Drip…
The final whistle pierced through the frozen air of the basketball gym.
The game was over.
On the scoreboard, numbers glowed like wounds carved by a blade.
Ryonan 110 – Shohoku 60.
A fifty-point gap.
An abyss impossible to cross.
The Shohoku players stood motionless.
Their sweat had long dried, their jerseys clinging to their bodies like heavy shackles.
No one spoke. No one even lifted their head.
Takenori Akagi braced his hands on his knees, knuckles white with strain, eyes locked on the floor—as if trying to etch the humiliating score deep into his memory.
Rukawa Kaede's dark hair fell over his closed eyes, hiding his expression—and the storm of emotions beneath.
Sakuragi Hanamichi sat on the floor and slammed his head against it.
The sound was loud, but he felt no pain.
In sharp contrast, laughter and high-fives echoed from the Ryonan side.
Ake stood in the center of the crowd, a faint, relaxed smile on his lips.
He didn't celebrate. He didn't boast.
Even his breathing was calm.
That composure made him seem even more distant—like a man standing alone above the noise.
Moments later, Coach Taoka Moichi led the Ryonan team to escort Shohoku's players to the gym's entrance.
Outside, a soft breeze blew.
The glow of sunset stretched their shadows long across the pavement.
Coach Taoka and Mitsuyoshi Anzai stood face-to-face, shaking hands.
Coach Anzai adjusted his glasses, the sunset glinting off the lenses. His voice was low but sincere.
"Coach Taoka, Ryonan's ability to bring in such a player… truly impressive. Congratulations."
Coach Taoka smiled modestly, waving a hand.
"Not at all, Coach Anzai, you're too kind. I just happened to be lucky enough to find the right talent."
Despite his humility, joy swelled in his chest.
He couldn't be more satisfied with Ake—his calm mind, precise passing, and overwhelming control of the court made him the most complete playmaker Taoka had ever coached.
And secretly, he was even more delighted.
In the past, several promising players had all chosen Shohoku over Ryonan. It had almost felt like a curse.
But now, Ake's arrival didn't just erase those regrets—it completely overshadowed them.
On the other side, Uozumi stepped toward Shohoku's captain.
"Akagi…" he said quietly, extending his hand.
Takenori Akagi looked down at it, frozen for a moment.
Memories of the game flashed through his mind— humiliation, frustration, anger, self-blame.
He took a deep breath, straightened, and clasped Uozumi's hand firmly.
"In the Kanagawa Interhigh Tournament," Uozumi said, his voice deep and resolute, "let's settle it then."
Akagi snorted lightly through his nose, his defiant glare unyielding.
"Hmph. Such arrogance."
But as the words left his mouth, his gaze drifted— to the young man who had dominated the entire game in silence.
Ryonan's Ake stood calm under the twilight, his expression serene, as if a fifty-point victory was just another training session.
That quiet composure ignited something inside Shohoku's captain.
He stepped forward, extended his hand, and said in a voice low but sharp as steel, "Next time, we'll be the ones to win."
Ake glanced at the hand. His eyes were calm as still water.
Without hesitation, he reached out and shook it.
"I'll be looking forward to it."
The two captains' handshake marked the end of battle.
Not far away, Sendoh approached Rukawa and Sakuragi.
He wore his usual lazy, teasing smile.
He extended a hand toward Rukawa first.
"Next time, don't focus so much on one-on-one. Look for your teammates once in a while."
Rukawa glared at him coldly, but after a moment, he reached out and slapped his palm.
Sendo didn't mind the coldness. He turned to Sakuragi next.
"Sakuragi."
Sakuragi stared at the offered hand, eyes flickering with thought.
After a long silence, he finally gripped it tightly.
"Sendoh… next time, I'll definitely beat you."
Sendoh chuckled. "Then you'd better train hard."
Their handshake ended. The tension lingering in the gym began to fade, like waves receding after a storm.
The practice match between Ryonan and Shohoku had finally come to an end.
But after Shohoku left, Sendoh's right hand hung limply by his side—red, swollen, and shiny, his knuckles raised like fresh welts.
Aida Hikoichi, watching, gasped.
"Sendoh-senpai! What happened to your hand?!"
Sendoh glanced down, his expression twitching slightly as he looked toward the departing Shohoku players.
"That idiot…" he muttered under his breath.
During the handshake, Sakuragi had gripped with all his strength—venting the frustration of the entire match into that single squeeze.
Yet, from handshake to farewell, Sendoh hadn't flinched or made a sound.
Aida stared in disbelief.
"Sendoh-senpai… that's amazing…"
Outside Ryonan's gates, the Shohoku players walked in silence.
After a few steps, Kogure Kiminobu stopped and turned to look back at the school plaque.
"Ryonan… truly a powerful opponent," he said quietly. His tone carried no bitterness—only awe and understanding.
"Yeah," Akagi replied beside him, his gaze fixed on the same four characters. His fists were clenched, but his eyes burned with determination.
That crushing defeat hadn't broken him—it had reignited his will to fight.
Rukawa said nothing.
Hands in pockets, he stared in the direction of Ryonan, scenes from the game replaying in his mind:
Ake's calm eyes, Sendoh's effortless smile, those impossible passes.
His fists tightened, nails digging into his palms.
