Ryonan's powerful advance was like a boulder dropped into a still lake, sending ripples through the teams that had yet to play.
The 39-point blowout—and Ake's dominance after stepping onto the court—put every other team under unprecedented pressure.
Among them, only Shoyo and Kainan appeared relatively calm.
As a powerhouse that had long held second place in Kanagawa, Shoyo carried its own pride.
With Fujima Kenji's flawless court control, Hanagata Toru's refined interior play, and the team's well-honed zone defense, they had every reason to believe they could face any opponent head-on.
On the other hand, Kainan's confidence was almost instinctive—rooted in years of dominance as Kanagawa's reigning champion.
Even though Ryonan's sudden rise exceeded expectations, Kainan remained sure of their own strength.
Maki Shinichi's all-around brilliance, Jin Soichiro's deadly three-point shooting, Takasago Kazuma's steady experience, and the team's deep championship pedigree were all sources of their unwavering self-assurance.
Not long after Ryonan's match against Tsukubu ended, news came from Stadium 1—
Kainan had defeated Daikita with overwhelming ease.
The victory came as no surprise.
As an established powerhouse, Kainan's strength was far beyond Daikita's; the outcome had never been in doubt.
What was surprising, however, was the lineup.
Kainan's roster for the match had consisted entirely of substitute players.
Maki Shinichi, Jin Soichiro, Takasago Kazuma, and the rest of the main squad were still seated in the stands at Stadium 2.
Even so, Kainan's substitutes displayed astonishing strength.
Their cooperation was seamless; their offense and defense perfectly balanced as they calmly fended off Daikita's counterattacks and secured an easy 78–56 win.
The display left the other teams quietly in awe.
"Kainan's bench is that strong?"
"They didn't even use their starters! Their depth is terrifying."
"No wonder they've dominated Kanagawa for years—no ordinary team could match that roster depth."
…And so, Kainan easily advanced to the quarterfinals.
With both Ryonan and Kainan securing their spots among the final eight, the tournament schedule began to tighten.
One after another, the remaining matches kicked off.
From morning to evening, cheers echoed nonstop throughout the stadiums.
A day passed quickly.
By the time the referee blew the final whistle of the last game, the list of Kanagawa's top eight teams was finally decided.
Group A
Kainan – 2 wins, 0 losses → Advanced
Sarashina – 1 win, 2 losses → Eliminated
Kusaka – 1 win, 2 losses → Eliminated
Daikita – 2 wins, 1 loss → Advanced
Group B
Shoyo – 2 wins, 0 losses → Advanced
Kasuga Daiichi – 0 wins, 2 losses → Eliminated
Kakuno – 2 wins, 1 loss → Advanced
Odagiri – 1 win, 2 losses → Eliminated
Group C
Ryonan – 2 wins, 0 losses → Advanced
Miuradai – 0 wins, 2 losses → Eliminated
Takenozono – 1 win, 2 losses → Eliminated
Tsukubu – 2 wins, 1 loss → Advanced
Group D
Takezato – 2 wins, 1 loss → Advanced
Sumiyoshi – 1 win, 2 losses → Eliminated
Nanbara – 0 wins, 2 losses → Eliminated
Shohoku – 2 wins, 0 losses → Advanced
Because some advancing teams had already faced each other, the tournament committee decided to reshuffle the quarterfinal matchups to avoid repeats.
The reseeding took into account each team's performance and previous results—especially for those with two wins and one loss.
The final pairings were announced:
Group A: Kainan vs. Kakuno
Group B: Shoyo vs. Daikita
Group C: Ryonan vs. Takezato
Group D: Shohoku vs. Tsukubu
To any observer, it was already obvious which teams were favored to reach the semifinals.
Kainan, Ryonan, and Shoyo—the three traditional powerhouses—were universally recognized as the ones most likely to advance.
On paper, the quarterfinals seemed to hold little suspense.
After all, their strength, experience, and performance so far far outclassed the rest.
Of course, basketball is a game of surprises.
No one could say for certain that an upset wouldn't happen.
And if any team were to cause one—it would be Shohoku High School.
Once dismissed as a perennial first-round dropout, Shohoku had shocked everyone with their unexpected rise this year.
Step by step, they'd clawed their way into the top eight, defying all expectations.
