"Two games in a single day, both against Generation of Miracles–level teams… man, the North really is a terrifying place."
Lying back with his hands behind his head, staring at the schedule posted by the referees, Kota let out a sigh. His tone sounded sympathetic, but the smirk tugging at his lips was anything but—it was pure schadenfreude.
Around him, the rest of Kaijo's squad voiced their own thoughts.
"Good thing we're in the West"
No one knew who said it first, but the line made everyone chuckle.
Whatever bloodbath the North was going through, it had nothing to do with Kaijo, the West kings.
"After this game ends, the next one's going to be Too against Shutoku…"
Kise clicked his tongue and gave Kota a side glance, hesitating. He wanted to ask who Kota thought would win, but swallowed the question at the last second.
Instead, Kota turned his head with a knowing look.
"So, who do you guys think will take it?"
"Seirin. They were last year's runners-up."
"Yeah, I'm leaning Seirin too. The last two times these teams faced, Rakuzan won once and tied the other."
One by one, Kaijo's players gave their takes. The majority favored Seirin. After all, during the Winter Cup, their grit and tenacity left a deep impression on everyone.
As for Shutoku? Honestly, Kaijo hadn't had much of a chance to play them seriously. By the time Shutoku reached the quarterfinals, they usually ended up running into either Rakuzan or Yosen —and got shipped home early.
When it was Kise's turn, he looked toward the court, where Kuroko was catching up with Midorima. After a pause, he finally said:
"I'll go with Seirin too. Between Kuroko and Midorima, I'd rather see Kuroko win."
"What's this? Everyone just piling on Seirin? Shutoku's got no respect?"
Kota shook his head.
"If we all think Seirin's going to win, what's the point of watching? We're not Seirin fanboys. Hm… I'll take Shutoku. I've got a feeling that horoscope nut is going to surprise us today."
No sooner had he finished than Takumi, who'd been silent the whole time, spoke up:
"I'll pick Shutoku too."
"Ohh? That makes two of us now."
Kota blinked in surprise. Then he turned to Araki with a sly wink. Her expression stayed stone cold.
"…Shutoku."
"Perfect!"
Kota grinned, rubbing his hands together as he counted. "So with Miss Masako, that's three votes for Shutoku, eight for Seirin. Losers buy dinner tonight—no objections?"
"Deal!"
"No problem!"
"Hahaha, now this is getting fun!"
The little bet had everyone hyped. After all, a game with a little side wager doubled the entertainment value. (Of course, gambling addiction ruins lives, but Kaijo's version was just harmless small stakes among teammates.)
BEEP!
The referee's whistle blew. The north's second round-robin game of the day was about to begin!
"Let's have a good match!"
After bowing during the pre-game greeting, Kagami straightened up—only to feel an intense gaze from the opposite bench.
Midorima.
Kagami drew in a deep breath, suppressing the fatigue still lingering from his earlier clash with Aomine. No matter how worn down he was, there was no chance he'd hand victory away now!
And Midorima felt the same. In last year's Winter Cup prelims, Shutoku had fought Seirin to a draw. But in the main tournament…
Facing Akashi's Rakuzan, Midorima had been helpless. Shutoku only lasted three quarters before being crushed and sent packing.
Meanwhile, Seirin had managed to upset Rakuzan in the semifinals, knocking them out. Which, by extension, basically meant Seirin> Shutoku.
For Midorima, whose pride burned hotter than his lucky item of the day, that was unacceptable. And worse, under his leadership, Shutoku hadn't reached the Final Four in two straight years. If they failed again this season, their recruitment for next year would tank, and Midorima himself would go down as the weakest "Miracle" leader.
Unacceptable!
Pushing up his glasses, Midorima's calm face masked a blazing fire inside. He had to win. With the new move he'd mastered, he would win.
"Geez, Shin-chan, your face looks scary right now."
Takao, stretching nearby, noticed his ace's body language and strolled over, draping an arm over Midorima's shoulder with his usual cheeky grin.
"Even if we lose here, it's fine. It's just a round-robin game. You can save your new trick for the main tournament. Then — bam! You'll shock the whole arena!"
He whispered the plan right into Midorima's ear like a cartoon villain.
After all, with Kirisaki Daiichi destined for last place, these north round-robin matches were practically formalities. Just look at Too — they'd already used the round-robin to train their rookies instead of chasing wins. Shutoku could do the same.
