Sensing Akashi's intent, Kota's eyes sharpened. When it came to drawing fouls, that was his specialty—there was no way he'd lose to Akashi in that department.
So in that instant, as if their minds were connected by fate, neither of them slowed down nor dodged. Both charged straight into each other!
Akashi leaned forward, and just as he was about to collide with Kota, he suddenly rose up for a shot—he was trying to draw a three-point foul!
At the same time, the moment their bodies made contact, Kota pushed off with both feet and dramatically fell backward.
Because of the collision—and Akashi's deliberate action—right as the ball left Akashi's hand, he too fell backward onto the court.
The two of them—one after the other—collapsed on the floor.
BEEP! BEEP-BEEP-BEEP!
A series of sharp whistles echoed through the arena. The referee had blown the whistle immediately, but for a few tense seconds, no call came.
"What's going on? You blow the whistle but don't make a call?"
Akashi frowned, lifting his head slightly to glance at the ref. But out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Kota, who was also lying flat on the ground—hands covering his face, rolling slightly, as if he'd just suffered a mortal wound.
Akashi was stunned. He'd never actually faked a foul before, so he had no idea how to make it convincing. But… he learned fast.
Seeing the referee hesitate, Akashi immediately followed Kota's lead—tilting his head back like a lifeless corpse, covering his face with both hands, and even letting out a few weak groans for effect.
The arena went silent for a full second.
Every pair of eyes was fixed on the two "corpses" lying on the court, both clutching their faces in "agony."
For Kaijo's players, this wasn't even surprising anymore. They'd seen their captain pull this stunt before. They knew this was just Kota's signature "drama for the whistle" routine.
But for Rakuzan? Oh, this was a whole new level of shock.
"Akashi? Akashi! Are you okay?!"
"Akashi-kun!"
"Hang on, the medic's on the way!"
Hearing his teammates' frantic voices, the proud, golden-eyed Akashi could barely keep a straight face. For someone like him, lying on the ground pretending to be injured was humiliation enough—having his teammates fuss over him like a dying kitten was almost unbearable.
Unable to handle it, he gave control over to his red-haired persona, who at least could deal with people normally.
With the red personality in charge, Akashi subtly waved to signal he was fine, then used the gap between his fingers to glance toward the referee's table.
Explanations could come later. Right now, what mattered was the call.
The moment both players hit the floor, Kaijo's coach Takeuchi had already leapt from the bench and sprinted toward the scorer's table, angrily spreading his hands as he argued with the head referee.
Even Rakuzan's usually composed coach, Shirogane, couldn't sit still. Seeing Takeuchi's outburst, he too marched to the table—for the first time in his thirty-year coaching career—to fight for a call.
"That was an offensive foul! A clear offensive foul! Look at my player—he's practically been run over! I swear, I should be driving him to the hospital right now for an MRI! And you're calling it defensive?! No way!"
Takeuchi's roar carried so much emotion that even the officials at the scorer's table looked rattled. But in the end, the only one who could make the final decision was the head referee.
And wouldn't you know it—by sheer coincidence, today's head ref was the same man from the Winter Cup… the one Kota had once traumatized with that infamous "Up-and-Down Step" move.
Having learned from that disaster, the old ref wasn't about to be swayed by Takeuchi's theatrics. Determined to remain fair, he replayed the collision again and again, analyzing every frame of contact.
Shirogane straightened his jacket and spoke calmly:
"I know my player well. Akashi would never fake an injury. Check the stats—he's known for clean play and integrity. There's no precedent of deception. Please, sir, look carefully."
The situation was too critical to leave to chance. Even the normally reserved Shirogane had come forward personally.
Takeuchi, however, was livid.
"So what—you're saying my guy's dirty now? That Kaijo plays cheap?"
Shirogane snorted.
"Your captain's notorious for pulling every trick in the book. Flopping, baiting fouls—you name it. Do I really need to say more?"
"Oh, I'm this close to losing it," Takeuchi growled, rolling up his sleeves and pointing at Akashi. "Your player literally looked at the ref before he started acting hurt! He was fine until he saw Kota on the ground—then he copied him! That's your 'clean play'? Give me a break!"
Shirogane fell silent. He'd seen the same thing. He had no comeback—unlike Takeuchi, he didn't have the guts to spin black into white.
Fortunately for Rakuzan, the ref didn't care who started the flop. His job was to judge the contact, not the acting.
In the footage, Akashi clearly leaned forward past his cylinder, but Kota hadn't fully established position before the collision—his feet weren't set.
"This play…" the ref muttered under his breath.
In his heart, he knew he could easily call a double foul.
But referees are trained to avoid killing the game.
If he called it against Rakuzan, the match would be as good as over.
And, well… there was one other factor. Rakuzan's main sponsor happened to be the Akashi Corporation.