Takenori Akagi's ironclad defense in the paint.
Mitsui Hisashi's miraculous three-point barrages.
Miyagi Ryota's sharp playmaking and quick drives.
And Sakuragi Hanamichi—reckless yet unstoppable when it mattered most.
Finally, there was Rukawa Kaede—the cold, prodigious rookie who turned every crucial moment in Shohoku's favor.
A team of misfits, yet somehow they had the momentum of a true dark horse.
To ensure absolute fairness, the quarterfinals would use a brutal single-elimination format—one loss meant immediate exit.
No second chances.
That rule alone made every match feel like a battlefield.
Even giants like Kainan and Shoyo couldn't afford a single mistake.
After the semifinals were decided, the format would switch to a round-robin between the final four teams.
Each would face the others once, and the final standings would determine which schools qualified for the National Tournament.
This structure not only tested consistency and adaptability but also minimized the randomness of a single upset—making the final outcome all the more convincing.
The quarterfinals were scheduled for two days later, giving each team a single day to rest and prepare.
Ryonan High School – Press Club
Sunlight filtered through the blinds, scattering golden patterns across the floor.
At a corner desk, Rukia sat bent over her manuscript, her pen gliding swiftly across the paper with a soft, rhythmic scratch.
Her brow was slightly furrowed, her expression focused and serene, as if she were carving a delicate sculpture. Not even the faint commotion outside the window could disturb her concentration.
Scattered across the desk was a stack of freshly developed photographs, their edges still damp with ink.
They captured Ryonan's key moments:
Uozumi's powerful leap for a dunk.
Sendoh's graceful drives past defenders.
And most frequently—Ake himself.
One photo showed his calm profile at the top of the arc, the light tracing the outline of his tall frame and catching the faint glow of his heterochromatic eyes.
Another captured his passing motion—the precise flick of his wrist, the perfect distance between his fingertips and the ball.
There was even a shot of him surrounded by teammates after stepping off the court, red hair plastered to his forehead, his face calm yet inexplicably reassuring.
After some time, Rukia finally set her pen down and stretched, rubbing her stiff neck.
Her gaze fell on the pages before her, and she smiled softly. "Finally finished."
At the top of the manuscript, a bold title stood out:
[The Rise of Ryonan]
The text below was dense yet neatly written.
Rukia had chronicled every key match from Ryonan's group stage to their quarterfinals.
She analyzed Uozumi's dominance in the paint, Sendoh's all-around brilliance, and Fukuda Kiccho's explosive impact.
But most of all, she devoted her words to describing how Ake's presence had fundamentally transformed the team.
From that behind-the-back pass that broke the deadlock… to the calm precision that led to three steals in a single minute… to the way he unified the team with an invisible rhythm.
Her writing captured both the technical details and the quiet admiration she felt for the young man's composure.
Rukia rose and stretched again, her loose uniform tracing graceful lines along her figure. Sunlight touched her lashes, and her clear eyes shimmered faintly like tiny stars.
She glanced at her watch—3 p.m.
Practice time.
Carefully, she folded the manuscript, slipped it into her canvas bag, and gathered the photos into an album.
Her fingers paused on a close-up of Ake holding the ball, her movements unconsciously softening.
"I wonder if Ake-kun will like this article," she murmured, a spark of anticipation in her eyes.
She knew he probably wouldn't react much—his calm, indifferent nature rarely wavered.
But the thought that he might actually read every word… perhaps even raise an eyebrow at a certain line… made her heart flutter.
Shouldering her bag, she left the press club.
From the corridor, the distant sounds of the basketball team's practice echoed faintly.
Rukia took a deep breath and walked faster, her shadow stretching long behind her as sunlight streamed through the windows—like a melody quietly chasing after that red-haired boy.
From the very beginning, she had known it—
The moment Ake joined Ryonan, their rise became inevitable.
It wasn't blind faith, but absolute trust.
Since meeting him, Rukia—who once knew nothing about basketball—had begun flipping through sports magazines, staying up late to study replays, and scribbling awkward notes about tactics she barely understood.
All because she wanted to get closer to his world.
Over time, she had seen all kinds of players:
Dominant kings like Maki Shinichi.
Graceful commanders like Fujima Kenji.
Genius prodigies like Sendoh Akira.
Yet none could stir her heart the way Ake did.
