"Ryonan… Ryonan… Ryonan…"
"Sendoh… Sendoh… Sendoh…"
"Ippon Nari… Ippon Nari…"
"Ake-kun… go for it!"
The cheers inside the gymnasium rolled like crashing waves. The crowd's roar surged almost entirely toward Ryonan's side, overwhelming everything else.
By comparison, the shouts for "Ippon Nari" were faint—like a candle flickering in the wind, snuffed out in an instant.
And yet, within that sea of noise, one voice stood out.
Clear. Steady. Piercing.
"Ake-kun… go for it!"
It wasn't loud, but it cut through the chaos like a silver needle, threading its way directly into Ake's ears as he stood calmly on the sidelines.
His eyes flickered. Slowly, he turned his head toward the source of that voice.
Thanks to his sharp perception, he locked onto it instantly.
In a corner of the stands sat Rukia—like a single blooming flower amid a field of green.
She wore the distinctive uniform of Ryonan High School's press club. Her slightly wavy hair framed a face with eyes as vivid as a painting.
She waved at him enthusiastically, her smile bright and unrestrained.
In her other hand, she held an expensive-looking camera.
A rare smile curved Ake's lips.
But that moment created an odd contrast on the court.
Both teams stood at the entrances of their respective tunnels, staring each other down, tension thick in the air.
Every player radiated fighting spirit and focus.
Only Ake seemed detached—his gaze fixed not on his opponents, but on the stands.
Click.
A soft shutter sound broke through the crowd's noise.
Rukia lightly pressed the shutter, capturing that brief, rare expression through her lens.
The moment was sealed forever.
Naturally, the Ippon Nari players noticed this strange scene.
"Damn it…" Hojo Ichiro glared at Ake, who hadn't even looked their way. His fists clenched tightly, voice full of anger. "Is that guy… looking down on us?"
Kazama Tooru placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hojo, don't let it get to you."
"But—"
"Enough."
A deep, steady voice cut him off.
Sasaki Shouta turned, his sharp gaze sweeping over his teammates. His tone was calm, but carried unmistakable authority. "Focus on what we have to do. Forget everything else. Let's go."
He walked toward their bench, his team following in silence.
On the other side, Ryonan's players did the same.
Ake withdrew his gaze from the stands, his expression unreadable.
Without a word, he led the team toward the bench, each step measured and deliberate.
As everyone settled in, Coach Taoka Moichi finally spoke, his voice low but firm.
"Today's opponent isn't like the weak teams we've faced before. They may not be top-tier, but we can't afford to underestimate them."
He paused, his eyes flicking briefly toward Ake.
He wanted to send him in to stabilize the team—but then glanced at Sendoh and changed his mind.
"That's all. For the details, follow Ake's instructions," Coach Taoka said, sitting down again.
"Yes!" the team replied in unison, voices sharp and steady.
Following Ake's lead had long since become a habit.
At that moment, Ake stepped forward—his calm presence spreading like storm clouds gathering in silence.
His voice wasn't loud, but it carried an edge that cut through the buzz of the crowd.
"The starting lineup remains unchanged."
He paused, his gaze locking onto each player in turn. "If adjustments are needed, I'll call a timeout."
No extra words. No wasted breath.
But the quiet confidence in his tone made everyone feel it— With him there, nothing could shake them.
Ippon Nari Bench
Their coach stood before them—an older man, not tall, but solid, exuding the quiet authority of someone who had seen countless battles.
He gripped the tactical board tightly, his sharp eyes scanning the faces of his young, tense players.
"Today's opponent is Ryonan," he began, voice deep and powerful, every word landing like a hammer. "They're not just strong—they were one of last year's top four in Kanagawa."
He paused, letting the weight of that sink in.
"This year, they've won three straight games by over a hundred points. Their momentum is enormous."
The players' breathing grew heavier.
"So don't underestimate them. Don't let them control the pace, and whatever you do—don't try to match them head-on. Avoid direct confrontations as much as possible."
The players straightened up, answering firmly in unison. "Yes, sir!"
But as the coach turned to glance at Ryonan's bench, his eyes suddenly froze.
There, sitting calmly among the team, was a red-haired first-year—surrounded by the main players, speaking to them with composed authority.
A pre-game talk?