By deliberately dropping this game, they'd hide Midorima's secret weapon, lull their opponents into underestimating them, and then — surprise! — they'd unleash it in the main stage. Takao could already see the headlines: Shutoku, playing possum, rising all the way to the championship.
"See, Shin-chan? Genius plan, right? High success rate, totally foolproof."
"…I refuse."
"…Hah?"
Midorima slowly removed his glasses, polished them, and put them back on. His eyes burned with a passion that didn't match his cool image at all.
He wanted to win. Not later. Not someday. But now. This game and the next one.
"I've had enough of losing, Takao."
He tilted his head back, closing his eyes.The memories flashed—losing at the buzzer to Seirin in the Interhigh, being blown out by Rakuzan in the Winter Cup.
Takao opened his mouth, then sighed in defeat.
"Seriously, you Miracles… none of you know how to play the long game. How are we supposed to outwit a sly fox like Kota from Kaijo at this rate?"
Then he smirked, shaking his head.
"…But hey, this is way more fun. Let's go win it."
....
Beeeep—
Tip-off
This year's Shūtoku lineup only retained two second-year starters: Takao and Midorima. The other three upperclassmen had all graduated.
Taking their place were three newcomers — one was a small forward known for his shooting ability, and the other two were big men who had both stood out during the "rookie training matches"!
They were Yuya and Taisuke, both already well-known from middle school. Though their physiques weren't fully developed and their game experience was still shallow compared to seasoned players, there was no denying their potential!
At center court, a tall referee raised his arm, signaling the jump ball. For Seirin, it was still Kiyoshi. For Shūtoku, this year's freshman — Taisuke.
"Wow… this guy's a freshman? He's already this tall? Kids these days are unbelievable."
Kiyoshi looked at the towering Taisuke in front of him, who seemed to have the edge in height, and couldn't help but sigh inwardly.
Unknowingly, Kiyoshi had already become one of the third-year veterans. Along with Hyūga and Izuki, all three would be leaving the team next year.
When that time came, Seirin's only remaining starters would be Kuroko and Kagami — the team's strength would inevitably take a huge hit.
"But precisely because of that… this year's Seirin will be our final dance!"
Kiyoshi's expression hardened, bending his knees and gathering strength. At the sound of the whistle, when the ball was tossed up, he exploded upward with a roar!
"Raaahhh!!!"
Taisuke leapt at the same time. His physical gifts were monstrous for his age, and shockingly, he actually out-jumped Kiyoshi in raw height!
In midair, both of their hands slapped the ball almost simultaneously.
Feeling the power transmitted from his opponent, Kiyoshi was secretly stunned.
"What incredible strength… But… he's still too green."
Kiyoshi's massive hands subtly adjusted. His greatest weapon as one of the "Uncrowned Kings" wasn't just his high basketball IQ — it was his delicate, crafty touch!
Sensing Kiyoshi's slight pullback, Taisuke hesitated but still swung with all his might, tipping the ball toward his own half.
The ball flew toward Shūtoku's side — yet thanks to Kiyoshi's subtle deflection, its trajectory shifted left, right into the hands of Kagami, already waiting!
Without a shred of hesitation, Kagami caught the ball and dashed forward. Shūtoku's defense was unorganized and scattered.
In an instant, the court lit up with a blazing red streak!
BAM!
The ball smashed through the rim.
Only three seconds into the game, Kagami had completed a coast-to-coast fast break and scored the opening basket!
Even the referee barely kept up. He raised his hand to signal the score only after the ball hit the floor a second time.
In the stands, watching Seirin score so ruthlessly in the very first play, Kaijō's players clicked their tongues.
Seirin's high-octane offense was a well-known trademark. Kaijō, who had once faced them in the finals, remembered it all too clearly.
"Kagamicchi's bounce is still insane. That was another free-throw line takeoff, right?"
Kise stretched both arms forward as if measuring the distance from the bleachers, his expression full of anticipation.
He'd been watching quietly for a while, but now his hands were itching to play.
Meanwhile, Kota looked around and noticed the reaction of the crowd — there were plenty of Seirin fans in the gym.
Araki chimed in at just the right time:
"Seirin's already a fan-favorite team. This place feels like their home court."
Hearing cheers erupting from all sides, Kota nodded thoughtfully.
"Well, with Kagami's playstyle, of course they're popular. He goes at the rim like it owes him money. Honestly, I'd love to watch that too."
