The first quarter ended with Teikou holding a solid lead. The crowd was buzzing with excitement, whispering among themselves about Hiroshi's overwhelming presence. For most of them, this was the first time they had seen such a dominating performance from someone other than the so-called "Generation of Miracles."
The break before the second quarter gave the players a short moment to breathe. Seirin's coach was frantically giving instructions, desperately trying to devise a strategy to slow down Teikou's relentless momentum. Yet, even as his words filled the air, many of Seirin's players couldn't help but steal anxious glances at Hiroshi, who sat calmly on the bench, barely sweating, his sharp eyes scanning the court like a predator watching its prey.
"Keep your heads up," Seirin's captain tried to encourage his team. "We can't let them dictate everything. Stick to the plan. Fight back!"
But when the whistle blew and the second quarter began, reality crushed their resolve.
Hiroshi reentered the court, this time paired with Aomine and Midorima. The moment the ball was inbounded, Teikou's aura shifted again. It was no longer just domination—it was suffocating pressure, as if the very court belonged solely to them.
Aomine, with his lightning speed, sliced through Seirin's defense. Midorima, calm and precise, drained a three-pointer without hesitation. And then there was Hiroshi.
Unlike before, he didn't rush. Instead, he slowed the pace, orchestrating every play with surgical precision. His passes were sharp, threading through the tiniest gaps. His rebounds came effortlessly, as though the ball itself gravitated toward him. Each time he touched the ball, the crowd roared, sensing something extraordinary was about to unfold.
Then came the moment that silenced the gym.
Seirin's point guard managed to break free, charging toward the rim with determination. For a brief second, it seemed like Seirin would finally score and gain momentum. But just as he leaped, Hiroshi appeared out of nowhere.
BAM!
The sound of Hiroshi's block echoed across the court, his palm slamming the ball against the backboard with terrifying force. The ball ricocheted downward, and before anyone else could react, Hiroshi snatched it, launched a full-court pass to Aomine, and in one swift motion, Aomine dunked it home.
The gym exploded in cheers, but Seirin's bench froze. That wasn't just skill—that was complete dominance.
Kuroko, sitting quietly among the substitutes, clenched his fists. His eyes, usually calm and expressionless, flickered with something else. He had seen brilliance before, but Hiroshi was different. There was power, instinct, and something far deeper in the way he played.
By the time the halftime buzzer rang, the scoreboard was merciless: 42–8 in Teikou's favor.
As both teams walked to the locker rooms, Seirin players had their heads lowered, gasping for air, their spirits cracked. On the other hand, Teikou walked calmly, their aura unshaken, almost as if this was just another ordinary game.
But Hiroshi wasn't satisfied. Sitting down, he leaned forward, his eyes gleaming like a lion preparing for the next hunt.
"This isn't enough," he muttered under his breath.
Aomine glanced at him, grinning. "You really don't hold back, do you?"
Hiroshi smirked faintly. "Basketball doesn't forgive hesitation. If we're here to play, then we dominate. That's how Teikou should be remembered."
Unbeknownst to everyone else, a storm was building inside Hiroshi—a storm that would shake the entire Generation of Miracles and the basketball world itself.