Swish...
The ball dropped clean through the net—Hanagata Toru's free throw was good.
Shohoku 0–3 Shoyo.
"Well done, Hanagata." Fujima Kenji smiled and gave Hanagata a light pat on the shoulder.
That 2+1 on Akagi Takenori didn't just score points—it had the same impact as a morale-boosting slam dunk.
Especially since Akagi wasn't just Shohoku's Center, but its emotional pillar.
On the surface, it was just a drawn foul and score. But in truth, the pressure it put on Shohoku was huge.
And sure enough, everyone on Shohoku looked even more tense and serious than before.
Akagi's two fouls crushed the momentum they had worked so hard to build before tipoff.
As possession flipped, the ball went to Shohoku.
They quickly launched a fast break to answer back.
Akagi surged into Shoyo's paint.
Miyagi Ryota passed the ball from outside the three-point line over to Mitsui Hisashi.
Just as Mitsui got ready to shoot, Hasegawa Kazushi rushed up and stuck to him tight, leaving him no room to release the shot.
Mitsui had no choice but to shield the ball. He scanned the court fast, searching for a passing option.
Then he spotted Rukawa Kaede, who was waving for the ball.
Without hesitation, Mitsui took a step forward to shake Hasegawa, then snapped the ball over to Rukawa.
Rukawa caught it, but was immediately met with tight pressure from Nagano Mitsuru.
Rukawa's eyes sharpened. Through a gap in Nagano's defense, he spotted Akagi in the paint.
He didn't wait—he whipped the ball through the seam.
The pass arced clean toward Akagi, waiting near the Shoyo key.
But just before it reached him, a hand suddenly shot in from the side and intercepted it.
What?
Akagi froze, startled, and looked toward the defender.
It was Shoyo's power forward, Takano Shoichi.
Even Rukawa didn't expect his carefully timed pass to get picked off.
"Fast break!" Fujima called immediately, reading the play.
The whole Shoyo squad snapped into motion, shifting into fast break mode.
Shohoku scrambled to fall back, but they couldn't stop the quick counter.
Shoyo's offense was lightning-fast, their players in perfect sync. Add Miyagi's clear height disadvantage, and Shoyo had found the weakest—and most reliable—passing lane.
In Shohoku's paint—
Hanagata saw that Akagi hadn't made it back in time. He powered up from both legs and leapt high, both hands gripping the ball, ready to throw down a strong slam.
Akagi watched helplessly from behind. He wished he could grow wings and fly over to stop it, but there was nothing he could do in time.
At that moment—
Sakuragi Hanamichi shot out of nowhere like a bolt of lightning.
He stretched his arms wide, forming a solid wall in front of Hanagata and yelled, "As long as I, the genius Sakuragi Hanamichi, am here, you're not getting that shot!"
Hanagata looked up, eyes flashing with disdain.
Without a word, he raised the ball and shifted into a shooting stance.
Sakuragi reacted instantly. Eyes wide, he pushed off the floor like a spring-loaded cannonball, soaring up for the block.
But halfway up, his eyes widened.
Hanagata hadn't even jumped.
It was a fake.
Crap.
Sakuragi realized too late. He was already airborne—no way to pull back.
Hanagata grinned, pleased. He stared straight at Sakuragi, then suddenly jumped up.
"What the hell is he—" Sakuragi's gut told him something bad was coming.
In the next moment, their bodies collided midair. Using the force, Hanagata flicked his wrist, launching the ball like an arrow.
BEEP...
A sharp whistle pierced the air across the court.
At that exact instant—
Swish.
The basketball dropped smoothly into Shohoku's hoop.
Right after, the referee's voice rang out. "Shohoku No. 10, defensive foul. Basket counts. One free throw."
"Wha—" Sakuragi Hanamichi felt a jolt in his chest. He shouted, both frustrated and wronged. "He ran into me! I didn't foul him!"
He was full of anger, resentment, and a bit of grievance.
He wanted to argue with the referee. After all, he was telling the truth.
But the referee didn't even glance at him.
He had seen it clearly. Hanagata Toru had drawn the foul on purpose—a common trick in basketball, no dispute about it.
If anyone was to blame, it was Sakuragi's lack of experience. He just got outplayed.
At that moment, Akagi Takenori strode over and said in a low voice, "Sakuragi… raise your hand."
Faced with Akagi's no-nonsense gaze, Sakuragi, though unwilling, finally raised his hand hesitantly.
Off court, the players on Shohoku's bench were already on edge.
Akagi had racked up two fouls early. Now Sakuragi had been baited into another foul.
At this rate, someone might foul out before the first half even ends.
Not even two minutes into the match, and Shohoku had already committed three fouls. It was hard to swallow.
Even so, Anzai Mitsuyoshi stayed seated quietly, showing no sign of calling a timeout.
Aoi Kunisaku also stayed calm, watching the match with a relaxed expression, as if nothing had happened.
But Shimizu Kanon looked conflicted.
It wasn't that she was worried about Shohoku's position. What frustrated her was that the players weren't following the opponent analysis she had laid out at all. They were just playing blind.
In her eyes, Shohoku on the court right now could be summed up in one word—"chaos."
Everyone was just moving on instinct. Their coordination was a mess. No structure. No plan.
Time ticked by.
The game went on.
Shohoku's situation only got worse.
Now it was Shoyo's turn to attack again.
Takano Shoichi and Hanagata Toru worked together with precision, shaking off Akagi's tight defense. Hanagata found his moment and finished with a clean layup.
Basket in.
Shoyo scored 2 more points.
"Shoyo… Shoyo… Shoyo…"
The Shoyo cheer squad roared like a tidal wave, swallowing the whole gym.