It had to be admitted — sometimes it was more entertaining to watch other teams play. Kagami's free-throw line dunk just now had Kaijō's bench glued to the game, while Shūtoku on the court didn't look nearly as amused.
"Damn it…"
Taisuke, playing in his first Interhigh, was the first to lose his composure.
To outsiders, Kagami's dunk might've looked lucky, but Taisuke knew better—it was Kiyoshi's trickery that set it up.
"One of the Uncrowned Kings, huh…"
Taisuke muttered under his breath, staring at Kiyoshi with resentment.
At that moment, Takao, with his Hawk Eye surveying the court, noticed his young teammate's frustration. During the inbound, he walked past Taisuke and gave him a friendly pat on the butt.
"Don't sweat it, it was just a tip-off."
Taisuke nodded obediently, but Takao could clearly read in his eyes that the rookie wasn't letting it go so easily.
Takao pursed his lips. He wasn't the type to play therapist for juniors. In the past, when Otsubo was around, his job as point guard was only to run the offense — he'd never had to worry about teammates' mental states.
Now, reality was sinking in. There was no peaceful basketball life. It just meant someone else was carrying the weight.
Dribbling the ball upcourt, Takao let out a sigh.
Shūtoku's starting lineup had changed drastically this year. In the end, aside from himself and Midorima, all three starters were freshmen.
That meant the captaincy fell to him. And honestly, if you asked Takao, he was the last guy who should be captain. The only other option was Midorima…
And putting an arrogant, horoscope-obsessed four-eyes in charge of the team? Takao wasn't that crazy.
So, like it or not, the captain's armband landed on him.
"Take it slow—let's get our first bucket."
Takao raised a finger to signal for movement. But from the wing, he felt a burning gaze.
Even behind glasses, Midorima's sharp eyes practically screamed: Pass me the ball!
Seeing their ace so fired up, Takao didn't insist on running a set. With both hands, he pushed the ball toward him.
As expected, the moment Midorima touched the ball, Kagami was on him with suffocating defense. With his unlimited range, Midorima rarely had fewer than two defenders on him — and only against Kaijō or Seirin did this ever change.
One team had a super-jumping monster. The other had a genius who could copy that same monster's bounce.
Guarded tightly by Kagami, Midorima lowered his center of gravity, shielding the ball with his body. Normally, under this much pressure, he'd pass it back to Takao without hesitation.
But this time… he stood still, silently watching Kagami.
"What's Shintarō up to? Why isn't he passing?"
Kise frowned. Having perfectly copied Midorima's playstyle before, he could instantly tell — this wasn't a situation where Midorima would usually shoot.
Kota rubbed his chin, a feeling creeping in.
"This horoscope guy… is about to do something ridiculous."
On court, Kagami was equally puzzled, but his defensive instincts kept him sharp.
Meanwhile, Takao, who already knew the plan, stood with his hands on his hips, looking helpless.
"To think he's busting out that move in the prelims… what a waste."
He sighed, but also smirked inwardly.
"Well… better here than never. Even Seirin will be stunned when they see it for the first time."
The next instant, as if proving Takao's thoughts right, Midorima caught the tiniest mental lapse in Kagami.
He shifted his stance—and suddenly broke forward!
"Huh? A drive?"
Kagami was surprised, but his lateral quickness was top-tier. He immediately cut him off.
"Your drives aren't bad, but compared to your shooting, they're way less threatening."
Confident Midorima was just trying something rare, Kagami instinctively gave him a little space—enough to react better and to avoid a cheap foul.
It was textbook defense… but this time, Midorima wasn't playing by the book.
Just as his right foot crossed the three-point line, Midorima abruptly stepped back—stopping exactly one centimeter outside the arc. At the same moment, he gathered the ball, and his forward-leaning momentum instantly transformed into a rising jump shot.
"…What???"
Kagami's face froze. He braced himself, then leapt with explosive power, stretching his arm toward Midorima's shot.
Kagami's vertical was monstrous, even when reacting late. His hand rocketed upward—
But Midorima wasn't human this time.
His jump wasn't just upward—it was sideways. This wasn't just a pull-up three. It was a drifting, off-balance three!
Even as his legs tilted awkwardly forward, his upper body remained rock-solid. His gaze was locked. The ball soared straight at the rim.
Swish!
Nothing but net.