The referee raised both hands to signal the scorer's table, and the scoreboard immediately updated: 3–2, Shutoku in front.
In the stands, aside from the casual onlookers, the more knowledgeable basketball fans—and the entire Kaijo team—were left stunned.
"Wait, you can shoot a three like that?!"
Kise's jaw nearly hit the floor as he stared at Midorima jogging calmly back on defense, his eyes filled with disbelief.
Kota, on the other hand, looked much more serious, replaying that possession in his head.
"Was it just luck from a hot hand, or…"
Truth be told, Midorima's shot hadn't looked all that impressive at first glance — certainly not compared to Kagami's thunderous free-throw line dunk earlier.
But the meaning behind it was enormous.
"Kise, Midorima's never taken that kind of shot before, right?" Kota asked, glancing sideways at Kise.
Without hesitation, Kise nodded. "Never. We know all their quirks. And Midorima always sticks to the same exact form, because as long as he does, his shots never miss."
"As expected…"
Kota's lips curled into a knowing smile. Turning back toward the court, he muttered,
"That guy… he's evolved this year too."
...
Another Shutoku possession.
Takao dribbled while directing his teammates' movements. Compared to last season, Shutoku's overall roster hadn't gotten much stronger. Their core big man Otsubo had graduated, leaving them without a dominant inside presence.
But—
With Midorima's evolution, Shutoku's offensive scheme was sharper and clearer than ever.
Screens, off-ball movement, spacing — all of it designed to create openings for Midorima's deadly three-point shot.
At the baseline, Midorima caught Takao's hand signal — a downward motio n— and instantly took off, crouching low as he slipped around Seirin's baseline defense.
Kagami stuck to him like glue, sprinting to the other side as well. He had no choice: if Midorima got open, the basket was as good as gone.
But inside, Yuya — who'd received Takao's signal earlier — was ready. Pretending to box out Kiyoshi, he was actually watching Kagami closely.
Just as Midorima ran by, Yuya suddenly slid his feet, using his body to cut off Kagami's path.
"What—?!"
Kagami's reflexes were sharp, and he instantly adjusted, circling around Yuya to escape the screen. But that one split-second delay was all Midorima needed.
He caught Takao's pass beyond the arc, with just enough space for a clean look.
His face was calm, his eyes hidden behind the gleam of his glasses, his body steady as he bent his knees and raised the ball.
"Not done yet!!"
Kagami's eyes blazed red as he launched himself from a couple of steps away, relying on his insane vertical to challenge the shot.
But Midorima gave a subtle pump fake, put the ball on the floor, and sidestepped Kagami's leap.
A smooth hesitation move.
In mid-air, Kagami's face twisted, though he smirked inwardly.
"Nice! At least I stopped the three!"
If Midorima drove inside, Seirin's defense was waiting — Kiyoshi ready to help, and Kuroko lurking for the steal.
But Kagami had miscalculated.
Just as Midorima's right foot touched inside the arc, he planted hard and sprang backward.
A step-back three!
This was the evolved Midorima — not just catch-and-shoot, but pull-ups, step-backs, fadeaways… the ability to shoot anywhere beyond the arc.
Kagami's eyes widened as Midorima rose. He landed, immediately jumped again, stretching his arm desperately to block.
But Midorima leaned his upper body ever so slightly to the side, releasing the ball at the perfect angle.
Another high-difficulty drifting three-pointer.
Swish!
The sound of the ball ripping through the net was almost routine for him.
The crowd erupted.
The scoreboard showed 21–11. With only half the first quarter gone, Midorima was a perfect 7-for-7 from three—21 points in just five minutes.
On the bench, Kota's right leg tapped restlessly. His face remained neutral, but his heart was far from calm.
"So he went from Klay Thompson straight to Steph Curry, huh?"
Kota chuckled bitterly. He'd guessed this after the first shot, but seeing it play out was still shocking.
Midorima had mastered the art of hitting any high-difficulty three-pointer — and the scariest part was his accuracy hadn't dropped at all.
