"What… what was that?"
"Did you see that? The red-haired one just dribbled straight to the basket and scored!"
"Am I dreaming? How is that even possible?!"
After several stunned moments, the scattered murmurs of the audience finally swelled into a chorus of disbelief.
Meizawa's players and coach alike were frozen, dazed as if the ground beneath them had shifted. Akashi's presence had imposed a suffocating pressure—silent, invisible, and absolute. In that instant, their bodies seemed to betray them, and an instinctive awe crept into their hearts.
Seiyo's players didn't understand exactly what had happened, but the result was undeniable: excitement surged among them.
Only Sendo's eyes narrowed, observing Akashi with a mix of caution and curiosity. He's… different from before, Sendo thought. Something in Akashi's aura had changed, but he couldn't pinpoint what.
Sawakita Eiji's gaze was grave. He had never seen anything like this: a single player faking out three opponents in succession, a feat even he could not replicate.
The questions remained unanswered, but the game pressed on.
On the court, the oppressive atmosphere only thickened. Every player, from both teams, felt it—a gravitational pull drawing their focus to Akashi.
Meizawa's offense began. The power forward gripped the ball, preparing to act. Kirihara Hayato moved to defend—but a shadow blocked him first: Akashi.
The power forward hesitated. He had faced tough defenders before, but none like this. Akashi stood casually, yet his presence was a wall of invisible force. His heterochromatic eyes seemed to see into the very soul, cold, indifferent, suffocating.
Palms slick with sweat, the power forward's heartbeat accelerated. Every offensive option flashed before him, but instinctively, doubt gripped him: I can't… I can't make this move.
He hesitated, then forced a pass to his point guard.
Clap.
A sharp, ghostly sound cut through the court. Before the ball had even left the power forward's hands, Akashi's long, precise fingers snatched it.
Time seemed to freeze.
Akashi had read the move before it fully formed. Without lunging, without exertion, he lightly leapt, snatched the ball mid-air, and landed, every motion clean, effortless, absolute. A faint halo gleamed in his eyes.
The power forward froze, incredulous. How could he have seen that?
Akashi didn't glance at him. The ball belonged to him.
With the ball in hand, he surged forward like a cheetah, swift and unstoppable, charging into Meizawa's half-court. The air seemed to follow him, as if the court itself yielded to his presence.
At the three-point line, Meizawa's center planted himself, a towering iron wall. He tensed, ready to counter any move, expecting Akashi to drive or pass.
But Akashi didn't hesitate. He brought the ball into both hands, leaned back, and launched into the air. His body soared with eagle-like grace, momentum stretching like a rainbow.
The ball arced perfectly through the air, every eye following its flawless trajectory. The center could only watch helplessly as the ball sailed overhead. Height, strength, skill—none of it mattered.
Swish.
The basketball dropped through the net.
Akashi landed lightly, calm, untouched by effort. No celebration. No glance backward. His presence alone spoke for his dominance.
He turned slowly, eyes scanning the fallen Meizawa defenders, then walked back to his half-court to defend, deliberate and unshaken.
All eyes on the court were now on him. Every movement, every decision radiated crushing authority. Meizawa was powerless. Seiyo's other players—Kirihara Hayato, Kobayashi Koichi, Yamamoto Ryu—had become mere background figures.
They realized what had changed: Akashi had abandoned passing to them. This was no longer team play; this was Akashi alone, commanding the game.
Sendo breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He focused on restricting Sawakita Eiji, understanding fully that no one else could match Akashi's current level.
Coach Nakamura watched, eyes flicking nervously, unsure whether to intervene. A young coach at an aristocratic school, he still lacked the experience to grasp what he was witnessing.
Slap… Swish… Bang… Steal… Drive… Shot.
Akashi's relentless, jaw-dropping plays set the gymnasium alight. Every Meizawa player felt the suffocating weight of his presence. The gap in the score that had seemed insurmountable now began to shrink.
Seiyo 76 – 80 Meizawa.
Two minutes remained.