His calm wasn't emotionless—it was instinctive.
Even when the score was razor-close, his eyes remained still, like the surface of a tranquil lake.
His passes weren't cold calculations—they flowed as though he could see the future, slicing through defenses at the perfect moment.
She had even seen him training alone before, and by chance, learned about his secret—the Emperor Eye.
When she understood what it meant, she was completely shaken.
To Rukia, it was hard to imagine anyone defeating someone like Ake.
He was a treasure chest full of hidden depths—every time you thought you had reached the bottom, he revealed another layer of brilliance.
And so, she believed—without question—that this red-haired, heterochromatic-eyed boy would one day lead Ryonan, and himself, to the very summit.
The Next Day
Sunlight streamed through the dome of the gymnasium, scattering bright patches of light across the polished floor.
Today marked the quarterfinals — the 8-to-4 playoff stage. The air was thick with tension, more intense than usual.
Ryonan's opponent was Takezato High School — last year's semifinalist, a team known for its solid defense and fast-break offense. Their overall strength was considered on par with Tsukubu.
Yet, Ryonan's players looked calm and composed. There wasn't the slightest hint of nervousness on their faces.
Ever since Ake joined, the team had been infused with a quiet, unshakable confidence.
It was as if the word pressure no longer existed in their dictionary.
As long as Ake was there — whether playing on the court or watching from the sidelines — they felt there was no game they couldn't win.
The Quarterfinal Schedule
The quarterfinals were divided into four games.
Morning Matches
Kainan vs. Kakuno
Shoyo vs. Daikita
Afternoon Matches
Ryonan vs. Takezato
Shohoku vs. Tsukubu
The games began right on schedule.
Kainan vs. Kakuno
From the very start, this game had no suspense.
Although Kakuno High had miraculously reached the top eight, their true level was closer to that of a top-16 team. Their earlier wins had come largely from favorable matchups against weaker opponents.
But against Kainan, luck ran out.
Kainan fielded all of its starting players, and from the opening tip, their dominance was overwhelming.
Maki Shinichi's drives were unstoppable, slicing through the defense and repeatedly creating scoring chances under the basket.
Jin Soichiro's three-pointers were on fire — every catch-and-shoot attempt seemed destined to hit.
Even freshman Kiyota Nobunaga lit up the court with his explosive dunks, igniting the crowd again and again.
Kakuno fought back desperately but couldn't match Kainan's pace.
Their attacks were stifled by Takasago Kazuma's tight defense, and Muto Tadashi's quick hands disrupted every pass, widening the gap bit by bit.
By halftime, Kainan led by 35 points.
In the second half, Coach Takato subbed out the starters and sent in the bench unit.
Even then, Kakuno's fatigue showed. Their movements slowed, their shots clanked off the rim, and Kainan's substitutes continued to extend the lead.
When the gap hit 50 points, Kakuno's coach could only sigh, pulling out his exhausted starters and sending in reserves — a silent admission of defeat.
The final score: 108–53.
A 55-point blowout.
Kainan marched confidently into the semifinals.
Shoyo vs. Daikita
Next up was Shoyo vs. Daikita, a game that unfolded almost exactly like the first.
Daikita had fought their way into the top eight with grit and perseverance, but that success gave them a false sense of confidence.
Some players even joked about "giving Shoyo a little trouble."
But once the game began, reality hit hard.
Facing Shoyo's airtight zone defense and precise tactical execution, Daikita quickly realized the massive gulf between them and Kanagawa's second-ranked powerhouse.
Fujima Kenji controlled the pace with calm precision. His passes were surgical — feeding Hanagata Toru in the paint for easy hook shots, or kicking it out to Kazushi Hasegawa on the wing for effortless jumpers.
Shoyo's teamwork was flawless — like a well-oiled machine. Every movement, every pass clicked perfectly in rhythm.
Daikita tried to fight back but crashed again and again against Shoyo's defensive wall.
Their drives were smothered, their shots disrupted, and any offensive rhythm they built was shattered by Hanagata's towering presence under the rim.
By halftime, Shoyo led by 52 points.
The second half was pure garbage time.
Even with substitutes on the floor, Shoyo continued to extend their lead through solid fundamentals and disciplined play.
Daikita's players were drained — their eyes blank, their movements mechanical.
