Beep—!
Ryonan requests a substitution.
As the whistle echoed through the gym, time itself seemed to pause.
The noise faded, and the air froze for a brief, heavy moment.
All eyes turned toward Ryonan's bench.
Ake stepped out slowly, unhurried, and stopped by the sideline.
He didn't need to say a word—his very presence was enough to shift the atmosphere.
It was as if a monarch had arrived, and the entire gymnasium had become his domain.
His expression was calm, his eyes as deep and still as an icy pond.
Yet the invisible pressure around him made even the spectators subconsciously hold their breath.
"Is that... Ryonan's new captain?"
"Whoa, he's so handsome! But that aura—so intense! Is he actually going to play?"
"I wonder how strong he is. Just his presence is intimidating."
"To be Ryonan's captain, he must be on another level."
"I heard even Sendoh got completely shut down by him in practice!"
"Wait, seriously?!"
...Whispers spread through the crowd like ripples on water.
Amid the chatter, Haruko Akagi and her friends frowned slightly, their attention fixed on the red-haired figure by the court.
"Haruko, who is that?" Matsui asked quietly.
Haruko shook her head. "I don't know... I've never heard of him before. Maybe he's new?"
Matsui bit her lip, unease flickering in her eyes.
"He looks... kind of scary," she murmured.
A short distance away, four familiar silhouettes appeared—Yohei Mito, Nozomi Takamiya, Chuichiro Noma, and Yuji Ohkusu—the self-proclaimed Sakuragi gang.
They'd come to cheer for Sakuragi Hanamichi, but also to catch some embarrassing moments to tease him about later.
Yet now, the usual mischief had faded from their faces.
Takamiya adjusted his glasses, the light reflecting coldly off the lenses.
"Hey... don't you guys think something's off about that guy?" he said in a rare serious tone.
Ohkusu nodded quickly. "Yeah... he gives me the chills. Seriously dangerous."
Noma crossed his arms. "I've got a bad feeling. Shohoku might be in trouble."
Yohei didn't speak. He just stared silently at Ake, his expression unreadable.
But deep inside, he felt it too—an instinctive, primal pressure.
It wasn't fear exactly... more like how an antelope freezes when a lion appears on the horizon.
On the court, the Shohoku players' faces grew tense.
"It's him... Ryonan's first-year captain," said Kogure Kiminobu quietly.
At first, he thought it was just a normal rotation, but the moment he saw who it was, his stomach dropped.
"He's finally coming in?" muttered Takenori Akagi, his fists tightening.
He leaned forward slightly, his body ready, his eyes sharp with both focus and unease.
The faint anxiety that had lingered since the start of the game now wrapped tightly around him.
Shohoku's lead was fragile, their stamina wearing thin—and now, Ryonan had brought out their trump card.
A first-year who had already subdued both Uozumi and Sendoh... and taken the captaincy.
Just that fact alone was enough to send chills down anyone's spine.
Rukawa Kaede stood silently, beads of sweat sliding down his temples.
His eyes—sharp as drawn blades—never left Ake.
He didn't need to be told; he could feel it.
That aura was overwhelming.
Ake glanced toward Uekusa Tomoyuki on the court. His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the silence like a knife.
"Uekusa, go rest."
"Ah—oh! Yes!" Uekusa replied quickly, showing no hesitation or discontent.
In Ryonan, aside from the coach, Ake's words were absolute.
It wasn't authority gained through status, but through sheer strength—and countless decisions that proved his worth.
As the two brushed past each other, Ake stepped onto the court.
His movements were light, but each step seemed to make the floor tremble faintly.
All eyes followed him, drawn as if by invisible threads.
"Is he finally going to play...?" murmured Sendoh Akira, resting his hands on his hips.
Koshino Hiroaki rubbed the back of his head nervously.
"Were we really that bad just now? Even the captain couldn't sit still?"
Ikegami Ryoji frowned, mentally replaying their last possessions.
Defense wasn't sloppy, offense had been fine, barely any turnovers...
But then—Ake stopped at Ryonan's half-court.
He turned, his gaze sweeping over the Shohoku lineup before calmly saying,
"It's about time to end this game."
His tone was casual, but the words struck like thunder.
He looked at Uozumi under the basket.
"Uozumi-senpai, the paint is yours."
Uozumi nodded firmly. "Got it."
The game resumed.
Ryonan inbounded the ball—and without hesitation, it found its way into Ake's hands.
Thump... thump... thump…
The ball's steady rhythm echoed like a heartbeat through the gym.
Ake dribbled slowly up the court, calm and unhurried, like a general surveying the battlefield.
The moment he touched the ball, his teammates sprinted ahead, spreading into formation.
The Shohoku players immediately sensed something was wrong.
No screens. No cuts. No pick-and-rolls.
Just four players charging into the frontcourt—while one man stayed behind, anchoring the entire formation.
"They... trust him that much?" Akagi muttered, his brow furrowing deeply.
A single mistake here—a stolen ball—and Ryonan's defense would completely collapse.
But none of them hesitated.
Thump... thump... thump…
Ake's dribble echoed again, each bounce measured and deliberate.
He crossed half-court, his movements smooth and precise, his eyes cold as ice.
Yasuharu Yasuda stepped forward to defend, spreading his arms wide.
He gritted his teeth, ready to challenge.
But two steps in—his body froze.
It felt like he'd slammed into an invisible wall.
A chill shot up from his feet to his scalp. His heart stumbled in his chest.
"W-what... is this...?"
Sweat beaded on his forehead. His legs wouldn't move. His arms trembled.
It was as if invisible chains were coiling around him, squeezing the air from his lungs.
"How can a first-year have this kind of pressure...?"
Even when facing his own captain, Akagi, he had never felt this suffocated.
The air itself seemed to tighten.
Thump... thump... thump…
Ake walked past him without even a glance, his face expressionless, his eyes as deep and unfathomable as the night sky.
Yasuda stood frozen, his arms half-extended—a statue caught in mid-motion.
It wasn't that he didn't want to move; his body simply refused.
The silence on the sidelines was absolute.
The Shohoku players' faces changed instantly.
They didn't know what was happening—but every instinct screamed danger.
Before anyone could react, Sakuragi Hanamichi—as reckless as ever—charged forward.
"Wait—!" Kogure shouted, but it was too late.
Sakuragi spread his arms wide, glaring defiantly.
Ake didn't even flinch.
The dribble continued—steady, precise, unnervingly calm.
Thump! A quick shoulder feint, a sudden shift—ball switched hands.
Sakuragi lunged, reaching to steal—
—but the ball flicked back again, crossing in an instant.
Sakuragi twisted, chasing it, hands clawing at air.
"Where—where's the ball?!"
It was gone.
Everyone—Akagi, Rukawa, Kogure—froze.
Then—
Swish!
The crisp sound of the net sliced through the silence.
The Shohoku players turned sharply toward the basket—just in time to see the orange ball drop through the net and bounce onto the floor.
Underneath, Ikegami Ryoji lowered his arms from a perfect shooting form.
No one had seen the pass.
No one knew when it happened.
One second, Ake was facing Sakuragi outside the three-point line.
The next, the ball was already in the basket.
The Shohoku players stood frozen, disbelief written all over their faces.
When they finally turned toward Ake—
He was already walking back on defense, expression calm, as if nothing unusual had happened.
The Ryonan players didn't celebrate.
They just resumed their positions, composed and focused, as if this outcome had always been expected.
Only Shohoku stood there, grim-faced— haunted by a creeping realization:
They were up against something they couldn't quite understand.