"Hey, hey, hey! What just happened?"
"Ryonan scored three points in an instant!"
"Why do I feel like something's off? It was over in a flash—I didn't even see how they stole the ball!"
After a brief silence, the stands suddenly came alive.
Murmurs, exclamations, and confused whispers spread like a tide through the gymnasium.
Spectators exchanged bewildered glances, eyes wide in disbelief.
It wasn't that they doubted the score—it was that they couldn't trust what they'd just seen.
Three counterattacks, executed so cleanly and sharply it was almost eerie, as if Miuradai had helped Ryonan score.
Hanagata Toru's expression stayed calm, his eyes locked on Ake.
After a moment, he spoke in a detached tone, as if commenting on a routine practice match.
"The timing was precise, execution decisive, footwork subtle, and ball control impressive... but—"
He paused, adjusting his glasses, his gaze steady and unreadable.
"If that's all he's got, then it's nothing special. The rumors exaggerated his ability."
"Is that so?" Fujima Kenji replied quietly, a slight furrow forming between his brows.
His eyes followed Ake on the court. Outwardly calm, but deep down, something felt off.
As a fellow point guard, he noticed details others wouldn't.
Ake's three steals might've looked like coincidences—but to Fujima, they felt planned.
It wasn't just quick reflexes. It was as if Ake had been waiting for those exact plays to happen.
"Is this Ryonan's first-year captain?" Miyagi Ryota said lazily, arms crossed and a smirk tugging at his lips. "Doesn't look that amazing to me. Anyone could do that."
He spoke casually, but his sharp eyes never left Ake.
Kogure Kiminobu leaned closer and whispered, "Miyagi, don't underestimate him. He's not as simple as he looks."
Takenori Akagi crossed his arms, his gaze sharp as a torch. "He hasn't even used his full strength yet."
Ayako added thoughtfully, "Based on the footage we've seen from practice matches, he rarely takes action himself. But when he does… it's devastating."
Her tone grew more serious.
"He's not showing off—he's forcing his opponents to reveal their weaknesses."
Miyagi didn't respond, but he muttered under his breath, "So mysterious…"
On the court.
Kengo Murasame could no longer hold back. He strode up to Araki Kazuo, face dark and voice low.
"Araki… what the hell are you doing out there?"
Araki's face flushed red, sweat dripping down his forehead.
"Captain… I was being careful, but it's like he could read my movements before I made them."
Even as he said it, he knew how ridiculous it sounded.
But the evidence was right there—what else could he say?
Kengo frowned, clearly skeptical.
A first-year kid? Predicting him? Ridiculous.
"Forget it." Kengo waved him off. "Switch with me. I'll guard that brat myself."
Araki sighed in relief and nodded quickly. "Yes, sir."
He'd had enough embarrassment for one day.
It was still Miuradai's possession.
They organized their offense, the ball moving between hands until it reached Kengo Murasame.
He gripped it firmly, his eyes scanning the court like a predator.
Across from him, the red figure wearing the white #4 jersey stood quietly at the top of the arc.
"No matter who you are…" Kengo sneered inwardly. "Our only goal is Kainan. Ryonan is just a stepping stone."
He advanced with heavy, deliberate strides, rhythm steady and confident—like a general leading a charge.
The moment he stepped past the three-point line, Ake moved up to meet him.
Knees bent, arms spread, posture sharp and solid—like a wall that would not yield.
Kengo stopped, looking down at him with a cold smirk.
"You're Ryonan's first-year captain, right?"
Ake didn't respond.
He just stared, his mismatched eyes cold and bottomless, like an abyss ready to swallow everything.
That silent contempt made Kengo's eyebrow twitch. Rage flared in his chest.
"Tch. Not so tough after all. Looks like Ryonan's Final Four dream ends here."
Inside, he grinned wickedly.
"Let's see how you handle this, rookie."
He shifted his weight, dribbling with his right hand while raising his left to shield the ball—ready to spin and break through.
But just as he moved—
Clap!
A sharp, clean sound echoed—like a slap to the face.
"What—?!"
Kengo looked down in disbelief. His hand was empty.
The basketball was gone.
Following his gaze, he saw Ake's right hand withdrawing, fingertips still tingling from the contact.
It was so smooth, so effortless—it was as if he'd brushed a leaf off his shoulder.
'When did he—?!'
Kengo hadn't even seen him move.
No arm extension, no body feint, nothing.
