Shohoku's bench.
"What... what just happened?" Ayako clutched her clipboard tightly, her fingertips turning pale. Her wide, beautiful eyes were filled with disbelief.
From her spot courtside, she had a clear view of everything.
And yet—she hadn't even seen that pass.
It was like she blinked, and the ball had already gone through the net and rolled across the floor.
For a moment, she even wondered if the lights had tricked her eyes—if she'd somehow missed a second of play.
She had seen plenty of high-level matches before, but that sudden, razor-sharp scoring pass felt like an illusion.
Coach Anzai remained seated, hands clasped, his expression calm as ever.
But the lenses of his glasses glinted faintly under the gym lights, reflecting the red figure retreating across the court.
He watched Ake quietly for a long moment.
As an observer, he had seen it more clearly than anyone else on the court— though even he had only caught part of it.
He'd seen the moment Sakuragi Hanamichi lunged toward Akagi's right hand— and how, almost imperceptibly, Ake's left hand had already flicked the ball away.
It wasn't a normal pass.
He had used the fake to disguise a fingertip flick, sending the ball spinning low across the court with surgical precision.
The ball almost skimmed the floor, brushing past Sakuragi's heel, slipping through a narrow defensive gap, and landing perfectly in the corner.
The timing was immaculate.
Just as Sakuragi's body leaned forward, his vision blocked—Ake had already released the ball.
And Koshino Hiroaki had moved at that exact moment to the top of the arc, using his body to block the passing lane completely.
That couldn't have been a coincidence.
Every movement, every position, even the opponents' reactions—it all seemed meticulously arranged.
Coach Anzai let out a slow breath, his voice low and filled with admiration.
"Truly remarkable..."
Offense switched to defense.
Shohoku immediately launched a counterattack, the pace blistering—like a taut bowstring finally released.
The ball zipped between players—Kogure to Miyagi, then a sharp cross-pass—before settling in Rukawa Kaede's hands.
In an instant, Rukawa exploded forward like a cheetah. His cold eyes locked on the court ahead, his movements fluid and sharp, a dark blur slicing through Ryonan's defense.
Sendoh's eyes narrowed as he slid in to intercept, cutting off Rukawa's drive inside the three-point line.
But in that fleeting instant, a figure suddenly appeared—stepping between them, steady and solid.
Kogure Kiminobu.
'A screen?!'
Sendoh's steps faltered, his chest tightening.
He had thought Kogure was just running aimlessly, but the angle, the timing, the body position—everything was too precise.
"Was that planned?"
His moment of hesitation was all Rukawa needed. Like a drawn blade, he slashed through the side, cutting straight into the key.
Uozumi was already waiting, stepping up to block the path like an immovable wall.
Rukawa didn't panic. He danced on his feet, faking left and right, his shoulder dipping just enough to make Uozumi shift his balance.
Then, like lightning, Rukawa spun, slicing toward the basket.
He rose into the air, his right arm cocked back for a thunderous dunk. The rim trembled in anticipation—
—but Uozumi reacted instantly, springing upward, twisting mid-air to block.
A massive shadow loomed, swallowing Rukawa and the basket whole.
Still, Rukawa didn't flinch. Losing balance mid-air, he snapped his wrist, using his core to whip the ball backward in a blur.
It flew low and fast—straight into Akagi Takenori's hands as he cut down the lane.
Oh no—Uozumi's pupils shrank.
Still descending, he saw the ball flashing toward Akagi—
—but just before it reached him—
A shadow darted in from the blind spot of Akagi's jump, emerging like a ghost from nowhere.
Clap!
A single, sharp sound cracked through the gym like ice breaking.
The ball was stolen.
For a moment, time froze.
Rukawa hung mid-air, his arm still extended, his expression frozen in disbelief.
Akagi landed, his hands still open for a pass that never came.
The entire Shohoku bench was stunned.
It wasn't possible—yet it had happened.
The thief? Ake himself.
He held the ball calmly, effortlessly, as if he had known the play before it began.
Kogure lunged forward, hoping to pressure him—but froze again.
Akagi didn't even look. He flicked the ball behind his back, a fluid motion— and the basketball shot out like a whip, slicing through the air.
It landed perfectly in Koshino Hiroaki's hands.
"What?!"
Kogure's eyes went wide. "That was his blind spot! How did he even—"
It was as if Ake had eyes on the back of his head.
Koshino didn't hesitate. He sprinted forward, steps light and sharp, charging toward Shohoku's basket.
Shohoku snapped back to life, racing to defend.
The gym erupted with the thunder of footsteps and the screech of sneakers.
Sakuragi was the first to catch up—charging like a furious bull, his hand inches from Koshino's jersey.
Koshino suddenly stopped short.
Sakuragi stumbled, nearly falling as his momentum carried him forward.
Koshino smirked, the corner of his lips curling. "Too slow."
Outside the three-point line, he raised the ball calmly to shoot—
—but in the next instant, Sakuragi twisted his body, lunging forward like a cannonball, his hand swinging down in a blur.
"What—?!"
Koshino's eyes widened. He hadn't expected him to recover that fast.
With no time to think, he flicked his wrist, sending the ball flying to the flank.
Sendoh caught it—only to meet Rukawa's piercing gaze.
Their eyes locked, electricity crackling in the air.
Sendoh smiled faintly, unbothered. "Staring won't help you. The ball's not even in my hands anymore."
As soon as he said it, he turned and launched the ball across the court.
Rukawa frowned. "You're running."
Sendoh didn't answer, just smiled as if amused.
But before Rukawa could turn—
An orange blur streaked past his peripheral vision.
His pupils shrank—
That was the ball.
A sharp clap followed— the unmistakable sound of leather striking palm.
When Rukawa whipped his head toward the noise—he saw Sendoh in mid-air, form perfect, wrist cocked back, the motion smooth as silk.
Rukawa leapt—too late.
The ball flew, tracing a clean arc through the air.
Swish.
Perfect shot.
Rukawa landed hard, jaw tight, frustration etched across his face.
He didn't glance at the scoreboard. His glare stayed fixed on Ake.
That moment replayed again and again in his mind.
Shohoku's bench.
"Another one of those passes…" Ayako muttered, brows furrowed in frustration. "Every time, it's like he throws it from a blind spot! There's no time to react."
"It's his vision," Coach Anzai said calmly, his tone low but certain. "That Ake… sees the entire court."
"The entire court?" Ayako froze, eyes wide. "Coach—are you saying he can see everything?"
Anzai didn't answer. He simply pushed up his glasses, the lenses flashing white, hiding the depth in his gaze.
The silence was his answer.
Ayako felt her heartbeat slow.
She understood what he meant.
Some players could only focus on whoever had the ball.
Others could track teammates within a few meters.
Even top point guards could only anticipate a few steps ahead.
But someone who could see the entire court?
That was terrifying.
"But…" she frowned. "Aside from his passes, he doesn't look that special. He seems so… ordinary."
Anzai chuckled softly. "Ayako, don't be fooled by appearances. You think he's only a passer because that's all he's chosen to show. That Ryonan captain…" He paused, eyes glinting. "Even I can't see through him."
Ayako's breath caught.
Someone the coach himself couldn't read...
On the court, the game pressed on.
Rukawa, still seething from the last play, took the inbound pass—then accelerated.
He tore down the court like a lone wolf, dribbling so fast the air itself seemed to ripple.
Shohoku's players trailed behind, struggling to catch up.
But just as his right foot crossed half court—
Clap!
A sharp sound cracked through the arena.
Rukawa's steps faltered. His entire body froze.
His pupils shrank to pinpoints.