"What the hell just happened? How did Tetsu pull that off?"
Aomine couldn't help but turn to Kota. His old partner's sudden leap in skill had clearly left a sour taste.
"How should I know?"
Kota's expression was smug, almost teasing. It said, I know everything—but I'm not telling you.
Seeing that look, Aomine's face darkened with irritation, but he didn't press the question, he'd figure it out for himself.
"Still, watching him sulk like that is kinda fun…"
Kota chuckled quietly.
He was definitely developing some odd tastes.
"What did that little guy just do?"
Araki, too, couldn't figure it out. She turned toward Kota for an explanation.
"Well, he—"
Kota stopped mid-sentence, sensing Araki's sharp gaze.
"Ahem. What I meant was…"
He cleared his throat and began explaining properly:
"Kuroko has naturally low presence. That's why when he moves without the ball, it's like he disappears."
"Normally, holding the ball draws attention. But if someone with overwhelming presence draws all eyes away, Kuroko can vanish even with the ball. That's how the Vanishing Drive works."
As Kota explained, his eyes followed the running form of Kagami.
One light, one shadow. They really do complement each other.
Araki nodded slowly, piecing it together.
"So when Kagami — who's practically radiating presence — runs past the ball handler, all eyes follow him… letting Kuroko vanish with the ball?"
Bingo.
Kota snapped his fingers in affirmation.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aomine — ears perked, nodding unconsciously. Caught eavesdropping.
Kota stifled a laugh. The Generation of Miracles were all monsters—but each in their own amusing way.
...
Back on the court, Kuroko continued using his upgraded misdirection to pierce Rakuzan's defense.At first, Akashi ignored him—his presence would naturally rise over time.
But Kuroko wasn't just scoring, he was creating space, feeding his teammates and becoming… a point guard?
You're supposed to be the sixth man.Learning a scoring move is one thing—but this playmaking?Distributing the ball?Since when is that your job?!
Under Kota's influence, Kuroko's playstyle had subtly shifted. He admired the way Kota attacked and assisted. That balance of pressure and control.
Kuroko had watched tons of Kaijo tape—analyzing Kota's passing patterns. He wasn't even close to mastering it… but even a fraction of Kota's style made a difference.
Seirin wasn't lacking in playmakers, Izuki had his Eagle Eye, even Kiyoshi, their center, had once played point guard in middle school. Kuroko didn't need perfect passes—just enough to shift defenders, create gaps, and link the team.
And now, once again—
Kuroko slipped past Mayuzumi. At the free-throw line, he looked ready to lob it to Kiyoshi.
But suddenly—
Akashi cut in from the side.
He was done letting Kuroko run the show.
Kuroko, however, met him with a smile.
"Did you forget, Akashi-kun? I'm the shadow."
As he spoke, Kuroko pushed the ball with one hand — a high-arcing pass, like a catapult.
Akashi's eyes narrowed.
"No way that goes in. I've cut off the angle. It's impossible to score from here"
But something about Kuroko's words made his heart skip.
He whipped around, shouting—
"Nebuya! Stop him!!"
"Too late…"
Kagami was already airborne, the pass was perfect—and so was the setup.
His smirk widened.
This was his trigger.
From that spot, there was only one thing to do—
Meteor Jam.
Nebuya bit down hard, leaping to block. He knew what would happen if Kagami completed this dunk.
But even among the Uncrowned Kings… the gap between them and "Miracle" was still real.
Kagami's eyes sharpened. With superior elevation, he slammed the ball into the hoop.
BOOM!
Riko jumped to her feet on the sidelines.
"It's not just two points…"
"It means… Kagami's triggered again."
Akashi pressed his lips together tightly.
He'd underestimated them again.
Riko moved quickly, she pulled Kuroko from the game—letting his misdirection reset.
Mitobe subbed in to reinforce the defense.
Now, everything would revolve around Kagami. Back in Zone.
"I won't waste the chance Kuroko gave me."
Kagami's eyes sparked crimson lightning. He stepped back—even further than the free-throw line.
Akashi's brow furrowed.
"That far back? You trying to bait me into a three-point contest?"
But the thought had barely formed before his eyes widened. He froze mid-motion.
"No… impossible."
The Emperor Eye had shown him something terrifying — a vision of Kagami blocking his shot.
"From this distance?"
Even Zone-level Aomine couldn't reach from that far.
A single bead of sweat rolled down Akashi's cheek.
"His Zone… it's reached a deeper level."
Aomine muttered as he stared at Kagami—his voice tinged with frustration.
"Deeper level?"
Now Kota was the one asking questions.
His own Zone had no "depth"— just raw focus triggered by pulling up his shorts.
He couldn't help but wonder — was his different from theirs?
Aomine nodded.
"This is just my theory…Entering Zone is like diving into water.The deeper you go, the closer you get to the bottom.At the very depths… there's a door.A door with a gatekeeper I've never seen before.I don't know what's beyond it—But I know for sure, that's the realm beyond Zone."
Kota scratched his head.
Figures. Mine's just "focus on basketball and boom—Zone."No mysterious doors, no ominous gatekeepers.
"Maybe I'll never reach that "beyond" they're talking about…"
Back in the game, the shot clock ticked down. 24 seconds nearly expired.
Akashi hesitated—trusting the Emperor Eye's vision.
He passed it to Mibuchi.
But there wasn't enough time.
Mibuchi forced a rushed shot—clang! Off the rim.
"Sorry."
Akashi raised a hand, taking the blame. Then turned to watch Kagami bring the ball up.
His gaze hardened.
"This Kagami… he's not the same as before."