Shohoku's bench was tense.
"What… what just happened?" Ayako clutched her clipboard, fingers whitening. Her eyes were wide, disbelief written across her face.
She had a clear view courtside—but that pass, that instant scoring pass—she hadn't even seen it.
It was as if she'd blinked, and the ball had already gone through the net, rolling onto the floor.
Was it her imagination? Had she missed it? She had seen high-level duels before—but this felt… unreal, like an illusion.
Coach Anzai remained seated, hands clasped, expression calm. But the lenses of his glasses caught the light as he watched the red figure retreating across the court.
He saw it—the secret behind that impossible play.
When Sakuragi lunged at Akashi's right hand, his left had already flicked the ball. Not a simple cross-pass, but a precise, low-arc flick, sending the ball gliding along the floor, brushing Sakuragi's heel, slipping through a defensive gap straight to the corner.
And the timing… perfect. Sakuragi's vision blocked by his own motion, Koshino positioned perfectly at the top of the arc, body shielding the passing lane. Every movement, every angle, orchestrated to perfection.
Anzai exhaled slowly, his voice low, tinged with admiration. "Truly remarkable…"
Shohoku counterattacked immediately. The pace was lightning-fast. Quick passes—Kogure to Miyagi, a cross-pass to Rukawa Kaede—and then he surged forward like a shadow, cutting through Ryonan's defense.
Sendo narrowed his eyes, stepping to intercept, ready to cut off Rukawa's path.
But then—Kogure Kiminobu subtly appeared, a perfectly timed screen.
Sendo faltered, heart racing. This wasn't coincidence; the angle, timing, body orientation—everything was precise. In that brief hesitation, Rukawa cut in like a blade.
Uozumi collapsed the defense, arms spread, a living wall.
Rukawa stayed calm, crossovers and fakes convincing. A sudden spin, and he drove straight to the basket. He jumped, the basketball gripped in one hand, the rim trembling under his momentum.
Uozumi reacted—leaping with all his strength—but Rukawa flicked his wrist mid-air. The ball arced low, perfectly delivered into Takenori Akagi's waiting hands.
But even Akagi's reception was intercepted. From a blind spot, diagonally, a figure appeared—Akashi. Clap. Iron-like fingers grabbed the ball.
Shock froze the gymnasium. Rukawa's arm was still suspended; Takenori Akagi's hands were ready to receive—but the ball was gone.
Akashi held it calmly, moving it behind his back, flicking a sharp whip-pass to Koshino Hiroaki.
"What? That should've been his blind spot!" Kogure's jaw dropped.
Koshino charged. Sakuragi pursued like a raging bull—but Koshino stopped suddenly, and Sakuragi's momentum carried him forward, stumbling.
Outside the three-point line, Koshino raised his hand, aiming. Sakuragi lunged again, and the ball barely left Koshino's fingers before being redirected to Sendo.
Rukawa's gaze followed every movement, black pupils fiery with focus.
Sendo smirked slightly. "Staring at me is useless. The initiative isn't mine." He jumped, perfect shooting form, fully drawn like a bowstring.
Rukawa sprang up, arm reaching—but too late.
Whoosh… The basketball arced perfectly into the net. Swish.
Rukawa landed hard, face dark, fury flashing in his eyes. He didn't look at the scorer or the board. His gaze went to Akashi.
Shohoku's bench tensed.
"Another one of those passes…" Ayako whispered, anxiety creeping in. "Every time… it's like he passes from a blind spot. No time to react."
Coach Anzai pushed up his glasses. "It's his vision. He sees the court—everything. Every player, every move. That's why Akashi can execute these plays flawlessly."
Ayako stiffened. "The entire court?"
Anzai nodded subtly.
Her heart skipped. She understood. Some players see only the ball. Some can anticipate two steps ahead. Akashi saw the entire court.
Terrifying.
"But…" she frowned. "He doesn't seem extraordinary physically. He just passes?"
Anzai laughed softly. "You can't judge by appearances. He hasn't revealed his full ability yet. This Ryonan captain… even I can't read him."
The court continued. Rukawa took the inbound pass, eyes cold, steps like the wind, dribbling a rhythm that tore the floor beneath him.
Shohoku lagged behind, unable to match him—until—
Clap.
A crisp sound. Rukawa's steps froze. Pupils shrunk to pinpoints. Something… had appeared in his path.