When the final buzzer sounded, the scoreboard read: Shoyo 114 – 36 Daikita.
Shoyo advanced effortlessly to the top four.
Ryonan vs. Takezato
By the afternoon, the gymnasium atmosphere reached its peak. The stands were packed, and all eyes were fixed on the court.
Even teams like Kainan and Shoyo had shown up to watch.
But truthfully, most spectators already had the same prediction in mind: Ryonan would win — easily.
Takezato's strength was roughly equal to Tsukubu's, and after witnessing Tsukubu's crushing defeat, few believed Takezato could pull off a miracle.
And sure enough, the game unfolded exactly as expected.
The biggest surprise was that Ake didn't play at all. He sat quietly on the bench, still wearing his warm-up jacket — clearly not planning to enter the game.
Yet even without him, Ryonan's dominance was terrifying.
Uozumi ruled the paint like a moving fortress, swatting away every layup attempt.
Sendoh was unstoppable on the perimeter — weaving between defenders, scoring, or dishing assists with effortless grace.
Fukuda Kiccho became a monster under the rim, his explosive dunks shaking the gym to its core.
Meanwhile, Koshino Hiroaki and Uekusa Tomoyuki anchored the defense with relentless energy, constantly intercepting passes and forcing turnovers.
By halftime, Ryonan led 68–41 — a 27-point difference.
Takezato's players trudged back to the bench, gasping for air, faces pale with despair.
They had given everything, yet couldn't even grasp Ryonan's rhythm.
In the second half, Takezato completely collapsed.
Their legs felt heavy, their shots went astray, even their passes lost accuracy.
Ryonan, on the other hand, showed no mercy — maintaining full intensity on both ends until the final whistle.
When the buzzer sounded, the scoreboard silenced the gym.
Ryonan 146 – 36 Takezato.
A staggering 110-point difference.
Another "hundred-point win."
Ryonan had done it again.
Shohoku vs. Tsukubu
The final game of the day was Shohoku versus Tsukubu — and this one, unlike the others, was a real battle.
Right from the start, both teams went at it hard. The score seesawed back and forth as the crowd roared with every basket.
Tsukubu hadn't been crushed by their earlier loss to Ryonan; instead, they came out sharper than ever.
Godai Tomokazu was on fire, draining three-pointer after three-pointer, while Nango Koichiro battled fiercely inside, using his size and strength to pressure Shohoku's defense.
But Shohoku answered in kind.
Takenori Akagi anchored the paint with several key blocks.
Mitsui Hisashi found his rhythm, trading long-range shots with Godai.
Miyagi Ryota zipped through the defense, creating scoring chances for everyone.
Even Sakuragi Hanamichi, despite a few clumsy mistakes, snagged crucial rebounds and showed flashes of raw explosiveness.
The first half ended with the score still close, the tension in the arena electric.
But in the second half, Shohoku began to pull away.
Their teamwork grew sharper, their rhythm smoother.
Akagi's dominance under the rim was unmatched, and Mitsui's shooting hand turned red-hot — sinking three consecutive triples to push the lead into double digits.
Tsukubu began to unravel.
Godai's shots stopped falling, Nango's inside attacks were blocked again and again, and their defense couldn't stop Shohoku's fast breaks.
When the lead stretched past 20 points, Godai finally snapped.
After committing another foul, he erupted in frustration, arguing fiercely with the referee.
Despite multiple warnings, his anger only grew — until the referee had no choice but to flash the red card.
Ejected.
The crowd fell silent for a moment.
Without their ace, Tsukubu lost all momentum — like a kite with a cut string.
Shohoku pressed the advantage.
Even Sakuragi managed a powerful, if awkward, dunk on a fast break, drawing laughter and cheers from the stands.
By the end, the scoreboard read: Shohoku 110 – 78 Tsukubu.
Shohoku had done it — advancing to the top four.
The Final Four
And just like that, the four semifinalists of the Kanagawa Prefecture Tournament were set:
Kainan University Affiliated High School
Shoyo High School
Ryonan High School
Shohoku High School
These four powerhouses would face off in a round-robin battle for the single spot to represent Kanagawa at the National Tournament.
And as the list of the top four spread through the prefecture…
A certain report — like a stone cast into a still lake — began rippling through the entire Kanagawa basketball community.