Beep!…
A sharp whistle pierced the silence—the timeout had ended.
The game resumed.
Players from both sides returned to the court one after another.
After Ake's stern, calculated instructions, the Ryonan players had shed every trace of complacency. The faint smiles that once lingered on their faces disappeared, replaced by an eerie calm that carried a suffocating edge.
Their aura had changed—less flamboyant, more focused, more dangerous.
As the Shohoku players stepped back onto the court, they immediately sensed the shift in atmosphere.
This is...
Takenori Akagi stood in his half of the court, his gaze sweeping across each Ryonan player.
That expression... It shouldn't belong to a team leading by 19 points.
His heart sank.
'What's going on here?'
The team across from them no longer looked like one that was comfortably ahead. Instead, they looked like predators facing an equal rival—focused, serious, alert.
That expression should have been on Shohoku's faces, not theirs.
Kogure Kiminobu adjusted his glasses, a deep frown forming beneath the lenses.
"Akagi... I have a bad feeling about this," he muttered.
Takenori Akagi didn't respond. His eyes stayed locked on Ryonan's side of the court.
For some reason, a faint nervousness stirred in his chest.
On the Shohoku bench, others had noticed it too.
Ayako stared at Ryonan's lineup, surprise etched across her face. "What's going on? Why do they look so... cautious all of a sudden?"
Kakuta Satoru frowned, frustration in his voice. "They're leading by almost twenty points and they're still not letting up? Is this really the strength of a top-four team in the prefecture?"
Mitsuyoshi Anzai slowly opened his eyes.
His gaze was deep and steady, like an ancient well without ripples—but within it gleamed a quiet, chilling insight.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady, like it carried the weight of decades.
"Ayako... find a way to gather information on Ryonan's current captain."
"Eh?" Ayako blinked, taken aback. "Coach, you mean... Ryonan's change just now—was because of him?"
Anzai didn't answer right away. He simply nodded, his eyes fixed on the red-haired young man seated calmly on Ryonan's bench.
After a moment of silence, he murmured, "That captain... is not ordinary."
He paused. "Even without seeing his full ability yet, to become captain as a first-year—he must have something beyond talent alone."
Ayako's eyes narrowed in thought. She glanced at the scoreboard, then back at the calm, unreadable figure on Ryonan's bench.
It made sense.
Shohoku's own Rukawa Kaede was immensely talented, arguably their strongest individual player—but even he wasn't fit to lead a team.
Then Anzai's next words made her freeze.
"He reminds me... of Maki from Kainan."
"What?!"
Ayako's head shot up, her heart skipping a beat.
'Maki?'
'Maki Shinichi?!'
The man who had led Kainan to dominate Kanagawa for years, hailed as the "strongest point guard in the prefecture"?
And Coach Anzai was comparing that first-year redhead to him?!
She almost couldn't believe it.
Could that young captain really be on Maki's level?
After a long pause, she took a deep breath and steadied herself. "Understood, Coach. I'll investigate as soon as possible."
No matter what the results revealed, anyone who could command Ryonan as a freshman deserved a full report. That was her job as manager—and her duty to the team.
Back on the court, Shohoku's players rekindled what little hope they had left.
Even if it was just one basket—one point—they had to break this humiliating drought.
The thought itself was noble, a spark in the darkness before dawn. But reality was merciless.
Because after Ake's intervention... the Ryonan team had awakened.
They were no longer playing loosely, relying on raw skill. They were playing with precision—like beasts that had shed their restraints.
Shohoku barely had time to react.
The whistle blew, and Kogure brought the ball forward, setting up a quick pick-and-roll.
But before he could even cross half-court—
Slap!
Sendoh's hand flashed out like lightning, predicting his move perfectly. The ball was gone.
A fast break. Sendoh sprinted down the court, stopped just past the free-throw line, and jumped.
Swish!
21–0.
Shohoku had no time to breathe.
Rukawa's eyes flared, fire burning in his pupils.
He seized the ball, drove forward, cutting through Ryonan's defense like a lone wolf.
But Sendoh stayed with him step for step, calm and fluid, shadowing his every move.
Just as Rukawa prepared to enter the paint, Uozumi slid over, blocking his path like a wall of steel.
Rukawa faked, ready to shoot—
But Sendoh anticipated it. Another slap, another steal.
He dashed away again, fluid as wind, and this time passed off to Ikegami, who cut straight to the basket.
Swish!
23–0.
The Shohoku players froze, disbelief etched across their faces.
And Ryonan wasn't done.
On the next possession, Akagi finally muscled into position under the basket, posting up against Uozumi.
He turned, ready to dunk—
But Uozumi didn't budge.
Then, from the side—another blur.
Koshino shot in like a hawk and stripped the ball clean.
In an instant, Ryonan was running again. Sendoh received the pass, and with Rukawa chasing at full speed, he faked a jump shot, drew the block, and twisted mid-air—reverse layup.
Swish!
25–0.
Three straight possessions. Three turnovers. Three baskets.
Shohoku was drowning.
On the bench, Sakuragi stomped in frustration.
"Damn it! They're up twenty-five! At this rate, they'll really beat us by thirty! Coach, hurry and put me in—the secret weapon!"
His voice was loud and full of misplaced confidence.
Mitsuyoshi Anzai didn't reply. His gaze remained calm but heavy.
He had expected this outcome—but not so quickly. Not so brutally.
And now, one thing was certain.
This first-year captain of Ryonan—Ake—was the real deal.
A leader who could turn a talented but relaxed team into a ruthless, unified force in a single timeout.
As an opponent, he was a nightmare.
But as a basketball man, Anzai couldn't help but admire it.
Because that kind of leadership—born of clarity and willpower—was something special.
Shohoku finally broke the silence on their fourth possession.
Rukawa took the ball himself, charging through Ryonan's half with deadly focus.
Sendoh shadowed him step for step, while Uozumi stood ready under the basket.
But instead of forcing a shot, Rukawa suddenly passed back to Takenori Akagi trailing behind him.
Akagi caught the ball, muscles coiled tight, and roared as he slammed it through the rim.
Clang!
The entire hoop rattled.
Finally—Shohoku scored.
25–2.
"Ahhh!" Takenori Akagi roared, his voice echoing across the gym, unleashing all the frustration and humiliation he'd bottled up.
The Shohoku bench erupted. Players jumped, cheering wildly. Even Coach Anzai allowed a faint smile.
One dunk—and their spirits reignited.
Ake, on Ryonan's side, watched calmly.
Even after such a deficit, Shohoku could find new strength from a single basket. Their morale burned brighter than logic should allow.
'Was this... the so-called "protagonist's aura"?'
He didn't know. He didn't care.
Even if such a thing existed—he would crush it himself.
He came to this world for one reason.
To win.
In his eyes, there were no rivals, no destiny. Only obstacles.
And no matter who stood in his path—
He would crush them without hesitation.
Call him ruthless. Call him extreme.
But to Ake, victory was not just a goal.
It was everything.