At the same time Ryonan crushed Miuradai, the game between Kainan and Sarashina came to an end.
As everyone had expected, Sarashina was no match for Kainan.
When the final whistle blew, the scoreboard read 93 to 41 — a commanding 52-point victory for Kainan.
What stood out even more was that Maki Shinichi, Kainan's ace and core player, hadn't played a single minute.
That afternoon, the Ryonan team didn't head straight back. Instead, they decided to stay and watch the next game.
After all, the winner of that match would be their opponent in the upcoming round.
The matchup was Takenozono vs. Tsukubu.
In Ryonan's eyes, Tsukubu was clearly the team worth paying attention to.
Like Ryonan, Tsukubu had finished among Kanagawa's top four teams last season — a powerhouse that couldn't be underestimated.
Takenozono, on the other hand, while strong enough to reach the Elite Eight, lacked that same sharpness.
Their chances of defeating Tsukubu were slim.
Before the match began, Ake led the Ryonan squad into the basketball gym.
The crowd immediately recognized them, and a wave of murmurs spread through the stands.
"Look, it's Ryonan!"
"They came to watch too!"
"Of course — the winner of this match will be their next opponent."
"That red-haired guy in front must be Ryonan's captain!"
"I saw his game this morning — his passing was insane!"
Ake paid no attention to the whispers or the curious stares. His expression remained calm, a faint, composed smile on his face as he led the team to an empty row of seats.
"Who do you think will win this one?" Aida Hikoichi asked, camera in hand, eyes full of curiosity.
Koshino Hiroaki replied without hesitation, "It's got to be Tsukubu. That's an easy call."
Ikegami Ryoji nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Tsukubu's one of the top four teams in the prefecture — they're no joke. Takenozono's not bad, but they don't really have anything special."
Then he paused, suddenly remembering something.
"Oh, right. I think Takenozono has a pretty strong center. But even so, one player can't carry an entire team. I'm betting on Tsukubu."
Soon after, both teams began to take the court.
Ake's heterochromatic eyes calmly swept over each player.
Within moments, he had already analyzed the condition and rhythm of every person on both sides.
Sendoh leaned closer and asked quietly, "Ake, who do you think our next opponent will be?"
At that, the team fell silent.
A casual opinion was one thing — but when Ake gave a judgment, it was almost never wrong.
His predictions had been flawless so far, every word backed by sharp precision and uncanny accuracy.
Ake didn't turn his head as he replied, his tone even and assured.
"Our opponent tomorrow will be Tsukubu. Takenozono can't beat them."
"You're that sure?" Sendoh blinked, though he didn't sound particularly surprised.
He had also believed Tsukubu had the upper hand — but not with Ake's level of certainty.
Ake's gaze lingered on Takenozono's captain and center, the player wearing jersey number 9 — Oda Tatsumasa.
He quietly studied every detail of Oda's movement — the way he walked, how his body shifted, and especially, how he pushed off with his right foot.
That ankle movement was off — subtle but clear.
A self-protective posture, the kind developed unconsciously after an old injury.
By overall ability, the two teams weren't worlds apart. Tsukubu had a slightly deeper roster, but Takenozono still had a fighting chance.
However, with Oda's right ankle in that condition… the outcome was already decided.
The game began.
And just as Ake predicted, everything played out exactly as he said.
At first, the two teams traded baskets, the score rising evenly in a fast-paced back-and-forth.
But as time went on, Tsukubu began to tighten their grip. Their rhythm grew sharper, their defense stronger, and slowly — inevitably — they pulled away.
Trying to catch up, Oda Tatsumasa pushed himself harder and harder, forcing drives toward the rim. But that only worsened his ankle.
Midway through the second half, he fell to the floor, grimacing in pain.
He got back up, determined to keep playing, but the flow of the game never returned.
When the final whistle sounded, the scoreboard showed 96 to 78.
Takenozono had fallen.
Ake rose from his seat, his expression calm.
"Let's go."
The rest of the team stood up and followed him out of the gym.
Their admiration for their captain deepened even further.
He had said Tsukubu would win — and Tsukubu had won.
He had said Oda was injured — and Oda had indeed fallen because of it.
At times, it almost felt like Ake wasn't human at all, but some kind of quiet deity walking among them.
Meanwhile, the results of the Group A matches had also come in.
In the game between Kusaka and Daihoku, Daihoku secured the win.
With that, all the matches for Groups A and C concluded for the day.
The next morning, news of Ryonan's 101-point blowout victory over Miuradai spread like wildfire across the Kanagawa high school basketball scene.
The shockwaves were immense.
Especially for teams of similar strength to Miuradai — all of whom suddenly found themselves on edge.
Before this, the likes of Kainan and Shoyo had already been overwhelming presences that made lesser teams feel hopeless.
If it weren't for the additional promotion spot this year, some schools might've already thrown in the towel.
But now, Ryonan's explosive rise had thrown everything into chaos.
No one knew what had happened to them this season — only that their growth had been terrifyingly fast, almost unnatural.
They were like a team blessed with a hidden cheat code, their momentum unstoppable.
Inside Ryonan's gym, practice continued in an orderly rhythm.
"There's a Shoyo game today. Aren't we going to watch?" Uekusa Tomoyuki asked as he stretched.
He clearly remembered that Group B and Group D teams were set to play today.
Ikegami Ryoji glanced toward Ake, who was quietly focused on his own training.
"Looks like the captain's not planning to go," he replied. Then he added, "If you want to watch, go ahead. I don't think he'd mind."
Uekusa hesitated, scratching his head. "If none of you are going, it'd be weird if I went alone, right?"
He sighed inwardly.
It didn't feel right to leave when everyone else was training.
Koshino quickly said, "Didn't Hikoichi go already? He probably just left — you could still catch up if you hurry."
Uekusa shook his head and laughed weakly. "Forget it. I'll stay and keep training."
Sendoh stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Today should be Group B and Group D, huh?"
Then he turned to Ake. "Ake, what do you think about the matches today?"
Ake stopped his dribbling drill, looked up, and replied without hesitation:
"Shoyo versus Kasuga Daiichi — Shoyo will win without a doubt.
In Kakuno versus Odagiri, Kakuno has the advantage.
And in Group D, the two teams that will advance are Takezato and Shohoku."
"Shohoku?"
The name made everyone pause.
Kakuno and Odagiri weren't surprising — few people cared much about those teams anyway.
But Shohoku?
They had faced Shohoku before in a practice match. To them, that team had been hopelessly weak — not even worth taking seriously.
Could Shohoku really beat anyone in their group?
"Are you saying Shohoku's stronger than Nanbara?" Ikegami asked incredulously.
Ake continued calmly, "The final winner of Group A will be Kainan. Group B will go to Shoyo. Group C is still uncertain, and Group D's winner will be Shohoku."
His voice was steady, confident — absolute.
A hush fell over the team again.
Even Sendoh frowned slightly. "I can see Kainan and Shoyo taking their groups, sure. But Shohoku? Why are you so sure they'll win?"
"Yeah," Ikegami added, "Even setting aside Mojikichi and Nanbara, Shohoku's nowhere near Takezato's level."
"Exactly!" Koshino chimed in. "Takezato's one of the top four in the prefecture! Shohoku barely survived the first round last year!"
Ake's tone didn't change.
"Facts will prove everything. Shohoku isn't as weak as you think. You'll understand when the results come out."
He didn't elaborate. He didn't need to.
Because when the final scores were posted, his words would speak for themselves.