Step-backs, fadeaways, pull-ups — anyone in the Generation of Miracles besides Murasakibara could pull those off sometimes. Even Kota himself had knocked down his share of "no way" shots.
But Midorima was different. His weren't just lucky makes. They were automatic.
That meant every time he rose for a tough jumper, it was basically guaranteed three points. Defenders had no answer.
Midorima Shintaro. The Three-Point Machine.
"This is trouble…" Kota muttered, catching the attention of the Kaijo bench.
"What's wrong, Kota?" Kise asked. "You think we couldn't handle Shutoku either?"
"Of course not" Kota shook his head. Then, smirking, he teased, "I'm just saying—it's gonna be tough on you guys. I mean, eight Kaijo players splitting three people's dinner portions? Doesn't that sound painful?"
The Kaijo players froze, before Kise scowled.
"Hey! Don't count Seirin out yet! The gap isn't even that big!"
He jabbed at the scoreboard.
27–14, Shutoku leading.
Technically, the first quarter wasn't even over. Seirin still had time.
But this was just a round-robin game. After their exhausting clash with Too, Riko wasn't about to risk injuries or burn out her starters.
Sure enough, when Kota pointed out Seirin's second-quarter lineup, Kise's jaw dropped.
Kuroko was already benched, sitting next to Kiyoshi, who'd just returned from rehab overseas. Both were basically spectators now.
Kagami stayed in, but only because Riko had given him strict orders before tipoff:
"Save your stamina. Don't get hurt. Just participate."
As a result, the normally wild Kagami was playing surprisingly safe, holding back his full strength.
Kota wasn't surprised. If he were Seirin's coach, he'd have made the same call.
Pushing your players to exhaustion in a meaningless game? That'd just be plain dumb.
Not to mention the risk of injury. If Seirin got through the game without problems, that was a win in itself.
And besides, with Shutoku showing their trump card this early, the real priority for Seirin's rivals wasn't fighting them here and now—it was studying the tape later to find weaknesses.
Buzzer—!
By the second quarter, Seirin had already waved the white flag. The result was no surprise.
117–92. Shutoku with a dominant victory.
...
Nakatani knew how to play it smart. He didn't press Seirin too hard after they started pulling back—after all, they're in the same division, running into each other often. A little unspoken understanding and restraint goes a long way.
Of course, the bigger reason was that he didn't want to expose too much of Midorima's game. Even though in Nakatani's eyes this year's Shutoku had no real weaknesses, it was always safer to keep something hidden.
And so, Kaijo's team-wide bet dragged on for the entire game, even though the outcome had already been clear from the start of the second quarter.
The third match of the round-robin, Too vs. Shutoku, was also the last of the day.
Whether it was intentional scheduling or not, the organizers had stacked all the most exciting north round-robin matchups into today. The following two days? Just Kirisaki against the remaining Generation of Miracles teams. The results were practically pre-written.
In the third game, Too once again built their offense around their freshman, Igarashi.
With Kuroko not on the floor, Igarashi — whose style resembled Kota's — shined brightly.
He didn't just run the offense smoothly, he also held his own on defense. Even against Takao, one of the top point guards right behind Akashi and Kota, Igarashi handled things with surprising composure.
If Kuroko had been absent from this tournament, this round-robin could have been Igarashi's breakout performance.
Unfortunately for him, Midorima was in "I'm going to rain threes until your soul breaks" mode. Unlike Aomine, who liked to conserve energy and give the rookies space, Midorima went full throttle again. By halftime, he was 13 for 13, dropping 39 points.
Aomine, meanwhile, was basically coasting. He only stepped in when Igarashi's offense stalled. At halftime, Aomine had 12 points on 5-for-6 shooting, while Igarashi contributed just 8 points but dished out an impressive 9 assists.
Score at the break: 61–54, Shutoku leading.
Unlike Shutoku's one-man wrecking crew, Too had all of their starters — aside from Igarashi — scoring in double figures.