The coach's pupils contracted.
That's him… the rumored first-year captain of Ryonan?
He'd heard of it before—but seeing it in person was different.
There was no trace of immaturity in Ake's posture, no hint of youthful restlessness.
Instead, he carried himself with the composure of a veteran who'd fought through countless matches.
The Ippon Nari coach's chest tightened.
He'd seen many talented players over the years—but never a first-year who radiated such presence.
It was almost… demonic.
Soon after, both teams finished their warm-ups and gathered at center court.
The air buzzed with tension.
Uozumi Jun, towering at 202 cm, stood like a mountain, muscles coiled like steel cables.
Across from him, Sasaki Shouta, 193 cm, felt a wave of pressure pressing down on him.
It wasn't just size—it was an aura built from years of fierce competition.
So tall… Sasaki thought, unconsciously straightening his back.
But he didn't retreat. His eyes sharpened, like a blade being drawn.
"Basketball isn't just about height," he muttered. "Let me see for myself… what makes a top-four team in Kanagawa."
Then, looking directly at Uozumi, he called out, "I heard your captain's a first-year?"
Uozumi paused, then snorted. "So what?"
Sasaki didn't take offense. A faint smile touched his lips, curiosity glinting in his eyes.
"Nothing, just wondering," he said lightly. "To be a first-year captain, he must be quite something."
Uozumi's tone was low and steady. "No need to look for him. If you want our captain to play—earn it."
The air froze.
The Ippon Nari players' faces stiffened.
But Sasaki only smiled, fire burning in his eyes.
"I see… that's a pity," he said softly. "I really wanted to see what kind of captain leads a top-four team."
The referee stepped forward, basketball in hand, and looked around the court.
Ryonan stood calm and steady.
Ippon Nari, tense and focused.
The atmosphere ignited.
Beep!
The referee's whistle sliced through the noise, silencing the crowd.
He tossed the basketball high into the air—
—and the match began.
Whoosh!
Both centers leapt at once, their bodies springing upward with explosive power.
Under the lights, the orange ball hung suspended like a sun between them.
Uozumi's sharp eyes locked on the target, arm fully extended, fingertips about to reach it—
but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sasaki rising beside him, nearly shoulder to shoulder.
'What?!'
His heart jolted.
The Ippon Nari captain, though shorter, had leapt nearly as high as him.
'Not bad,' Uozumi thought.
But he wouldn't be outdone.
He drew on his core strength, straightening his back and whipping his arm upward again.
Smack!
His palm met the ball first, tipping it cleanly toward Ryonan's backcourt.
Sasaki landed, steady and composed, eyes following the ball's flight.
No frustration—only quiet admiration.
So this is the strength of one of Kanagawa's top centers, he thought, respect deepening.
Ryonan took possession, launching into a lightning-fast counterattack.
Uekusa Tomoyuki caught the ball and drove forward, steps light but fierce.
Sendoh set a screen like a wall, cutting off Kazama Tooru's pursuit.
With a quick crossover, Uekusa slipped around the pick and charged straight into Ippon Nari's defense.
"Stop him!" Sasaki roared, collapsing toward the basket, spreading his arms like an iron gate.
From the wing, Nagumo Kentaro darted in, ready to intercept.
But Uekusa's lips curved. He had already anticipated it.
Just as Nagumo reached him, Uekusa flicked his wrist—a sharp bounce pass sliced across the paint, heading straight for Koshino Hiroaki on the opposite side.
"Damn it!"
Nagumo's eyes widened. He'd fallen for it. Uekusa's drive was just bait.
He skidded to a halt, sneakers screeching, and spun around—
—but it was too late.
Koshino had already caught the pass.
Without hesitation, he rose and released the shot.
His form was crisp, decisive.
Nagumo leapt desperately, fingertips grazing air.
Whoosh—
The ball arced high and swished cleanly through the net.
Swish!
Ryonan 3 – 0 Ippon Nari.
Nagumo froze, staring at the gently swaying net, frustration boiling inside.
If only he'd reacted faster…
Kazama jogged up, giving his shoulder a firm pat. "Don't space out. It's just one shot—we'll take it back next play."
Nagumo nodded, forcing his focus to return.
The game pressed on.
Offense and defense switched.