood again, hands shaking.
NC put a hand on her arm gently. "Breathe."
Kitty whispered, "They're breaking him."
June's eyes didn't move from the court. "He won't break."
Kitty's voice trembled. "How do you know."
June's jaw clenched. "Because if he breaks, we all go home in pieces."
It was the closest thing to softness June offered. A truth disguised as steel.
The rain got heavier.
It sounded like the roof was being hit with handfuls of coins.
The announcer said something excited about "intensity."
XH didn't hear it.
All he heard was his own breath and the whistle that kept refusing to exist when he needed it.
By the middle of the third, Health Track was down enough to feel the panic creep in.
Not just "we might lose this game."
But "they want to make us lose everything."
On a timeout, the boys gathered at the bench.
JP was sweating, face red. TZ's lip was split slightly again. NS looked calm but his eyes were sharper now, more dangerous. HS sat with his head down, shaking.
XH stood in front of them, hands on knees, breathing hard.
He tried to speak.
He couldn't find the right words.
The words were stuck behind a wall of rage.
He looked at the scoreboard. He looked at the referee. He looked at VT smiling on the other bench like this was already done.
Then XH's voice came out rough and low.
"Fuck," he said.
JP's head snapped up.
HS flinched.
TZ didn't react.
NS watched XH closely.
XH said it again, quieter but sharper. "Fuck."
His hands trembled as he wiped sweat from his face.
He stared down at his split knuckles, then up at his teammates.
"What the hell," XH muttered, voice breaking slightly. "Fuck. Fuck. Why are we being picked on for everything we do."
He laughed once, humorless, then his voice tightened.
"Why does the world hate me so much," he whispered, not for the cameras, not for the crowd, just for the five bodies in front of him.
His eyes burned.
He wasn't crying yet.
He was too angry to cry.
He was at that point where the chest fills with fire and the only thing keeping you from exploding is the fact that other people are watching.
JP swallowed hard.
TZ's gaze softened slightly.
HS lifted his head and looked at XH, eyes wet.
NS's jaw tightened.
XH shook his head, voice low, shaking. "We play clean, they call us dirty. We get hit, they call it nothing. We breathe wrong, they punish us."
He pressed his fingers into his temples hard, like he could crush the thought out of his skull.
"Fuck," he whispered again.
The word wasn't a tantrum.
It was an honest sound of someone who had been cornered so long that politeness finally died.
The coach staff at the sideline watched but didn't intervene. They wanted this. They wanted the captain cracking. It made the story better.
XH looked at HS and saw the fear there, the red list in his eyes.
XH's voice softened, still angry but more focused. "HS, look at me."
HS looked.
XH nodded once.
"You're not red on this court. You're not cut here. You hear me."
HS's lips trembled. "I'm scared."
XH's chest rose and fell hard. "Good. Be scared. Then pass. Then run. Then breathe. That's it."
HS nodded quickly.
JP leaned in and growled, "We still win."
TZ added, steady, "We still fight."
NS spoke, calm but sharp. "We adjust. They're baiting. We play through it."
XH stared at NS.
For a second, XH wanted to snap at him.
Stop being calm. Stop acting like it's a puzzle.
But XH didn't. Not now.
XH nodded once, hard.
"Okay," he said. His voice was rough. "Okay."
The timeout ended.
They stepped back onto the court.
The third quarter turned into a grind.
Health Track stopped chasing the whistle. They stopped begging for fairness. They started playing like they didn't expect help.
XH drove with more control, not forcing contact, using angles. NS set harder screens, careful not to make them obvious fouls. TZ played tighter defense. JP took smarter shots. HS stayed in motion, forcing defenders to keep chasing him even if he wasn't scoring.
For a few minutes, the gap tightened.
The crowd's noise shifted from mockery to tension.
Kitty's hands clasped together like prayer.
June's eyes narrowed, focused, almost fierce.
Then the referee called a technical on JP for "unsportsmanlike language."
JP hadn't even shouted.
He had looked at the ref wrong.
The crowd erupted in boos.
JP's face went red. He clenched his fists, shaking.
