My Popular-as-Hell Best Friend Is Annoying, So I Want to Get Him a Girlfriend and Shut Him Up - Chapter 89 & 90 & 91

Chapter 89: Sports Festival 14

“No way I’m playing. What’re you talking about?”

I shoot down Uryu’s words.

Me, jumping into a game we’re likely to lose?

Save that nonsense for your dreams.

“Yeah, Aoyagi! Why put Hirose in!?”

Of course, my teammates complain.

No one thinks a guy who’s been lounging on the bench can step up and shine.

It’d be weirder if they didn’t gripe.

“Yukiya’s not exactly athletic, but he’s got one thing none of you can match.”

Uryu starts explaining why I’d be useful, trying to convince everyone.

“Yukiya can judge his own and the opponent’s abilities more calmly than anyone. He won’t flinch under blatant pressure from experienced players and can play normally. He’s the guy who makes the best choice in the moment.”

The teammates who were ready to write me off start to shift.

They’re beginning to buy into Uryu’s high praise of Hirose Yukiya.

But, Uryu, those words won’t sway me.

“Hey, Uryu, why’re you so fired up? Didn’t you say before that if your team’s at that level, losing’s just inevitable? That’s exactly where we are now. Why not accept the loss and play a good game?”

I throw his words back at him, teasingly, recalling what he said so coolly on the way to the Aoyagi house.

No matter how you spin it, that’s your real stance, right?

“…Yeah. If you know your team’s level and face an opponent you can’t beat, losing’s no big deal. That’s how I think.”

Uryu owns my words outright.

He said we’ve got a chance but admits losing’s fine.

So, that’s that—play a good game and wrap it up.

That’s what I thought, but…

“But I haven’t put you in the game yet.”

Uryu locks eyes with me again, his gaze full of expectation.

“I can’t accept a loss without you playing. If you go in, we fight with everything we’ve got, and then lose, that’s fine. I’ll own the defeat cleanly.”

God, this guy’s such a pain.

Ever since we first talked properly, he’s been dragging me into everything.

My peace has been shattered because of him.

Being around this guy’s never done me any good.

My attempt to talk him down fails.

My teammates are now looking at me expectantly, creating an atmosphere where I have to play.

“And? You thought that’d make me budge?”

No way I’m wavering.

No matter what they say or expect, I’m not playing.

There’s no benefit in it—only an idiot would jump in.

“Haha, I know. I didn’t think you’d cave for something like that.”

Uryu laughs brightly, like he saw my response coming.

Then, with a clear smirk, he raises one index finger.

“One week of matcha on me. Play, and I’ll call it off—”

“Idiot, lead with that!”

I immediately start doing squats on the spot.

No time before the second half—gotta warm up fast.

“You switched that quick?”

“Dumbass, seven minutes of playing saves me money. Of course I’m in.”

“It’s your own fault, you know.”

“Shut up. I’m playing, so losing’s not an option. You’re working your ass off.”

“Obviously.”

During the rest of halftime, I stretch and briefly go over offense and defense with the team.

I’ve memorized the opponent’s patterns from the first half—there’s plenty we can do.

If it goes well, a four-goal gap’s nothing.

Watch this, Team C. We’re coming for a relentless comeback!

Well, Uryu is.

Chapter 90: The Maidens’ Chat 4

“Eh…?”

The sports festival, boys’ final match. Class B, led by basketball club ace Aoyagi Uryu, is trailing after a tough first half.

Class C’s tightly organized defense has sparked complaints from the crowd.

“Is this gonna keep going?” and “Isn’t Class C kinda lame?” float through the air.

Amid this, Tsukikage Miharu stares at Class B’s bench, stunned.

Hirose Yukiya is warming up.

The guy who’s repeatedly sworn off playing is meticulously preparing his body, as if he’s about to join the second half.

“Is… Hirose-kun actually playing?”

“…He really is. He’s warming up.”

Kirita Akari and Misono Izumo, watching the final with her, catch on a bit later.

Like Miharu, they’re dumbfounded by the sight.

“Is Hirose-kun, like, athletic?”

