The Kanagawa Prefecture preliminaries were still in full swing.
It was the third day.
The morning sun slanted into the gymnasium. Though the air still carried a hint of coolness, the atmosphere on the sidelines was already heavy—thick with the lingering shock from the previous two days of "massacres."
Today, Ryonan faced Yanagishita High School.
A team that could barely be considered "lower-middle tier" in the prefecture, Yanagishita had once reached the top sixteen, but never truly threatened the top eight.
Their playstyle was pragmatic—focused on defense and teamwork—but they lacked star players, relying instead on crisp passes and outside shooting for offense.
However, against the current Ryonan, even those "advantages" seemed meaningless from the very first whistle.
Ryonan played with the same rhythm as their last two games.
Ake Ryu sat on the bench—arms crossed, back straight, expression serious yet indifferent.
From the start, it was a one-sided domination.
Sendoh controlled the tempo, Uozumi anchored the paint, and Uekusa Tomoyuki and Koshino Hiroaki formed an iron perimeter. Every successful stop turned instantly into a lightning-fast counterattack that tore through Yanagishita's defense like paper.
Yanagishita's players scrambled to get back, but by the time they reached the three-point line, the ball was already in the net.
One player would finish a difficult shot, turn around—and see Ryonan already scoring a layup on the other end.
Their tactics, positioning, and help defense were all rendered useless.
By halftime, the scoreboard read 78 to 20.
In the second half, Yanagishita tried to adapt, subbing in two point guards to speed up the pace. But Ryonan's suffocating defense forced five straight turnovers. During one fast break, Fukuda Kiccho caught a long pass from Sendo in midair and slammed down a one-handed tomahawk dunk that made the backboard hum.
That was the breaking point—Yanagishita's morale collapsed completely.
When the final buzzer sounded, the score was fixed at 139 to 36—a difference of exactly 103 points.
Ryonan had achieved their second consecutive 100-point victory.
The gym fell silent.
No cheers. No applause. Only the steady clicking of cameras from the press box, capturing this absurd yet undeniable reality.
The Fourth Day
The flames of the Kanagawa preliminaries continued to burn, and everyone's attention, by now, was focused entirely on Ryonan's bracket.
Their next opponent: Hirai High School—a traditionally slow-paced team ranked near the bottom of the prefecture, with not a single starter over 185 cm tall.
Before tip-off, murmurs spread among the spectators.
"Will Ryonan finally cool off?"
"After two straight 100-point games, they've got to relax a bit, right?"
But as soon as the game began, the answer was brutally clear.
Ake Ryu still sat on the bench, arms crossed, calm and unreadable.
Sendoh ran the floor, Uozumi dominated the paint like a fortress, and Uekusa and Koshino sealed the perimeter. During rotations, Fukuda Kiccho and Aida Hikoichi repeatedly scored on blistering fast breaks.
Every defensive stop turned into a counterattack—fast, precise, ruthless.
Hirai High tried to set up an offense, only to commit a five-second violation before even passing half-court.
When they finally grabbed an offensive rebound, Uozumi swatted it away.
A desperate outside shot was met by Sendoh's thunderous chase-down block.
By halftime, it was 80 to 22.
In the second half, Ryonan began running complex pick-and-roll rotations, treating their opponents like live practice dummies.
When the final whistle blew, the scoreboard showed 145 to 42—another 103-point difference.
Three straight wins by over 100 points.
From Kawanobe, Shichikubo, and Yanagishita to today's Hirai—four teams with different playstyles, all crushed without exception.
The news spread like wildfire.
The strong teams that had once scoffed at Ryonan were now sending scouts and coaches to witness their next match firsthand.
Time flew, and soon, Ryonan's fifth opponent arrived—Ippon Nari High School.
Ryonan Locker Room
The lights were dim, the air thick with sweat and the faint scent of sports spray.
The players sat in silence—some lacing their shoes, some stretching, others lost in thought.