With Igarashi holding the team together and Aomine's old "one-man show" Too had finally started playing like an actual team.
"Not bad, kid" Aomine muttered on the bench, patting Igarashi on the back. Looking up at the scoreboard, he even looked… satisfied.
Despite him practically vanishing for an entire half, Too had managed to keep the deficit to only 7 points against Midorima's barrage. That was something even Aomine wouldn't have believed before.
Igarashi wiped sweat from his face with a towel, his eyes glowing with renewed confidence.
"Aomine-senpai, if we keep this pace until the fourth quarter… you're good to go, right?"
Aomine smirked, his eyes flashing dangerously.
"Of course. You doubting me? If the lead stays where it is by the fourth, I'll flip the game by myself. Easy."
A confident answer—and an even more confident look from Igarashi. He waved his arm like a captain leading his troops, marching his teammates back to the court.
On the bench, coach Harasawa watched his players' backs with pride, his chest burning.
"This is my team. This is the squad that will win the Interhigh this year—Too Academy!"
"Go, kids! Show them your power. Write your legend!"
Even though Harasawa was already in his thirties, the fire for victory inside him had never dimmed—not even as a coach.
…
BEEP—
The third-quarter buzzer rang.
Harasawa froze as he looked at the scoreboard: 82–65, Shutoku leading.
Too Academy had collapsed.
On the court, Aomine grabbed Igarashi by the collar, roaring in his face.
"Damn brat, what the hell was that?! Who was the one saying, 'Keep it close until the fourth and then let me take over'? Huh?!"
Can you blame him for being furious? The game had been neck-and-neck — then the third quarter hit, and the whole thing fell apart. Anyone would be pissed.
Seeing Aomine's already dark skin look a few shades darker, Igarashi could only scratch his cheek awkwardly, speechless.
He hadn't expected Shutoku to unleash so much firepower in the third.
Led by Takao, they completely shifted gears — barely using Midorima at all, leaving him on the arc as a "nuclear deterrent" while the other four players attacked aggressively.
That completely blindsided Igarashi's pregame plans. With Aomine holding himself back, Too simply crumbled.
Final buzzer: 121–117, Shutoku wins.
In the fourth quarter, Aomine entered the Zone and went all-out, but it couldn't erase the hole from the disastrous third. Even when he finally locked down Midorima, it was too late.
Frustrated beyond belief, Aomine once again grabbed Igarashi by the collar and unloaded another round of verbal fire, venting his rage.
Too still had a long way to go. Until Igarashi grew into a true floor general, they'd never be the real championship contender Aomine wanted.
…
When the games ended, the crowd filed out, satisfied. Even though both Seirin and Too had held back in their matches, the spectacle wasn't diminished.
Between Kagami's free-throw line dunks and Midorima's impossible threes, fans definitely got their money's worth. Nobody was demanding refunds.
In the stands, Kaijo's players lingered in their seats, chatting. With the packed arena, there was no point trying to rush out.
"What should we eat later?"
"Burgers?"
"Not bad, but with this many of us and someone footing the bill… ramen might be safer."
As they debated, Kota stood up and stretched with a huge yawn.
"I'm gonna hit the restroom~"
He tossed the line out casually, but before leaving, shot Kise a very deliberate look.
Kise blinked, frowned, then muttered,
"I'll go too."
And he jogged off after Kota.
"Seriously? Going to the bathroom together? I haven't done that since middle school! Kise and Kota are such kids" Hayakawa laughed, tossing the last of his popcorn into his mouth.
Meanwhile, the rest of Kaijo's bench leaned in close, starting up a fresh betting pool.
"Five hundred says Kise apologizes first!"
"Wait, what? We don't even know what they're gonna argue about!"
"Doesn't matter. Kota's always the dominant one. No way Kise gets him to apologize."
"…Yeah, fair point. I'm in for Kota."
"Hold up—if we all bet on Kota, then what's the point of the bet? Someone's gotta back Kise!"
"…True. Okay, who's betting on Kise?"
(silence)
The bet fell apart.