Akari, in a different class from Yukiya, asks Miharu and Izumo, who were in his class last year.

“No, not really.”

“Yukiya-kun’s not the type to take things like the 100-meter dash at the sports festival seriously. I don’t even know his fitness test results.”

“But him playing now means…”

“…”

Akari’s words leave Miharu and Izumo speechless.

Despite cruising to the final, Yukiya hasn’t played a single match.

And now, down by eight points, he’s stepping in.

No doubt, someone believes Yukiya’s entry could turn the game around.

And that someone is, without question—

“Class B’s gonna win.”

Miharu says it unconsciously, the words slipping naturally from her throat, surprising even herself.

“But they’re up against four basketball club members.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s not easy to win from here—I get that. But after a year together, you just… feel things.”

Miharu’s gaze shifts from Yukiya to Uryu, who’s rallying his teammates with encouragement.

“Yukiya-kun and Uryu-kun together… I can’t imagine them losing.”

She doesn’t know Yukiya’s athletic ability.

She doesn’t know his basketball skills.

She has no clue why he’s playing now.

It’s all a mystery.

But one thing’s certain: Hirose Yukiya won’t just sit back and lose.

He’s not the type to step into a game just to mop up a defeat.

Miharu knows this, and so do Akari and Izumo.

With someone like that teaming up with Aoyagi Uryu, those who know him can’t help but believe they’ll blow past this deficit.

“You’re right. Hirose Yukiya aside, I can’t see Aoyagi-kun going out like this.”

Izumo agrees with Miharu.

She doesn’t fully grasp basketball skill gaps, but she can’t picture Uryu, who excels at everything, ending with that first half.

“Hirose-kun, do your best…!”

Akari cheers for Yukiya in a voice so soft the other two can’t hear.

Whether he’s good or bad at basketball doesn’t matter anymore.

He’s playing, and she wants to root for him purely.

※

And so, for those who know Yukiya, a second half full of upheaval is about to begin.

Chapter 91: Sports Festival 15

The second half of the boys’ final begins, with the trailing Team B starting with the ball.

Hamaoka (probably), who took over ball-handling midway through the first half, continues.

With two defenders on Uryu, we can’t waste this numerical advantage.

“Hamaoka.”

“Yo.”

Entering the frontcourt, I take the ball from Hamaoka (definitely).

I catch it just inside the three-point line, about 45 degrees left of center.

Hamaoka’s job is to pass to teammates on either side from straight-on at the three-point area.

Uryu’s at the opposite end, working to shake his markers.

First, let’s test my skills.

I dribble lightly, getting a feel for the ball.

Not bad—better than expected.

I can probably dodge with a single dribble or charge straight ahead recklessly.

Pivoting on my left foot, I face Hamaoka, holding the ball with both hands and lobbing a parabolic pass from below.

“Hey.”

I get the ball back from Hamaoka.

Got it.

When I hold the ball, the triangle’s top shifts slightly toward me, but they don’t fully commit.

That discipline’s impressive.

I dribble lightly again and pass back to Hamaoka, just like before.

So, Team C, was there meaning in my actions?

Did it look like timid play, struggling to break through?

Think. Doubt. Even if you don’t act, question it.

Sports are a mental game.

Raw skill alone won’t carry you far.

You need to outsmart the constant back-and-forth to reach greater heights.

I take the ball from Hamaoka again.

Of course, Team C doesn’t bite.

I glance at Uryu once, then move slowly.

Was there meaning in my actions?

The answer’s yes.

Spreading my feet wide, I grip the ball with both hands and fling it toward the basket from between my legs, like a pendulum.

In the first half, Team B’s biggest mistake was giving up on outside shots.

Trying to attack within their shooting range got them stuffed by the zone, leaving them scoreless.

The fix is simple: shoot from outside.

If that becomes a threat, Team C has to abandon their current defense.

But it’s not that easy.

A normal shot from this distance wouldn’t reach the rim, let alone scare their defense.

So I came up with a two-handed shot, thrown from between my legs for extra power.