Only Aida Hikoichi stood before the tactics board, a stack of notes in his hand, his voice low but steady.
"Before the game, I'll brief everyone on Ippon Nari's starting lineup."
He flipped a page and began reading.
"Captain Sasaki Shouta, third year, center, 193 cm, 88 kg. Strong rebounder and the team's emotional core.
Aoi Tsuyoshi, second year, small forward, 185 cm, 75 kg. Reliable mid-range shooter with strong team awareness.
Miyazawa Hideaki, second year, power forward, 188 cm, 82 kg. Excellent leaper, dangerous on fast breaks and put-backs.
Nagumo Kentaro, first year, shooting guard, 176 cm, 67 kg. Sharp three-point shooter, deadly off the dribble.
Kazama Tooru, second year, point guard, 172 cm, 63 kg. Excellent court vision and solid ball-handling."
Aida paused.
"That's their starting five... but there's one substitute worth noting."
The players glanced at him curiously.
"Hojo Ichiro. First-year, 181 cm, 70 kg. Plays both shooting guard and small forward. His defensive ability is nearly on par with their starters—in fact, on defense, he's even stronger."
Koshino crossed his arms, frowning.
"This Ippon Nari isn't simple. Their lineup's well-balanced, and even their bench has a defensive specialist. Looks like they're gunning for the top eight."
Ikegami Ryoji scoffed, spinning a basketball in his hands.
"So what? With our strength, it just means they'll last a few more possessions. The result won't change."
Uekusa gave him a sideways glance.
"Don't get careless. Remember what the captain said."
Ikegami froze, glancing up at Ake—whose calm, piercing eyes made him instantly straighten.
"Ha... haha, of course I'm serious! Me? Not focused? Never! Totally serious!"
Sendoh walked up to Ake.
"You're still not planning to play?"
Ake's voice was calm, almost detached.
"Not this time. This opponent's stronger than the last, but your strength is more than enough."
Sendoh sighed and shrugged.
"Alright, alright..."
Ever since they met again after middle school, Sendoh had noticed something different about him.
Back then, Ake burned with an untamed fighting spirit—a wild hunger to crush everything before him.
But now, he sat quietly... and somehow, it felt as if he commanded the entire court without moving.
Ippon Nari Locker Room
Tension hung in the air. Every breath felt heavy.
The players moved slowly—tightening shoes, adjusting pads, their faces betraying unease.
"Captain," Aoi Tsuyoshi muttered, "our opponent today... it's Ryonan. Things don't look good."
Nagumo clenched his fists.
"Three straight 100-point wins... they're monsters!"
Miyazawa frowned.
"They haven't even played their captain yet... can we really last?"
Silence.
Then a deep voice broke through it.
"Enough."
Sasaki Shouta rose to his full 193 cm height, towering over the room like a mountain.
His tone was firm, steady.
"Whether Ryonan's strong or weak—it doesn't matter. We can't change the schedule, and we can't avoid this game."
He looked around, eyes burning with resolve.
"But there's one thing we can decide: to give it everything we have. No matter how strong Ryonan is, Ippon Nari will never give up."
"Yes!" the team shouted in unison.
A knock at the door.
"Ippon Nari, please prepare to enter," said the referee's assistant.
Sasaki took a deep breath.
"Let's go."
On Ryonan's side, a similar knock echoed.
"Ryonan High School, please prepare to enter."
Ake slowly stood, adjusting his collar.
No fiery speech. No dramatic gestures.
Just two calm words, delivered like an order:
"Let's go."
"Yes!" the team roared back in unison.
Their footsteps echoed down the dim corridor—steady, powerful, like war drums.
Then came the clang of metal doors opening on both sides of the court.
From the left emerged Ryonan, moving like a disciplined army. Ake led the way, unhurried, his face serene and unreadable.
From the right, Ippon Nari entered—tense but determined.
The gym fell silent.
Every eye turned to the court.
The next battle had begun.