"Sorry, but I have no choice…"
The ref took a deep breath, grabbed the mic, and made his call:
"Defensive foul, Kaijo No. 2. Rakuzan No. 4 will shoot three free throws."
The stadium erupted.
Takeuchi jumped up, ready to strangle the ref on the spot, only to be held back by his bench. Kaijo fans were on their feet, waving towels and shouting in fury, while Rakuzan and neutral fans cheered wildly.
103–101. Kaijo was up by two. If Akashi hit all three free throws, Rakuzan would take the lead for the first time in the closing seconds.
The tension was unreal.
Even the commentator sighed into the mic:
"What a brutal call for Kaijo. Still… the game's not over yet. Let's see what they do next."
If Akashi hit all three, Rakuzan would be up by one—but Kaijo would still have one final possession.
In a way, the ref had simply returned the stage to the players. Sure, it favored Rakuzan slightly… but it kept the drama alive.
"Damn… nothing we can do now."
Kota slammed his fist against the floor. He knew full well he hadn't been set. Akashi's move was sketchy, sure—but the foul call was technically fair.
"No worries, Kota!" Kise grinned, pulling him up. "Look at it this way—the ref just gave us a perfect setup. One last shot to win it all!"
Kise pointed at the scoreboard. Only 23 seconds remained.
After Akashi's free throws, Kaijo would have the ball.
"Hey, think positive! Maybe he'll brick all three!" chirped Hayakawa with his trademark optimism. In his mind, free throws were practically half luck anyway—if it were him, going 0-for-3 would be totally possible!
Unfortunately… the shooter was Akashi.
Under the eyes of thousands, Akashi switched back to his golden persona. And despite the silent curses of every Kaijo player, he sank all three free throws flawlessly.
As the third shot swished through the net, the arena exploded in cheers.
Rakuzan fans, neutral fans—everyone loved a good comeback.
With 23 seconds left, Akashi had turned the tide.
104–103. Kaijo's ball. One final play.
"Man… couldn't he have missed one?" Kota muttered, shaking his head.
Not that he was surprised. In this year's national rankings, Akashi's free-throw percentage sat at 93.7%, right behind Midorima (first) and Kota himself (second).
If it had been Hayakawa at the line, sure—maybe a miss or two. But Akashi? Not a chance.
Hayakawa: …
Kaijo called a timeout.
Their last one.
Takeuchi immediately gathered the players, handing Kota the clipboard without hesitation. The captain cracked his neck—click, click—and began sketching out their final play.
Across the court, Rakuzan's bench was doing the same.
"Akashi" said Shirogane quietly, "you handle the final defense."
He handed the tactical board over. Akashi reviewed the setup, nodded, and returned it. "Understood, Coach. Let's go with this."
Then, hesitating briefly, he asked, "Coach… back at the scorer's table—did something happen?"
Shirogane blinked. "Oh… nothing much. The head ref just reviewed the footage several times before confirming the defensive foul."
Akashi lowered his head, falling silent. He didn't hear the rest.
Kota had known his own stance wasn't legal—so how could Akashi not know that his drive wasn't, either?
"So… did we win that call on luck?"
Lifting his gaze, Akashi's eyes glimmered under the bright arena lights—one red, one gold.
"What a shame… If this were some hot-blooded shounen manga, I'd probably feel guilty right now."
A soft chuckle escaped his lips. When he turned back toward the court, his expression was calm—resolute.
Whatever outside forces were at play, it didn't matter. A win was a win.
He wasn't the type to hesitate over childish notions of "honor".
As Rakuzan's leader, he would see this game through.
"If you lose, Kota… I'll buy you dinner later, at least."
...
"Ready, boys?"
Kota clapped his hands together, stood up first, and walked toward the court.
"These last twenty-three seconds—run like your life depends on it!"
"Yeah!!!"
Beeeep!
Timeout over.
Kaijō ball.
Both teams stepped onto the court.
Every pair of eyes in the gym was fixed on Kise and Kota. Of course, most of them were on Kise—after all, everyone knew who would be taking Kaijō's final shot.
"Yahhoo~ why's everyone looking at me?"
Kise rubbed his hands with a grin as he stepped toward the sideline to inbound. He couldn't help but laugh to himself. I'm not even the main character of this scene…
Just moments ago—
"I want Yuki to take the final shot. You okay with that, genius?"
Kota had tapped the tactical board calmly, his expression unreadable.
Everyone on Kaijō froze. Kise scratched his cheek.
"You're the one calling the play, so I won't argue… but, uh, is this because I've been kinda average today?"
To be fair, Kise's stat line—32 points, 6 rebounds, 4 assists, and 2 steals—would be god-tier for any normal team's ace. But for Kise Ryōta… it almost felt underwhelming.
"Of course not."
Kota shook his head, a faint grin curling at his lips.
"It's because… the whole world already knows Kaijō's last shot always goes to you."
Kise blinked.
"Huh?"
