"Ryonan—! Ryonan—! Ryonan—!"
"Sendo—! Sendo—! Sendo—!"
"Ippon—! Ippon—!"
"Akashi-kun—! Go for it—!"
The spectator stands surged like a roaring tide, wave after wave of cheers crashing almost entirely toward Ryonan.
In comparison, the shouts for Ippon Nari were weak and scattered, like a candle flickering in a storm—snuffed out almost the moment they rose.
Yet amid that overwhelming noise, one voice stood out.
Clear. Firm. Piercing.
"Akashi-kun… go for it!"
It wasn't loud, but it carried a strange penetrative force, slipping cleanly through the chaos and landing squarely in Akashi Seijuro's ears as he sat calmly on the bench.
His eyes flickered.
Akashi turned his head.
With his abnormal perception, he locked onto the source instantly.
In a corner of the stands sat Kamishiro Ruri—like a single blooming flower amid a sea of green. She wore the distinctive uniform of Ryonan High's press club, her slightly curly long hair swaying as she waved enthusiastically. Her eyes sparkled like a painting brought to life.
In her other hand was a camera—clearly no cheap model.
Akashi's lips curved upward, just slightly.
A rare smile.
On the court, however, the scene looked strange.
Both teams stood at the entrances of their tunnels, staring at one another across the polished floor. Fighting spirit simmered in every gaze.
Everyone—except Akashi.
He didn't spare Ippon a single glance. Instead, he was looking toward the stands.
Click.
A crisp shutter sound rang out.
Kamishiro Ruri lowered her finger, the image perfectly captured through her lens.
That moment—calm, detached, almost arrogant—was frozen forever.
The Ippon Nari players noticed immediately.
"Tch…" Hojo Ichiro clenched his fists, eyes burning as he stared at Akashi. "That guy… is he looking down on us?"
Kazama Tooru calmly patted his shoulder. "Don't let it get to you, Hojo."
"But—"
"That's enough."
A deep, commanding voice cut through.
Sasaki Shouta turned, his towering frame radiating authority. His sharp gaze swept over his teammates like steel.
"Focus on yourselves," he said firmly. "Nothing else matters."
With that, he turned and headed toward the bench.
Ippon Nari followed.
On Ryonan's side, Akashi withdrew his gaze from the stands, his expression returning to perfect calm. Without a word, he led his team forward, steps steady and unhurried.
Once everyone had settled, Coach Taoka Moichi spoke, his voice low and measured.
"Today's opponent isn't like the previous ones. They're not top-tier, but they're not weak either. Don't underestimate them."
His eyes flicked briefly toward Akashi.
He wanted him on the court.
But after glancing at Sendo, he swallowed that thought.
"Nothing more to add. Follow Akashi's instructions."
"Yes!" Ryonan answered in unison.
By now, obeying Akashi had become instinct.
Akashi stepped forward, his presence gathering like dark clouds before a storm.
"The starting lineup remains unchanged," he said evenly.
A pause.
"If adjustments are needed, I'll call a timeout."
No unnecessary words—yet his tone carried absolute reassurance.
As if as long as he was there, nothing could go wrong.
Ippon Nari Bench
The coach stood before his starters, hands braced on the tactics board. Though not tall, his presence was steady—tempered by years of experience.
"Our opponent today is Ryonan," he said gravely. "Last year's prefectural top four."
The air grew heavier.
"They've won three straight games by over a hundred points. Their momentum is terrifying."
The players' breathing tightened.
"Don't let them control the pace," the coach continued. "And don't try to clash head-on. Minimize direct confrontation."
"Yes!" the team replied.
As the coach finished, his gaze drifted involuntarily toward Ryonan's bench.
Then he froze.
All of Ryonan's key players were standing before a red-haired boy seated calmly at the center.
Akashi Seijuro.
He was speaking—brief, composed.
A pre-game command.
The coach's pupils shrank.
That's… the first-year captain?
Rumors were one thing.
Seeing it was another.
There was no trace of immaturity. No reckless youthfulness.
Only the composure of someone who had commanded battlefields countless times.
The coach's heart sank.
In all his years, he had never seen a first-year exude such a near-demonic aura.
Tip-Off
Both teams completed warm-ups and gathered at center court.
Uozumi Jun stood tall—202 centimeters of pure pressure, shoulders broad, muscles taut like steel cables.
Across from him stood Sasaki Shouta.
At 193 centimeters, Sasaki was no small presence—but beside Uozumi, he felt suppressed.
So tall…
Sasaki straightened his back, eyes sharpening.
Basketball isn't just about height.
"I heard your captain is a first-year," Sasaki said suddenly.
Uozumi snorted. "So what?"
Sasaki smiled faintly. "Just curious. Anyone who becomes captain in their first year must be strong."
Uozumi's reply was blunt.
"If you want our captain to play, that depends on whether you're strong enough."
The air froze.
Sasaki paused—then laughed softly.
"What a shame," he said, eyes blazing as he refocused on Uozumi. "I really wanted to see how strong the captain of a top-four team is."
The referee stepped in.
Beep!
The whistle sliced through the gym.
The ball rose.
Uozumi and Sasaki leapt—power exploding from their legs.
At the peak, Uozumi's fingertips brushed the ball first.
He kept up with me?! Uozumi's pupils tightened.
But with a final burst, Uozumi snapped his wrist—
Slap!
The ball flew toward Ryonan's backcourt.
Ryonan possession.
The counterattack thundered forward.
Uekusa pushed the pace. Sendo screened like a wall.
Uekusa cut inside.
"Stop him!" Sasaki roared, sealing the paint.
Nagumo Kentaro rushed in to intercept—
Too late.
Bounce pass.
The ball slid like a snake across the floor.
Koshino Hiroaki caught it, rose smoothly, and fired.
Whoosh—
Swish!
Ryonan 3 — Ippon Nari 0
Nagumo clenched his fists, staring at the net.
Kazama patted his shoulder. "Calm down. It's only the start."
Nagumo nodded.
Offense and defense switched.
The real battle had just begun.