It’s enough for me to get the ball there and keep it straight.

I practiced it twice with Hamaoka to avoid screwing it up.

It took time to set up, but with no 24-second clock, that’s no issue.

The shot’s obvious weakness is the long wind-up—useless in a real game, as it’d get blocked instantly.

But Team C won’t break their zone.

That’s why I can boldly take a long-range shot.

The shot’s main goal isn’t to score.

A shot dropping straight down on the rim, even if it misses, bounces straight up.

As long as it doesn’t fly off wildly, Uryu, crashing the paint, should win the rebound.

Exactly.

If I can’t pass to Uryu, I’ll create a way.

Even with four guys around, Uryu dominates in the air.

This is the ceremonial first shot.

“Go!!”

Swish.

“…Huh?”

The ball, thrown just hoping to hit the rim, sails clean through the hoop.

What luck—an outside shot goes in on the first try.

A three-pointer, no less.

““OOOOOOH!!””

The crowd erupts.

The losing team’s score moving sparks a frenzy.

“Alright! Practice paid off—keep feeding me the ball!”

It was pure fluke, but I shout loud enough for Team C to hear.

This should force them to guard me closer.

Let me shoot like that again, and I might drop another three.

“Hey, Yukiya, weren’t you supposed to set me up to score?”

“Shut up, it went in, so who cares?”

“Fair enough.”

Uryu, who’d gone for the rebound, grumbles at me.

The shot went in, but he must’ve realized that my outside shots create rebound chances with him.

Even if I miss, they’ll have to respect it.

Offense can wait.

Now it’s defense.

Scoring’s great, but if we can’t stop them, the gap won’t close.

We need to lock this down.

But I didn’t order any defensive changes, telling them to keep it normal.

Why? Team C’s offense is one-dimensional.

They drag Uryu, guarding the paint’s center, to one side, then shoot from the opposite.

Sounds easy to counter, but their basketball club passers are quick, and our guys get baited by the ball, too slow to react.

So I didn’t teach a counter.

Uryu and I knowing is enough.

Team C needs to keep thinking their offense works.

Let them burn the image of our scrambling team into their eyes.

I mark their ball-handler but don’t press hard, just staying visible at the top.

The handler passes left.

With a Class B player there, they pass left again.

At a 90-degree angle to the basket, a Team C player gets the ball free.

As he sets to shoot, Uryu has to jump.

It’s a trap—the shooter fakes, passes back, and a quick pass flies to the opposite side.

※

Right on cue.

Team C’s L-shaped attack centers on the ball-handler, but if I know where the ball’s going, cutting it off’s easy, no matter how wide they spread.

“What!?”

I intercept the ball flying from the left and charge toward their basket.

Team C scrambles back to their court.

Seeing this, I slow down.

I faked a fast break to avoid losing the ball, and as expected, Team C drops back to reform their zone.

Such a textbook team—breaking them down’s almost too fun.

I pass back to Hamaoka and head to the 45-degree spot where I scored.

The second I get there, I call for the ball.

Taking the return pass, I set up for the same shot but keep my stance narrower, a bit cramped, and move the ball the same way.

“Not this time!!”

As predicted, I draw out the triangle’s top player—the tall guy who’s been picking off passes into the zone, even taller than Uryu.

He doesn’t want me shooting. He rushes to block my shot path.

※

Idiot. If I cut right, can you keep up?

I wasn’t planning to shoot.

I fake, then dribble right.

The guy charging left can’t follow. The zone collapses, and the path to the basket’s wide open.

Right then, Uryu sprints toward the hoop with his double-team in tow.

Stifling a grin at his chillingly perfect movement, I lob the ball toward the basket.

Score’s 10-5, still down by five. Just scoring won’t shift momentum.

So, Uryu, there’s one thing you need to do.

Uryu snatches my lob midair, twists slightly, and slams it through the rim from above.

Unbelievable leap, grip, and spring.

I thought it was a tall order, but Uryu nails it on the first try.

Seriously, what do you eat to move like that?

※

Uryu’s dunk is more than enough to send the crowd into a fever pitch.