XH ran up and grabbed JP's jersey lightly. "Don't."
JP's jaw trembled. "He's doing it on purpose."
XH's voice came low. "I know. Don't give him the clip."
JP swallowed hard and backed away, breathing through rage.
The fourth quarter began with rain slamming the roof hard enough that the arena's speakers crackled slightly.
The sound was relentless.
It felt like the sky was angry too.
Health Track pushed.
They got within striking distance.
Then VT's cohort hit two quick shots.
The gap widened again.
HS missed a layup by an inch. His hands shook.
A VT defender laughed.
HS's face twisted with shame.
XH saw it and felt his chest tighten again.
Not just anger.
Protectiveness.
A desperate need to keep HS from collapsing.
XH drove hard again, forced a shot, got hit, fell.
The whistle stayed silent.
XH hit the floor and felt rage explode in his chest.
He popped up and shouted before he could stop it.
"Fuck."
The word echoed.
The crowd gasped, then roared.
The referee's whistle finally blew.
Not for the foul.
For XH.
Technical.
The scoreboard ticked.
VT smiled wider.
XH stood frozen for half a second, chest heaving, eyes burning.
He felt stupid.
He felt trapped.
He felt like the institution was inside the whistle itself.
JP rushed over. "XH, stop talking to them."
XH's jaw clenched. "I'm trying."
NS grabbed XH's shoulder briefly, grounding. "Lock in."
XH nodded once, biting down on the rage.
He didn't apologize to the referee.
He couldn't.
Apologies here were just another signature.
The last two minutes felt like drowning.
Health Track fought, but every small mistake was punished instantly.
VT's cohort used the clock, played safe, and smiled like it was inevitable.
The buzzer finally sounded.
Game 1 ended.
The scoreboard locked the loss.
The crowd erupted.
Engineering supporters cheered like it was a championship. Health Track supporters went quiet like they had been punched.
Kitty stood up without realizing it. Her legs felt weak.
June's eyes stayed on the scoreboard, jaw clenched so hard her cheek muscles jumped.
Cherry muttered something sharp behind them.
NC held Anna's shoulder as Anna started crying again.
Jihye sat still, staring at the court like she was watching fate carve itself in front of her.
On the court, XH stood with his hands on his knees, breathing hard, sweat dripping, blood dried at the corner of his mouth.
He looked up at the stands.
His eyes found Kitty.
Kitty's eyes were wet, and she didn't even try to hide it now.
XH's chest tightened painfully.
He looked away.
Not because he didn't want her.
Because he didn't want her to see how close he was to breaking.
VT walked past XH and leaned in slightly, voice low enough only XH could hear.
"One down," VT murmured. "Six to bury you."
XH's hands clenched.
NS stepped between them, calm but dangerous. VT smirked and walked away.
Health Track walked off the court in a tight cluster.
JP cursed under his breath.
TZ stayed silent.
HS looked like he might faint.
NS looked calm, again.
XH felt the rage still burning under his ribs, the F-word still echoing in his skull like a drumbeat.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
But now the rage had direction.
Now it wasn't only anger at the whistle.
It was anger at the idea of being erased.
As they left the arena, the rain outside hit them immediately.
Cold, heavy, soaking.
No forecast.
No warning.
Just punishment from the sky.
Kitty stepped out with June and the girls under the same rain. The group instinctively moved closer together, shoulders brushing, not because romance, because rain forces bodies to seek warmth.
Kitty saw XH in the rain and her chest tightened.
June saw him too.
For a second, June's eyes softened, then hardened again, like she refused to let softness become weakness.
XH looked up at the sky, rain cutting down his face like tears he didn't choose.
He thought of his dreamless nights.
He thought of Kitty's nightmare, even though he didn't know it yet.
He thought of the red list.
He thought of HS's shaky signature.
He thought of the institution's smile.
Then XH whispered, barely audible, not to anyone specific.
"Fuck."
Not a tantrum.
A vow.
Because if the world hated him so much, then he would make it hate him for the right reason.
For refusing to disappear quietly.
Game 1 was over.
The war had just begun.