The Shinwa High art room smelled of paint and chalk, a quiet haven where Kenji Tachibana sketched a rough play under the guise of a class project. The slashed "K" banner from last night—red paint dripping across the courtyard—burned in his mind, a taunt tied to Kaito's father. The Principal Cup qualifiers were in full swing, with Shinwa facing Seihoku High tomorrow, and Kaede's broadcast exposing Kaito's father's bribes had rocked the arena, but the "K" hinted at retaliation. School buzzed with victory fever from the Kita win, but the art room's calm felt like a held breath before the next play.
Hana Mizuno, across the room, worked on a poster for the council's Cup rally, her quick glance at Kenji a spark of focus. "Kaede's feed's viral," she whispered, slipping him a coded note about a new shadow league file. "But Kaito's dad's not done." Rin Matsuoka, blending paint with precision, ignored classmates' chatter about his clutch shots, his mind on the court. Jiro, smudging charcoal for a laugh, teased Riku about "sketching faster than you run." Riku grinned, tossing an eraser back. Kaito Hattori knocked over a paint can, chuckling, "Oops!" while Daichi helped clean it, his confidence steady post-Kita. Akira, etching a play into clay, muttered about Hoshino's one-on-one, his focus razor-sharp.
Outside, the hallway pulsed with Cup hype—students taping Shinwa posters, chanting for tomorrow. A junior asked Kenji for a fist bump, his fame a spark, but the new student—Kurogane's spy—lingered, eyeing Hana's poster pile. "Nice art," he said, too smooth, his Kurogane pen glinting. Kenji's pulse quickened. "Thanks," he said, voice cool, but the "K" loomed.
The team gathered in a nearby park, not the gym, to dodge prying eyes, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows. Haru, laptop open on a bench, delivered his stat report with geeky zeal. "Seihoku's bigs dominate rebounds—85% defensive rate, 65% on offense. Their center's slow on switches, though—hit 'em with Phantom Shift, variation eight, fast picks." Rin nodded, sinking a shot on a rusty park hoop, his aim deadly. Kenji weaved through an imaginary trap, passing to Jiro, who slashed for a layup. Riku sprinted, Tatsuya faked a defender out, and Daichi battled for a rebound. Kaito Hattori blocked a shot, stumbling but grinning.
Morita, leaning against a tree, rallied them. "Seihoku's tough, but you're tougher. Play like a unit." His words carried Saito's fire, not stats. Hana signaled a fake play, "Shift Tide," to mislead Seihoku's scouts, her mind on the "K" banner. Akira, eyes on the horizon, said, "Hoshino's with Seihoku. I'll meet him there." His showdown loomed, a test of trust.
At a Kurogane-sponsored arcade event, Kenji tossed balls for fans, his charm a shield. An exec, Kaito's voice, leaned in. "Don't slip tomorrow, kid." A jab, sharp and cold. Ami, blending in with the crowd, texted: Kaito's dad's doubling security after the broadcast. He's targeting the next game. A guard with a Kurogane pin watched, too close. Kenji tossed a ball high, smirking. "I don't slip."
That night, in Jiro's cluttered garage—posters of old hoop stars pinned to the walls—the team huddled. Haru's laptop showed a new shadow league file from Kaede's chip: a list of Cup venues, Seihoku's marked with a red "K." "Kaito's dad's planning something big—maybe a blackout to kill the broadcast," Haru said, voice tense. Hana mapped a counterplan, her voice steady. "We amplify Kaede's feed, use the fake ref list to keep him guessing." Her hand brushed Kenji's, a quiet anchor.
Akira gripped a basketball, eyes hard. "Hoshino's mine tomorrow. He'll show his side." Jiro, tossing chips, grinned, "We'll dunk on that 'K' too!" Riku and Tatsuya planned fast breaks, Daichi vowed to own the boards, and Kaito Hattori's clumsy laptop tap sparked laughs. Rin, quiet, spun a ball, his mind on shots.
As they left, the garage door creaked open, revealing a shadow across the street—a figure, hooded, spray-painting a red "K" on a wall, its lines sharp under moonlight. No words, just the paint's glint, daring Shinwa as Seihoku's whistle waited.