Ryonan High School Basketball Gym
Bang… bang, bang… bang, bang, bang…
The basketball struck the floor in a steady rhythm, echoing through the empty gym like a heartbeat — each thud heavier, more urgent, until it finally rolled into a corner and fell silent, as if time itself had frozen.
The entire gym was deathly quiet.
No cheers, no footsteps, no sound at all — just a suffocating silence that pressed down on everything, making it hard to breathe.
Hoo… ha… hoo… ha…
Ragged gasps suddenly broke the silence.
Fukuda Kiccho dropped to his knees, as if crushed by an invisible weight. His palms hit the floor hard, knuckles white from strain. Sweat streamed down his face, dripping from his hair and splattering onto the polished wood, leaving faint marks behind.
His chest heaved like a beast pushed beyond its limit. Each breath tore at his lungs. His face was blank, his eyes hollow — as if his spirit had been completely drained.
Gulp—
A soft swallowing sound cut through the stillness like a fuse being lit.
All around, the other players swallowed hard in unison, their eyes locked on the court, pupils contracting as if they had just witnessed something unreal.
'What had they just seen?'
It wasn't just defeat — it was total annihilation, a crushing from body to soul.
Fukuda looked like a broken beast pinned by its hunter, kneeling on the floor, shoulders trembling, as though even standing was beyond him.
Ake stood before him, silent and unmoving — like a mountain.
His gaze was calm. When he finally spoke, his voice was as quiet and smooth as a breeze over still water.
"Any more questions?"
The words were soft, yet they struck Fukuda's heart like a hammer. His empty eyes quivered, life flickering back into them — first confusion, then burning humiliation, icy fear, and finally, submission.
His lips trembled. His voice came out rough and dry, like sandpaper scraping wood.
"N-no more."
Three words. Weak, breathless, but they made the entire gym seem to tremble.
Ake didn't look at him again. He simply turned and walked off the court.
The sound of his sneakers against the floor echoed clearly in the quiet.
Just before stepping off the court, his voice came again — calm, detached.
"From now on, you're the team's starting power forward. Don't disappoint me."
No one moved.
The players looked at one another — some shocked, some awed, others silently shivering at the quiet authority that filled the air.
"He's too strong… Fukuda didn't even stand a chance."
"It wasn't even close. Captain Ake's a monster."
"Man, I'm really glad I joined Ryonan."
"Yeah, better to fight with him than against him."
And just like that, the brief confrontation ended.
No cheers. No applause.
Only the scuffed floor bore silent witness to what had just taken place — a moment of pure dominance.
In the days that followed, Fukuda Kiccho completely changed.
The arrogance and defiance were gone. He trained hard, followed every instruction, and even carried a faint look of awe whenever he glanced at Ake.
Ryonan's training rhythm grew tighter, more intense — like a bow being drawn to its limit.
In Ake's "no-pass scrimmage," Fukuda was forced to find his own openings.
Without passes from teammates, he had to rely solely on instinct and timing.
At first, he stumbled often — cutting too early, missing his chance. But over time, his movements sharpened. His footwork steadied. He learned to read the defense, to anticipate rotations, to sense when the moment was right.
He still had weaknesses — his mid-range shots were inconsistent, and his defensive rotations lagged — but Ake didn't mind.
His goal wasn't perfection. It was balance.
To minimize flaws, to sharpen what worked — that was enough.
This way, there won't be any problems.
Ake watched from the sidelines, arms crossed, analyzing silently.
Soon, all that would be left was to wait for the real games to begin.
Days passed quickly.
May 15th arrived — the morning air already carrying a hint of summer heat.
"I'm back!"
A loud voice suddenly broke through the steady rhythm of practice.
Everyone turned to look.
Aida Hikoichi burst through the doors, panting heavily, his forehead glistening with sweat, his cheeks flushed from running. He held a rolled-up paper high in one hand, grinning ear to ear.