"Damn Ryonan… damn Sendoh… damn Ake…" Sakuragi growled, his voice hoarse. He looked up, his eyes bloodshot with fury.
"You guys better remember this! Next time, I'll crush you all!"
A low, familiar chuckle drifted through the group.
Coach Anzai stood among them, wearing his usual kind smile.
Hearing their voices—rage, resolve, pride—he said nothing.
Failure wasn't the enemy.
Losing one's spirit after failure was.
And what he saw before him now were boys who refused to stay down.
"To rise after falling… that's already enough," he thought to himself.
That night.
In a quiet neighborhood in Kanagawa, a light glowed from one apartment window.
Inside the Aida family living room, Aida Hikoichi gestured wildly, words spilling out like rapid-fire bullets as he recounted the day's match.
"Sis! I'm telling you—Captain Ake is unbelievable! He just stood between Rukawa and Sakuragi, dribbled twice, and boom! Both of them slipped at the same time, like they were under a spell!"
As he reenacted it, he tripped on his own feet, nearly falling.
"Alright, alright," Aida Yayoi said with a smile, sitting on the sofa in her neatly pressed business suit. Her short hair framed bright, intelligent eyes that softened as she looked at her brother.
"You've been talking non-stop since you got home—haven't even eaten dinner—all just to praise your Captain Ake."
She was Aida Yayoi, reporter for Basketball Weekly, and Hikoichi's older sister.
But then she paused, her brow furrowing.
"Wait—did you say your captain is Ake? But isn't Ryonan's captain Uozumi? The two-meter-tall center from last year's prefectural tournament? When did that change?"
Hikoichi grinned proudly.
"Hehe… let me tell you! It happened right after the new school year started…"
And with that, he eagerly told her everything—how Ake joined the club, crushed the seniors, outplayed Sendoh, and accepted Uozumi's challenge to officially become captain.
By the time he finished, Yayoi sat silent, eyes wide.
A first-year captain?
One who had even surpassed Sendoh and Uozumi?
If it had been anyone else, she would've laughed it off as nonsense.
But this was her brother—honest to a fault.
"A first-year… Ryonan's captain?" she murmured, lips curling into a faint smile. "Looks like I'll need to pay Ryonan a visit."
The next day.
News of Ryonan's practice game spread like wildfire across Kanagawa.
Ryonan had demolished Shohoku, 110 to 60.
But the bigger shock?
Ryonan's new captain was a freshman.
At first, many dismissed it as a rumor—until players from both schools confirmed it.
Miuradai High – Basketball Gym.
Sunlight streamed through the windows, glinting off sweat and hardwood.
A young man sat on the bench, hands clasped over his knees, expression cold and sharp.
Short black hair. Narrow, blade-like eyes.
Every feature radiated arrogance.
Kengo Murasame—Miuradai's captain.
He scoffed at his teammates' chatter.
"Defeated Shohoku? Please. Shohoku's just a bunch of hotheads. And Ryonan's letting a first-year lead them? What a joke."
Beside him, a massive, bald figure rose to his feet— a mountain of muscle that blocked the afternoon light.
Naito Tetsuya, Miuradai's hidden ace.
He smirked, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder.
"If we meet them in the league, I'll show them what real fear is."
Murasame's lips curved into a cold grin.
Takezono Academy – Basketball Gym.
Golden dusk filled the gym.
A lone figure practiced endlessly—each movement sharp, fluid, and efficient.
Short black hair, thick eyebrows, and fierce, eagle-like eyes.
Oda Tatsumasa—Takezono's captain.
Every dribble echoed with focus.
Every jump shot was clean, the ball slicing through the air—swish, perfect.
He caught the rebound, glanced at the wristband on his arm—a gift from his girlfriend—and murmured softly,
"Ryonan… Shoyo… Kainan… I won't lose to any of you."
Shoyo High – Basketball Gym.
The sunset painted the pristine floor gold. Everything about the space radiated order and pride.
Fujima Kenji—Shoyo's captain and coach—listened calmly to his assistant's report, a serene smile on his face.
"A first-year became Ryonan's captain and crushed Shohoku by fifty? Impressive."
Beside him, Hanagata Toru adjusted his glasses.
"Should we investigate, Fujima?"
Fujima shook his head, his smile unchanging.
"No need. Only Kainan concerns us. The rest are distractions."
Kainan University-Affiliated High – Basketball Gym.
Inside, the sound of drills echoed in perfect rhythm—discipline and dominance in motion.
On the sideline sat Coach Takato, fanning himself lazily. His sharp eyes gleamed behind black-rimmed glasses.
"A first-year captain, huh?" he mused with a smirk. "Looks like Taoka finally got lucky."
He glanced toward the court, where Maki Shinichi barked commands, commanding the floor like a general.
"The 'Emperor of Kanagawa'…" Takato murmured.
Then, closing his fan, his eyes hardened.
"No matter how bright a rookie shines, before a true king, he's only part of the overture."
To him, neither Ryonan nor its new captain mattered.
Kainan's eyes were fixed on one thing only—the national stage.
Across Kanagawa, gyms buzzed with talk of Ryonan's mysterious first-year captain.
Some were curious.
Some wary.
Others scoffed.
But before long, new rumors replaced the old.
And the story of that night—the night Ryonan crushed Shohoku—quietly became another chapter in Kanagawa basketball history.