Takenori Akagi's thunderous dunk was like a boulder crashing into a deep pool—sending up a brief splash.
The score became 6–2.
But the waters of Shoyo ran deeper—and colder—than Shohoku had imagined.
After that short burst of cheers, Shoyo's rhythm remained completely undisturbed.
Kenji Fujima still sat calmly on the bench.
He didn't even take off his jacket—just made a small, composed gesture.
"Settle down. Run a half-court offense."
—
Shoyo's point guard, Taku Itou, nodded and dribbled across half court.
Facing Ryota Miyagi's relentless pressure—
He simply used his height advantage to shield the ball high above, giving Miyagi no chance to reach it.
"Damn it… he's holding the ball way too high!"
Miyagi gritted his teeth, darting around Itou like a hound chasing prey—
Yet no matter how he moved, he couldn't touch that orange ball.
The pass was lobbed high into the paint.
Shoichi Takano (#8) caught it.
Just as he raised the ball to scan for options—
A red figure lunged at him like a wild beast out of control.
"Witness the genius's ultimate reflexes!"
Hanamichi Sakuragi's pupils shrank—
His body had already exploded forward before his brain could even process the command.
In his eyes, there was only the ball.
His hunger for possession was etched into his very DNA.
Smack!
A crisp sound echoed—
But it wasn't the ball.
It was Takano's hand.
"Tweet!"
The referee's whistle shrieked.
"White #10—reaching foul!"
Sakuragi froze mid-swing, then landed with a look of utter disbelief.
"What?! A foul?!"
"Hey, old man, are you blind?!"
"My hands were just faster than the ball—how is that a foul?!"
"That was clearly a genius-level steal!"
He pointed at himself, shouting furiously at the referee.
BAM!
A massive iron fist came crashing down on his head, a puff of imaginary smoke rising.
"You idiot! That's a reach-in!"
"Stop swiping randomly and play proper defense!"
Akagi retracted his fist, face dark, veins throbbing at his temple.
"Ow ow ow…"
Sakuragi clutched his head, tears welling in the corners of his eyes—
Yet he still muttered stubbornly:
"Stupid gorilla…"
"My reflexes are just too good… ordinary people can't even keep up…"
Beside him, Kaede Rukawa shot him a cold glance and uttered two words:
"Idiot."
Hisashi Mitsui sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead.
"Is this guy even here to play basketball?"
—
The game resumed.
Shoyo inbounded the ball.
The green-clad cheering section erupted once more in perfect unison:
"Shoyo! Offense!"
"Shoyo! Offense!"
Under this suffocating away-game atmosphere—
The ball found its way back into Toru Hanagata's hands.
As Shoyo's ace center, Hanagata adjusted his glasses.
Facing Akagi's defense, a confident smile curved at his lips.
"Akagi, your strength is impressive."
He leaned back into him, feeling the rock-solid resistance behind him.
"But basketball isn't just about brute force."
Before the words even finished—
Hanagata pivoted on his left foot and spun.
Akagi followed instantly, arms raised high, sealing off every angle.
But Hanagata didn't shoot.
A feint—
Another spin.
Then a deep, elegant fadeaway.
Akagi leapt with everything he had.
His fingertips came within centimeters of the ball—
But those few centimeters might as well have been an abyss.
Swish!
The ball arced high and dropped cleanly through the net.
Smooth.
Graceful.
Completely different from Akagi's raw, explosive style.
—
On the sidelines, Ryonan's coach Taoka looked grim.
"It's starting."
"Hanagata represents the pinnacle of finesse centers. His range and technique perfectly counter a traditional power center like Akagi."
"If Akagi can't adapt, Shohoku's interior will collapse."
"And once the inside breaks down, the pressure on the perimeter will skyrocket."
—
As if to prove his words—
Shohoku failed to score on the next possession.
Shoyo countered instantly.
Hanagata drew both Akagi and Sakuragi inside—
Then flicked his wrist, passing out to the perimeter.
Taku Itou stood wide open beyond the arc.
He rose.
Released.
Textbook form.
Swish!
Three points.
The scoreboard ticked up mercilessly.
11–2.
Shohoku had fallen into a scoring drought—
While Shoyo's offense surged like an unstoppable tide.
"Damn it…"
Miyagi stared at the scoreboard, sweat sliding down his face.
—
Shohoku regained possession.
Miyagi brought the ball up again.
Facing the towering Itou—
His eyes sharpened.
"That move… let's try it again!"
He lowered his stance.
His gaze shifted right
But his wrist snapped downward.
He attempted the same bounce pass through the legs.
But Shoyo wasn't a team that would fall for the same trick twice.
The moment the ball struck the floor.
A long arm shot out of nowhere.
Shoyo's #7, Mitsuru Nagano.
He had already read Miyagi's intent.
Using his reach, he intercepted the ball mid-path.
"What?!"
Miyagi's eyes widened in shock.
"Too naive, Shohoku's little point guard."
Nagano sneered and immediately launched a long pass upcourt.
Hanagata caught it in stride—
Fast break.
Akagi sprinted back, planting himself under the basket to stop him.
Hanagata raised the ball.
Akagi roared and leapt to block.
"Now!"
Hanagata's lips curved.
It was a fake.
He pulled the ball back
Akagi flew past him—
And Hanagata calmly prepared to rise again for the real shot.
At that moment.
Just when everyone thought the basket was guaranteed—
A shadow appeared behind him.
Silent.
No footsteps.
No breath.
Not even the air stirred.
At the instant Hanagata released—
A hand sliced cleanly across the ball.
Smack!
The ball was knocked away.
Hanagata froze.
The weight in his hands vanished.
He turned—
Only to see the figure wearing number 11 already snatching the ball—
And streaking down the court like a bolt of black lightning.
Kaede Rukawa.
—
"What was that?"
"That steal… why does it look so familiar?"
On the stands, Akira Sendoh narrowed his eyes, his bottle of lemonade suspended midair.
On the Shohoku bench.
Makino Juro, who had been yawning moments ago, twitched slightly at the corner of his mouth.
"This guy…"
"Picking things up pretty fast, huh."
That move—
Was something Makino Juro had used during practice.
A steal executed through visual misdirection and exploiting the opponent's blind spot.
—
On the court.
Rukawa had already charged into Shoyo's paint.
Their transition defense was fast.
Kazushi Hasegawa and Shoichi Takano closed in simultaneously—
Like two iron gates slamming shut, trying to trap him outside.
"Pass it, Rukawa!" Miyagi shouted from behind.
But in Rukawa's eyes,
There was only the basket.
Facing the double team—
He didn't slow down.
He accelerated.