"That's right. Everyone expects it. Even those five annoying guys standing over there."
"Giving the final shot to a first-year… they'll probably think we've lost our minds. But hey—doesn't that sound fun?"
Kota spread his hands wide, his grin unreadable.
—Back to the present—
The referee held the ball, confirmed all ten players were ready, then blew his whistle and handed it to Kise.
Five seconds to inbound.
The moment the whistle sounded, Kota suddenly sprinted backward—from Rakuzan's half all the way back to his own. Rakuzan had been preparing to press full-court, but seeing Kota retreat like a sly fox, they abandoned it and fell back into position.
Kise launched the ball in with one hand and jogged up toward Rakuzan's three-point line. The instant he crossed it, all five Rakuzan defenders subtly shifted toward him.
At this stage of the game, Kise was a walking armory of deadly moves. Naturally, Rakuzan wasn't about to let him breathe.
Akashi didn't even bother keeping an eye on Kota anymore. He glued himself to Kise, shadowing his every step, terrified of being caught off guard by some last-second trick.
As for Kota, Rakuzan still didn't dare underestimate him. Hirakawa was already waiting for him near midcourt, face tight with focus.
"Why's everyone so serious? C'mon, smile a little."
Kota chuckled, glancing at the scoreboard. Twenty-three seconds might sound short—but for one offensive play, it was plenty.
He dribbled slowly, almost lazily, like he was taking a stroll. He drifted toward the left wing. On the opposite side, Kise bent over, hands on his knees, looking completely relaxed—he even gave Kota a cheeky smile when their eyes met.
The real offensive piece of this puzzle, Yuki, stood nervously in the right corner. He was shaking so hard that Mibuchi, who was guarding him, couldn't help but notice.
"Uh… you good, man?" Mibuchi asked half out of confusion, half out of concern. "You're not even touching the ball for this play. You just have to run around for a bit. Why so tense?"
"I-I'm fine. Thanks," Yuki replied politely—but his trembling legs said otherwise.
Reo sighed. Guess the rookie just doesn't have much court experience. He turned his eyes back to the high post, already considering rotating to help on Kise's side.
After all, with Yuki shaking like a leaf, he didn't seem like any kind of threat. Better to help where it mattered.
Seconds ticked away.
The crowd held its breath. Even Bobo—the announcer who'd been shouting nonstop—had gone silent, eyes glued to the court.
Tick… tick…
When the clock hit ten seconds, Kota raised his hand, signaling for Kojima to set a screen. The final battle had begun.
Hayakawa rushed up for the pick. Takumi followed, setting a second screen for Kise. Both Kise and Kota took the screens and sprinted toward the top of the arc.
Akashi's eyes sharpened. He spun around the screen immediately, chasing after Kise while shouting, "Kota! Switch!" His pupils darted rapidly, analyzing Kaijō's movement patterns in real time.
Two players at the top… are they going for a handoff?
The very next second—just as Akashi predicted—Kota brushed past Kise and handed the ball off.
Akashi's eyes gleamed. He chased Kise and shouted to his team, "Watch Kota! Don't lose him!"
Takeshi reacted instantly, raising both arms to block. He rushed to Kota's side—but hesitated for a moment.
"Wait… is he slower than before?"
Before he could think further, Kota suddenly cut again, sprinting back toward Kise.
"Like hell I'll let you get free that easily!"
Takeshi roared, setting aside all doubt and charging after him. Even if it kills me, I'm stopping this guy!
Five seconds left.
Akashi had forced Kise toward the left baseline. Kota followed, stopping around the 45-degree left wing.
From the stands, Kaijō's play looked like a mess. Their double screen and handoff had ended with both Kota and Kise trapped on the same side—each with a defender right in front of them.
Akashi glanced at Kise, already feeling relief—until he noticed something off.
Kise wasn't panicking. He wasn't forcing a shot. Instead, he was smiling—and looking to the opposite corner.
Akashi's stomach dropped. Wait… if Kise is here, and Kota's right there… then who's on the other side?
"YuKI!!!"
Kise's shout answered him.
A blistering cross-court pass flew through the air—so fast it left an orange streak. Kise had even mimicked Kuroko's bullet pass to make sure it couldn't be intercepted.
The ball snapped into Yūki's hands on the far side of the court.
Rakuzan's entire interior defense had shifted left to cover Kise and Kota. Only Mibuchi was left alone on the right side.
"Eh—what?!" Mibuchi barely had time to react.
And the result of Mibuchi guarding Yuki one-on-one? Well, the second quarter had already answered that.
"Foul him!!" someone screamed.
But it was too late. Yuki burst forward, driving straight into the open lane. No one was there to stop him.
His eyes hardened—one long stride, then he leapt.
Mibuchi lunged desperately, reaching out to pull him down, but it was useless.
CLANG!
The ball slammed through the hoop.
The buzzer blared.
Final score: 105–104. Kaijō wins.