"The Kanagawa prefecture teams groups are out!" he shouted, his voice echoing across the gym.
Instantly, the atmosphere changed.
Every player stopped what they were doing.
All eyes were on the paper.
Who would they face first?
Would they meet Kainan or Shoyo early?
The questions burned in everyone's minds.
Coach Taoka Moichi stood to the side, arms crossed, trying to appear calm — but his eyes betrayed him, fixed on the paper in Hikoichi's hand.
"Post it up so everyone can see," he ordered.
"Got it!" Hikoichi quickly unrolled the paper and pinned it to the whiteboard.
As the paper spread open, it felt like the curtain was rising on a new season.
Within seconds, players crowded around the board, three rows deep, eyes scanning the matchups like hawks.
"This year, there are a total of 264 high schools participating in the Kanagawa prefecture inter high tournament," Hikoichi announced, sounding almost like a commentator.
"Everyone's been divided into four groups — A, B, C, and D — with 66 schools in each. We're in Group C."
"264 schools?!" Koshino Hiroaki's eyes went wide. "Wasn't it just around two hundred last year? Why so many this time?"
Ikegami Ryoji rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Probably because a lot of schools strengthened their teams. Looks like they're confident this year."
"The competition's gonna be fierce…" Uekusa muttered, staring at the dense list. "Even just in Group C, there could be plenty of hidden dark horses."
Hikoichi pointed to the lower corner of the board. "Still, our luck's not bad. The top four from last year are all in different groups."
"Kainan's in Group A, Shoyo in Group B, Takezato in Group D, and we — Ryonan — are in Group C."
Everyone let out a breath of relief.
At least there'd be no early death matches against the strongest.
"But," Hikoichi continued, lowering his voice theatrically, "this year's different. Since there were way more entries than expected, the organizers made a last-minute change…"
He paused, grinning. "They've increased the qualifying spots from two to three."
The team erupted in murmurs of surprise.
"Which means," he added, "the top three teams in each group advance to the national league."
Their eyes lit up — even Sendoh's calm expression flickered with excitement.
Three spots.
That one change meant they now had a real shot — not just to qualify, but to dominate.
Coach Taoka Moichi's eyes gleamed sharply. For the first time in a long while, he could feel opportunity close enough to touch.
"The door's open," he muttered under his breath.
"Kawanobe…" Uozumi read from the board. "That's our first opponent?"
"Kawanobe High?" Koshino frowned. "Never heard of them. Are they even from Kanagawa?"
Ikegami shrugged. "Probably some unknown school. Doesn't matter — we'll crush them anyway."
Hikoichi scratched his head apologetically. "Sorry, there were so many teams this year that I haven't gotten around to researching them yet…"
"It's fine." Koshino waved it off. "We'll find out soon enough."
Coach Taoka finally spoke, his tone measured but heavy with purpose.
"Last year's top teams were Kainan — sixteen years in a row at nationals — and Shoyo, always chasing right behind them. Now that there's one more qualifying spot, our goal is clear."
He looked around the room, voice deepening. "We'll have to beat either Kainan or Shoyo to get through."
The gym fell silent.
Just hearing those names was enough to make any Kanagawa team tense up.
Kainan — sixteen consecutive national appearances, a top-four finisher last year, and led by the powerhouse Maki Shinichi.
They were like a mountain looming over all of Kanagawa.
The weight of that reality settled over everyone — until Ake's calm voice cut through it.
"From the preliminaries to the finals," he said, his tone flat but commanding, "there will be no surprises."
He looked at his teammates, his mismatched eyes glinting like fire and ice under the lights.
"Don't overthink. No matter who the opponent is — we crush them."
His gaze finally settled on the word Finals printed at the center of the schedule.
"Because in the end," he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips, "only us will stand at the top."
Coach Taoka nodded, pride flickering in his eyes.
"That's right. As long as we keep that mindset, no opponent will stop us."
"Yes!" the team roared in unison.