'Could it be… I've been wrong from the start?' Sawakita Eiji silently questioned himself, a flicker of doubt flashing through his eyes.
Full-court man-marking Aoi Kunisaku—this was the tactic he personally brought up during halftime. It was also the goal he set for himself.
His plan was simple. Stick to Aoi like glue. Don't give him any space to move freely. Mute the sharpest blade in Kanagawa's arsenal.
But reality had slapped him hard across the face.
The second half had just begun, and he realized—he wasn't restraining Aoi at all. He was just being dragged around.
He matched Aoi step for step, even pushed his limits to chase every sudden change of direction and stop.
But the result?
Aoi Kunisaku still landed the block. Still tore through their defense. Still broke them apart with one unpredictable move after another.
He felt like a shadow. Always close, yet completely ineffective.
Calling it man-marking was generous. In truth, he was just along for the ride.
For the first time, a wave of helplessness stirred in Sawakita Eiji's heart.
It wasn't exhaustion. It was something deeper—mental doubt.
If even this level of defense couldn't hold Aoi back, then how was anyone supposed to stop this monster?
Again, Akita tried to initiate an offense. Aoi Kunisaku suddenly surged from the wing. His steps were light, yet carried weight, like a predator closing in.
The ball was in Nobe Masahiro's hands. The moment he felt that pressure closing in from behind, a chill ran down his back.
His instincts screamed at him to stop. He froze up. Didn't even think. Just reflexively tried to pass the ball away.
But the moment it left his hand, regret surged through his chest.
He was too hasty.
He forgot—the one guarding him was none other than Rukawa Kaede.
That unguarded pass handed his opponent a gift-wrapped opportunity.
Sure enough, Rukawa read it like an open book. The moment the ball left Nobe's hand, he struck.
A quick lunge. Arm extended. Cut directly into the passing lane. He snatched the ball with perfect timing.
Smack—!
A sharp slap echoed beside Nobe's ear. His hands went empty. The ball was gone.
Before he could even react, Rukawa had already taken off like an arrow, bolting for Akita's half.
Fukatsu Kazunari saw the turnover from nearby. His expression shifted as he spun and rushed back on defense.
His eyes stayed locked on Rukawa. His mind was already calculating his route and probable intentions.
In the blink of an eye, the two collided at half court.
Fukatsu Kazunari stepped in, planted his feet, and blocked Rukawa's advance with sheer will.
Rukawa hunched slightly, dribbling low. His gaze was cold. He tried several changes of direction to break free from Fukatsu's block.
But every time he moved, Fukatsu was already there. It was like he had seen every move ahead of time. He held his position and shut down every path with sheer strength and tenacity.
Faced with such airtight defense, Rukawa's brows creased. Annoyance flickered in his eyes.
He knew he couldn't stall any longer.
Just as he was about to pass the ball—
A sudden sense of danger surged from his flank.
It was instinct. A jolt of pure on-court awareness. Like something deadly was coming fast from the side.
Rukawa's pupils shrank. He reacted purely on reflex.
A quick flick of the wrist. The ball switched to the opposite hand in a flash. At the same time, his body jerked backward, widening the space between himself and Fukatsu.
Right then, a hand slashed through the air where the ball had just been. Fast. So fast it looked like a flicker.
That silhouette vanished almost instantly.
Rukawa's heart skipped. He turned instinctively to check.
It was Matsumoto Minoru.
He stood just off to the side, his eyes filled with unwilling frustration.
Rukawa stiffened.
If he'd been just a beat slower, that steal would've been successful.
And Matsumoto clearly wasn't done. He shifted his stance and prepared to pressure even harder, trying to trap Rukawa into a more passive position.
But then—just at that moment…
Rukawa Kaede felt a faint jolt in his hand. Then a sudden gust of wind tore past him.
The sheer speed of it made his heart lurch.
His pupils shrank. He instinctively realized something was wrong.
He didn't have time to care about Matsumoto Minoru anymore. Almost reflexively, he turned toward his ball-holding hand.
A flash of red swept by like a ghost. It moved so fast that even his vision couldn't fully catch it.
Matsumoto Minoru noticed it too. The instant that red streak zipped past, he froze.
Eyes wide, he stared in confusion at Rukawa Kaede's now-empty hand, then back at that streaking red silhouette. His mind blanked.
'What the hell just happened?!'
Both Matsumoto and Rukawa widened their eyes. They followed the direction of the red blur and finally caught sight of the figure that had just zipped by like lightning.
Under the arena lights, that red jersey was especially striking. The number 9 was printed clearly on the back.
Aoi Kunisaku.
"It's him…" Matsumoto mumbled, his eyes filled with shock and confusion.
He couldn't understand at all—why did Aoi Kunisaku snatch the ball from his own teammate?
Even Sawakita Eiji, who had stuck to Aoi Kunisaku like glue, froze in that instant.
He reacted faster than anyone else, but he was still one step too slow.
He hadn't expected Aoi to suddenly go after one of his own.
Not just the players—everyone watching was equally dumbfounded. The entire crowd gawked, eyes wide with confusion stacked on confusion.
A moment later, a wave of gasps, questions, and murmurs erupted like a tide.
"Did he just steal from his own teammate?!"
"Did I see that right?!"
"Was that a tactic? Or a mistake?"
"First time I've ever seen something like this happen…"
Everyone just stared in blank disbelief. It was like what had just happened was beyond their comprehension.
But Aoi Kunisaku didn't care at all about the shocked, confused, even bewildered looks around him.
His eyes were locked on the rim. His feet locked into rhythm. The basketball in his hands was already an extension of his body, dribbling smoothly even at full sprint.
He was like a high-powered race car, surging straight into Akita's paint with unstoppable force.
Sawakita Eiji chased after him with everything he had, legs pumping, desperate to close the distance.
But reality was brutal.
Even with his speed maxed out, even with his 'Wild Instinct' state pushed to its peak, the gap between him and Aoi only widened, little by little.
Sweat dripped from his forehead in heavy drops, splashing silently on the hardwood.
Sawakita's breath grew harsh and rapid. His chest rose and fell violently. A dull ache started pulsing through his legs.
That was his body's warning—a signal of depletion and fatigue.
In his once-sharp eyes, a flicker of hesitation appeared.
A bone-deep exhaustion began to spread, creeping through him like a silent tide.
'Dammit… if this keeps up, I'm gonna be broken down completely.' Sawakita bit down hard, frustration and unwillingness burning in his eyes.
But by then, Aoi Kunisaku had already crashed into the paint like a leopard in pursuit.
His strides were swift and steady, paying no mind to anything trying to stop him.
Even though Sawakita stayed tight on him, whispering pressure into his ear, Aoi didn't flinch. He drove forward and rose without hesitation.
He leapt. Body stretched like a sharpened blade. The ball clutched tightly in his hand. All his force surged toward the rim.
Sawakita jumped too, arms fully extended, throwing everything he had into blocking the dunk.
Just as his fingertips neared the ball—
Aoi Kunisaku suddenly twisted midair. His body stretched forward. Like a serpent, he slipped right through the space Sawakita tried to cover, avoiding the block entirely.
In that moment, his hand extended behind the backboard. His wrist snapped with a delicate flick, unleashing a move that defied logic.
He didn't even look at the rim.
He simply tossed the ball upward.
The basketball traced a bizarre, almost magical arc. It floated above the backboard, then began to fall gently.
Sawakita stared wide-eyed, still suspended in the air, helpless as the ball floated past.
Over the top of the board.
Then dropped straight through the hoop.
Swish—
A crisp, satisfying sound rang out.
The ball fell clean through the net.
Not even a millimeter off.