In contrast, the fans who were cheering for Shohoku earlier had all gone quiet.
They thought it would be a close, intense battle. Instead, it was turning into a one-sided stomp by Shoyo.
Shohoku regained possession.
Rukawa Kaede's eyes sharpened. He saw the opportunity before Shoyo's defense could recover and bolted toward their basket like a red flash.
Akagi didn't hesitate. From the baseline, he wound up and launched a full-court pass like a cannon blast, straight at Rukawa.
But halfway there, a large hand suddenly blocked the ball's path.
Crap.
Both Akagi and Rukawa's hearts skipped a beat. They turned to see who it was.
It was Shoyo's No. 7—Nagano Mitsuru.
Nagano's job was to guard Rukawa.
The moment Rukawa made his move, Nagano had already locked onto him.
But he didn't chase. He knew well that he couldn't outrun Rukawa. Instead of wasting energy, he cut off the connection between Rukawa and the rest of Shohoku.
And it worked.
Nagano took the ball and instantly passed it to Fujima Kenji.
Fujima dribbled fast to the three-point line. With a slight bend in his knees, he jumped high and posed to shoot a three.
Miyagi Ryota wasn't letting that happen. He jumped too, arms stretched out, trying to contest the shot.
But his height was still a major weakness. At best, he could cover half of Fujima's vision.
Damn it.
Miyagi clenched his teeth in frustration. But there was nothing more he could do.
Just as Fujima was about to shoot, a figure rocketed up behind Miyagi.
Arms fully extended, the figure blocked Fujima's vision completely.
Fujima Kenji's pupils contracted sharply.
The person who had just leapt out from behind Miyagi Ryota was none other than Mitsui Hisashi.
With Mitsui's height and wingspan, it was more than enough to block Fujima's shooting path.
But Fujima didn't panic at all. He looked up at Mitsui, then instantly changed his motion. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the ball sideways.
A pass?
Mitsui and Miyagi both felt their hearts sink.
No one expected that, in such a critical moment, Fujima would abandon the shot and pass instead—with no hesitation. It was as if he had planned it from the start.
It all happened too fast. By the time Miyagi realized it and tried to react, it was already too late.
And Mitsui, who was behind Miyagi, couldn't do anything with someone in between. He could only watch helplessly as the ball was sent out.
The basketball landed precisely in the hands of Nagano Mitsuru, who was wide open at the three-point line.
Nagano caught it and launched the shot in one smooth motion.
The ball traced a graceful arc through the air, heading straight for Shohoku's hoop.
The Shohoku players' faces shifted. They stared at the flying ball without blinking.
Swish.
A clean net sound rang out.
The ball went in.
But to Shohoku, that sound was like the whisper of a devil.
Shohoku 0 to 11 Shoyo.
From that point on, it felt like Shohoku was cursed—stuck in a swamp they couldn't escape.
Every single attack—Rukawa Kaede's sharp drives, Akagi Takenori's strong post-ups, Miyagi Ryota's clever orchestration—all got shut down. It was like they were slamming into an invisible wall formed by Shoyo's defense.
In contrast, Shoyo's offense was like a surgeon's blade. Sharp, precise, deadly.
Hanagata Toru's fakes under the basket threw Shohoku's interior defense into disarray.
Fujima's passes always found the open man at just the right moment.
Nagano's three-point shots from outside were dead-on, again and again.
Under that relentless assault, Shohoku could only keep backing up. They were completely overwhelmed.
Time ticked by.
But for Shohoku, every second felt like forever.
On the scoreboard, Shoyo's numbers kept climbing.
But Shohoku's—still stuck at a glaring, unmoving zero.
0 to 13.
0 to 15.
0 to 17.
0 to 19.
…
Shohoku's players looked up at the scoreboard, and their hearts sank to rock bottom.
Akagi Takenori and the others were breathing hard, chests heaving. Sweat poured down their faces like rain.
Every step they took felt like dragging their feet through mud. Heavy. Stuck.
Off court—
Shohoku's bench players were a mess. Wide-eyed. Tense. Frantic.
Kogure Kiminobu was scratching his head, voice trembling. "What do we do? What do we do? We're already this far behind. If this keeps up, we're toast."
Shiozaki Tetsushi had his hands clasped tightly, eyes shut, muttering prayers. "Please, someone, help Shohoku…"
Yasuda Yasuharu wailed, "Come on, do something already!"
Ayako couldn't bear to watch. Her voice was filled with frustration. "This isn't right. They're stiff as robots. Nothing like how they usually play. They haven't even shown half of what they're capable of. Even if it's Shoyo, it shouldn't be this bad!"
Shimizu Kanon, on the other hand, stayed composed. Eyes locked on the court, she calmly analyzed, "I think they're just too nervous. That's why they're playing so poorly."
Hearing that, Ayako said, "Then call a timeout. Let them come off and cool down. If this keeps up, it's gonna be real bad."
Shimizu Kanon shook her head. "Won't help. Even if we call timeout now, it won't change anything. Their pressure comes from Shoyo itself. They have to overcome that themselves."
After speaking, she silently thought, I hope it's not too late…
Anzai Mitsuyoshi sat still like a statue. His eyes were locked onto the court. Steam curled up from the cup of tea in his hands. His expression was calm—far too calm for someone whose team was getting crushed. No one could read what was on his mind.
Aoi Kunisaku was about the same. He didn't care about the score. His eyes were fixed solely on the Shoyo players.
The corners of his mouth lifted with interest. "Not bad. Pretty strong. Way better than the other teams we've played."
The players on the court were messing up, sure. But if Shoyo could suppress them this thoroughly, it meant Shoyo was no joke.
Thinking that, Aoi couldn't help but feel his fingers itching.