Inside the stadium, every gaze was fixed on the same corner of the court.
Miyagi Ryota's eyes were wide with disbelief.
He had already rushed past Ake, his knees still bent from the burst of speed, his arms slightly spread—at first glance, it looked like he had successfully broken through the defense.
But something was off.
Miyagi had indeed slipped past Ake, yet his hands were empty.
The ball he had been dribbling was nowhere to be found.
Ake, meanwhile, was still standing exactly where he had been.
He hadn't moved an inch. He simply raised his right hand, calmly holding the orange basketball.
It had happened too quickly—so fast that no one could react.
In just one or two seconds, the ball had been stolen, and no one could clearly see how Ake had done it.
Thump… thump… thump…
Ake's fingertips danced on the ball as he dribbled, his rhythm fast and steady. He moved like red lightning, charging straight toward Shohoku's half of the court.
The ball followed him like a lively sprite.
Just as he reached Shohoku's three-point line, a red figure burst out from behind, cutting off his path.
It was Sakuragi Hanamichi.
"Ake…" Sakuragi growled, arms spread wide, eyes sharp and intense as he glared at his opponent.
But in Ake's eyes, despite Sakuragi's intimidating aura, his defensive stance and footwork were still immature.
Ake glanced at him—nothing more. He clearly didn't regard this not-yet-polished opponent as a threat.
Thump… thump…
Ake executed two sharp changes of direction. His footwork made Sakuragi's eyes tighten.
Then Ake feinted a turn with his wrist.
Sakuragi instinctively shifted his weight— and the moment he did—
Ake abruptly stopped, slid sideways, and slipped past him with ease.
"Ah… damn it…" Sakuragi groaned, watching Ake already pulling away. He immediately gave chase, yelling, "Stop right there!"
Ake ignored him completely, never slowing down as he charged toward Shohoku's basket.
Under the rim, Takenori Akagi was already on full alert.
He stood solidly, knees bent, hands wide, guarding the paint like an iron tower.
Seeing Ake approaching, he heightened his focus to the maximum, even steadying his breath.
As Ake stepped into the paint—two steps from Akagi—he suddenly stopped.
By now, Sakuragi had caught up from behind.
If Ake forced a shot, he'd be trapped in a double-team. Akagi in front, Sakuragi behind.
But at the exact moment the trap was about to form, Ake stopped and slipped back a half-step to the side.
The movement was as quick as a gust of wind—just enough to evade Sakuragi's reckless charge.
Sakuragi, who had sprinted with all his strength, was startled to see Ake suddenly vanish from directly in front of him. His heart lurched.
He tried desperately to stop— but it was too late.
His momentum was too strong; he couldn't control himself. His shoes screeched against the floor.
Directly in front of him stood Takenori Akagi, still focused on Ake and unaware of the red missile flying toward him.
"Oh no!" Sakuragi's face twisted in panic. He wanted to dodge, but his body couldn't keep up with his thoughts.
Then—
Bang!
Sakuragi crashed directly into Akagi.
Both men slammed into the floor like two sacks of sand. The ground seemed to tremble beneath them.
Ake didn't even spare them a glance.
He stabilized himself, lifted his wrist, and raised the ball over his head, eyes locked on the center of the hoop.
With a smooth flick of his fingertips— the ball arced beautifully.
Swish.
The net sang. A perfect shot.
Everyone inside the stadium was stunned.
The crowd, the coaches, the substitutes, even the reporters— all frozen in disbelief.
No one had expected Shohoku's own players to crash into each other during such a good defensive opportunity.
"So painful…" Akagi grimaced. Cold sweat formed on his forehead. His chest throbbed.
He tried to push himself up, but something heavy pinned him down.
Opening his eyes, he saw Sakuragi sprawled across him, dazed and hurting.
Akagi's pain instantly turned into fury. The veins on his forehead bulged.
Bang!
He punched Sakuragi squarely, roaring, "You idiot!"
"Ouch…" Sakuragi clutched his head, pouting. "G-Gorilla, I didn't mean to… It was Ake's fault…"
Before he could finish—
Bang…
The ball Ake had just scored dropped from the net, bounced off the floor, and struck Sakuragi squarely on the back of his head.
Thump.
"Aiya…" Sakuragi winced sharply as the pain shot through him. His arms gave out, and he collapsed forward— dragging Akagi down with him again, face-to-face.
The stadium fell completely silent.
Even Ake hadn't intended this.
The shot hitting Sakuragi was pure coincidence.
Sakuragi was simply too unlucky.
Ake glanced at him expressionlessly, then walked calmly back to his side of the court as if none of it concerned him.
Sakuragi, however, was done.
Rage exploded inside him.
He pointed at Ake's retreating back and roared, "You bastard! You ambushed me! Get back here!"
He tried to charge forward, but Mitsui Hisashi and Miyagi Ryota grabbed him from both sides.
"Sakuragi, calm down!" Miyagi urged.
"Fighting will get you kicked out," Mitsui warned.
"Let go! I'm gonna teach him a lesson!" Sakuragi thrashed wildly.
Then—
A large shadow fell over them.
Miyagi and Mitsui turned, saw who it was, exchanged a single glance—
and instantly released Sakuragi, stepping away.
Sakuragi froze.
'Why did they let go?'
A chill crawled up his neck.
Before he could react—
Thump!
A familiar pain exploded on the back of his head. His vision darkened, and he toppled forward again.
Behind him stood Takenori Akagi, fists clenched, anger radiating.
He gritted his teeth and growled, "Behave yourself… you scoundrel…"
"Go… ri… lla…" Sakuragi whimpered on the floor, body twitching.
But the game quickly resumed.
Sakuragi's rage had reached its peak, unlocking his full energy. His eyes blazed as he ran faster than usual.
Miyagi seized an opening and passed to him perfectly.
The moment Sakuragi caught the ball, he charged straight toward Ryonan's basket like an uncontrollable red beast.
Fukuda Kiccho sprinted behind him desperately, but no matter how fast he ran, Sakuragi remained one step ahead.
"Don't get carried away," Koshino Hiroaki warned as he cut in and blocked Sakuragi's path.
"Get lost!" Sakuragi roared, ignoring him completely.
"Sakuragi, don't be reckless!" Akagi shouted from behind.
But Sakuragi wasn't listening.
In an instant, he collided with Koshino. A sharp shift of his body and a strong shoulder sent Koshino stumbling to the floor.
The referee frowned but didn't blow the whistle.
"That bastard…" Koshino muttered, rubbing his arm.
Sakuragi reached Ryonan's basket.
Uozumi was already waiting—knees bent, arms wide, rooted like an iron tower.
"Watch me!" Sakuragi roared as he gathered power for a dunk.
But just as he bent his knees, a dark figure shot in from behind.
Fukuda had finally caught up.
He swung his arm and slapped the ball.
Slap!
Sakuragi reacted too late.
The ball flew out of his hands, leaving him grabbing at air mid-jump.
"Damn it! You thief!" he shouted helplessly.
Uozumi caught the ball and nodded. "Well done, Fukuda."
Without hesitation, he launched a powerful long pass across the entire court— the ball shot forward like a cannonball.
Sendoh was already sprinting full speed toward Shohoku's basket. He caught the pass perfectly.
"Oh no!"
Shohoku's players snapped back to reality, their faces pale.
They had all been packed near Ryonan's basket. Even if they ran now, they wouldn't make it back in time.
Sendoh entered Shohoku's paint, unchallenged.
He rose lightly, flicked his wrist— and the ball arced gently.
Swish.
A clean score.