The ball had simply… vanished.
Before Kengo could process it, Ake had already turned and sprinted toward Miuradai's basket, gliding across the floor like a ghost.
"Stop him!"
Kengo spun and chased, slamming his foot against the floor to push off—swinging his arm back subtly, trying to clip Ake with a hidden shoulder blow.
It was a dirty move he'd perfected—hard to spot, even for referees.
But Ake was already gone.
Kengo hit nothing but air.
Worse, the failed swing threw him off balance, widening the gap between them.
'Damn it… just carelessness. That's all it is.'
He gritted his teeth, face twisting in frustration, and pushed himself harder.
But Ake was already at the three-point line.
Then, from the flank—
Boom!
Miuradai's towering center, Akio Kawasaki, burst into view, arms spread wide like an iron wall.
At the same time, Kengo caught up from behind. Together, they trapped Ake between them.
A perfect double-team.
From the stands, it looked hopeless. Even a seasoned point guard would struggle to escape that.
Surely, the ball was as good as stolen.
But just as the tension peaked—
Swish. Clap. Swish. Swish. Clap. Swish.
A flurry of sounds rippled through the court.
Then the scoreboard flickered:
Ryonan 61 – 32 Miuradai.
Everyone froze.
What?!
Miuradai's players stared blankly at the net. The ball was in.
No one had seen how.
The first swish was Ake's pass—an impossibly fast flick from his left hand just as the double-team closed in, the ball skimming the court like a guided arrow.
The clap was Koshino Hiroaki catching it beyond the arc.
The second swish—his jump shot slicing through the air, clean and confident.
And the final swish—the ball falling through the net, brushing the rim with perfect precision.
Everything happened so seamlessly, it almost didn't feel real.
Kengo and Kawasaki stood frozen, staring at Ake's empty hands.
Neither had noticed when he'd passed the ball.
In the stands, Fujima Kenji narrowed his eyes, his fingertips tapping rhythmically on the armrest.
His gaze locked on Ake, that strange unease growing heavier.
The steal, the fake drive, the perfectly timed assist—it was all executed with frightening calm.
But still… it didn't surpass what an excellent point guard could do.
'Was it instinct? Or something else?'
He hesitated.
Shoyo's playbook had similar tactics. He could pull off a move like that too.
So for now, he couldn't decide whether this first-year captain was truly as terrifying as the rumors claimed.
Beside him, Hanagata adjusted his glasses, a faint smile on his lips.
"That pass… the timing was perfect. Coincidence?"
Then he shook his head.
"No matter. A gap appeared, the teammate seized it. Nothing extraordinary."
He remained calm.
To him, Ake was impressive—but not yet threatening.
But what he didn't know was…
That the calm he felt now would shatter completely the day he witnessed Ake's true power—on the court.
The game continued, but the atmosphere had changed.
In just three minutes after Ake entered the match, Ryonan unleashed a devastating 10–0 run.
Steals. Fast breaks. Three-pointers. Dunks.
Each play flowed seamlessly into the next.
The score widened—64 to 34.
A thirty-point gap that hit Miuradai like a sledgehammer.
Their confidence crumbled.
This wasn't the game they'd imagined.
They'd planned to wear Ryonan down with fouls and mental tricks, to chip away at their rhythm and take control.
Instead, they were being dominated.
Especially Kengo Murasame.
He stood in the backcourt, face pale, veins throbbing, rage simmering behind his eyes.
"Give me the ball," he growled through clenched teeth.
His teammates, sensing the danger, passed it wordlessly.
His chest burned with anger, humiliation, and disbelief.
That rookie had ruined everything—his rhythm, his control, his pride.
But Kengo convinced himself he could still take it back.
He glared at Ake, his expression twisting into something dark and cold.
"This time… I'll crush you."
A thin, sinister smile spread across his face, imagining Ake knocked to the floor.
But what he didn't realize—
Every flicker of emotion, every twitch of his muscles, every shift in his breathing—Ake saw it all.
He didn't even need to activate the Emperor's Eye.
Its passive awareness spread across the court like an invisible web.
Every detail, every intent, was already mapped out in Ake's mind.
"We're Miuradai. Ryonan is nothing!" Kengo roared.
"Let's go!"
Miuradai surged forward, charging like a tidal wave.
Kengo led the attack at full speed, the rest keeping pace behind him.
But just as they reached Ryonan's three-point line—
The wave broke.
Their movement—stopped.
Completely.