The roar from the stands erupted like a literal tsunami.
Hayashi Rin gripped the burning basketball, his lungs feeling as if they were filled with molten lead. He was exhausted—truly, bone-deep exhausted. If he had his way, he'd just lie flat on the hardwood and play dead right now.
But the shot clock was a ticking death knell.
28 seconds left. Score: 89–86. Down by three.
"Still time! Don't rush it!" Akagi Takenori's voice was a hoarse, tectonic roar from the backcourt.
Rukawa Kaede and Sakuragi Hanamichi were already sprinting like twin beasts released from their cages, flanking Hayashi on the left and right. Ryonan's transition defense was elite; despite the steal, Sendoh Akira had recovered instantly, sticking to Hayashi's hip like a shadow.
"Don't think you're getting past that easily," Sendoh panted. His eyes were frighteningly bright—the look of a competitor pushed to the absolute brink.
Hayashi Rin kept his dribble steady. He was calculating. A two-pointer? No. Even if he scored a layup now, they'd still be down by one. Ryonan would just bleed the clock or draw a tactical foul. To end this, it had to be a three.
"Tsk, what a drag," Hayashi muttered to himself. Why does everything have to be so hot-blooded? Can't we just coast along peacefully?
He crossed the half-court line. Ryonan's defense collapsed inward. Uekusa and Koshino were moving in like a pair of pliers, and Sendoh was like a piece of gum stuck to his shoe.
"GIVE ME THE BALL!" Sakuragi screamed, spreading his arms near the free-throw line. "THE GENIUS IS OPEN! WE WIN WITH A SLAM DUNK!"
The single-celled organism clearly hadn't done the math. He just knew that putting the ball in the hole meant winning. Hayashi Rin glanced at Sakuragi, then at Rukawa lurking in the left corner.
His arm muscles snapped tight. His palm slammed against the leather.
[Ability: Kuroko Tetsuya · Ignite Pass]
Bang! The air seemed to ripple. The basketball transformed into an orange laser, heading straight for... the space behind Sakuragi!
Sakuragi's ecstatic face froze. He reached out to embrace the ball he thought was his. Whoosh! A violent gust of wind brushed past his cheek, blowing his red hair backward. The ball zipped right through the gap.
"Nani?!" Sakuragi's eyes followed the blur as it hurtled toward the corner.
There stood Rukawa Kaede. He caught the ball, steady as a stone, neutralizing the intense spin the moment it touched his palm. Nice pass, Rukawa thought.
"BASTARD RUKAWA! YOU STOLE THE GENIUS'S BALL!" Sakuragi stomped in a rage. If it weren't the final seconds of a game, he'd have delivered a headbutt right then and there.
"Idiot." Rukawa didn't even look at him. His eyes were locked on Uekusa, who was lunging toward him.
The crowd held its collective breath. Everyone saw the play: Shohoku wasn't playing for the tie. They were going for the kill.
"DEFENSE! NO THREES!" Taoka Moeichi screamed until his vocal cords frayed. "GIVE UP THE LAYUP, BUT NOT THE THREE!"
The Ryonan players lunged like madmen. Uekusa blocked Rukawa. Koshino rushed toward Kogure. Sendoh stayed glued to Hayashi.
Rukawa didn't force it. He knew a shot from the corner was low-percentage with a hand in his face. Besides, the laziest man on the court was finally in position.
Hayashi Rin dragged his leaden legs to the top of the arc.
"Sakuragi!" Hayashi shouted. "Move your butt over here!"
"Huh?!" Sakuragi's body reacted before his brain could protest. "Fine! This Genius will show some mercy and help you one last time, Master!"
Sakuragi moved laterally, anchoring himself like a steel tower to block Sendoh's path.
[Ability: Ironclad Screen]
Thump! Sendoh slammed into Sakuragi. It was like hitting a brick wall. Is this guy made of metal?
In that split-second opening, Hayashi Rin drifted to the top of the arc. Rukawa's pass arrived perfectly on target.
Catch. Turn. Face the rim.
Hayashi took a deep breath, trying to still his thudding heart.
"DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!"
Ryonan went into a frenzy. Koshino abandoned his man and lunged. Sendoh fought around the screen, arms outstretched. Even Ikegami charged out from the paint.
A triple-team. The ultimate respect for a game-winner.
Looking at the forest of arms, Hayashi Rin actually felt a flicker of amusement. Such a big fuss... I just want to go home.
[Ability: Midorima Shintaro · Full-Range Shot]
Skill activated. As long as the form held, the result was 100%.
Hayashi Rin jumped. He leaned back at an absurd 45-degree angle in mid-air—partly to clear the blocks, and partly to draw the contact.
Smack! Koshino's hand struck Hayashi's wrist.
Whistle!
Foul! But the ball was already airborne. It was a ridiculously high arc, soaring over the fingertips of three defenders and climbing toward the rafters.
Time stretched into infinity. Hundreds of eyes tracked the spinning orange sphere. Taoka Moeichi was on his knees, muttering prayers. Akagi clenched his fists until his nails drew blood. Rukawa held his breath. Sakuragi's jaw hit the floor.
The ball stayed in the air so long that Hayashi Rin had already hit the deck. He rubbed his sore backside, looking up.
Swish!
The sound was crisp, melodic, and final.
The stadium went deathly silent for a single heartbeat. Then, the scoreboard ticked.
89–89. TIE.
"It's not over!" The referee pointed to the free-throw line. "Basket counts! One shot!"
A Four-Point Play!
BOOM!!! The roof nearly blew off from the sonic wave of the crowd's roar.
"IT WENT IN! IT WENT IN!" Sakuragi was the first to arrive, grabbing Hayashi by the neck and shaking him violently. "Master! You're a god! That ball flew to the moon and came back!"
"Cough... let go... I'm actually... dying..." Hayashi rolled his eyes. He survived the game only to be strangled by his own disciple.
Rukawa walked over, looking down at the sprawled Hayashi. A rare, almost imperceptible smirk touched his lips. "Good luck."
"That's skill," Hayashi wheezed, pushing Sakuragi away.
He stepped to the line. 5 seconds left. Score tied. If he made this, Shohoku took a one-point lead.
The stadium fell into an eerie silence. Hayashi Rin bounced the ball. It felt heavy. His arms were screaming. But he maintained his lazy, effortless posture.
"Let's just end this. I want a Coke."
He flicked his wrist. The ball traced a plain, unremarkable arc.
Swish.
Clean. 89–90.
Shohoku takes the lead!