Ippon Nari's offense began.
Kazama Tooru calmly dribbled the ball past half court, his steps steady and unhurried.
The rhythmic thump-thump of the basketball echoed through the gym, each bounce sharp and controlled.
He bent his knees slightly, lowering his center of gravity. His eyes swept the frontcourt like a hawk's, scanning every movement, every gap in Ryonan's defense.
Just past the centerline, small forward Aoi Tsuyoshi made his move.
He faked toward the baseline, then abruptly changed direction—his right shoulder dipped, his left foot pushed off, and he cut diagonally toward Ryonan's right corner like an arrow loosed from a bow.
His steps were light yet sharp, the squeak of his sneakers slicing through the noise.
Sendoh caught the motion instantly. His gaze sharpened.
Instead of rushing to intercept, he slid sideways, positioning his body to block Aoi's potential route. His right arm extended naturally, his left hand subtly raised to intercept a pass, and his nimble footwork mirrored Aoi's rhythm perfectly—like a living wall that moved with its target.
On the opposite side, Miyazawa Hideaki struggled against Ikegami Ryoji's tight defense. Ikegami shadowed his every move, his stance low, his arms wide, sealing off every possible passing lane.
Kazama Tooru, still at the top of the arc, frowned slightly. He shifted as if to move to the wing for a clearer view—
But Uekusa Tomoyuki suddenly darted in from the weak side. His steps cut sharply through the defense, fast as a knife through paper. In an instant, he was in front of Kazama, reaching for the steal.
Kazama reacted instantly. His heel barely touched the floor before his body twisted smoothly, the ball switching from right to left hand in one seamless motion.
Uekusa lunged at air. His fingertips brushed nothing but wind, and the force of his momentum carried him half a step forward, nearly throwing him off balance.
He quickly recovered, lowering his body again, his eyes locked on Kazama's hands. But the chance for a clean steal was gone.
'Huh?'
Uekusa's heart gave a small jolt.
This wasn't what he expected. Normally, when he made that sudden cut to help defend, most point guards would panic—either picking up their dribble too fast or fumbling a desperate crossover. That's when the flaws showed.
But this guy—Kazama Tooru—was calm. Effortlessly calm. His hand switch was precise, his movement fluid, as if he'd already predicted where Uekusa would come from.
What unsettled Uekusa even more was Kazama's expression—completely still, eyes steady and unshaken.
He suddenly remembered what Aida Hikoichi had said before the game:
"Kazama Tooru has twice the normal player's court vision."
So that's it.
Uekusa's gaze hardened. He stopped forcing the steal, lowering his stance instead. His knees bent like coiled springs, hands spread wide, fingers twitching slightly—ready to pounce the moment Kazama made a mistake.
Kazama continued to dribble calmly. The ball bounced low and tight, each rhythm perfectly controlled, each return landing precisely in his palm.
Thump… thump… thump…
"Here!" Nagumo Kentaro suddenly burst free, lowering his shoulder to slip half a step past Koshino Hiroaki's defense. He cut diagonally toward the top of the arc, raising his hand to call for the pass.
Kazama's eyes flicked toward him. His right arm lifted—then feinted. The motion was crisp and deceptive, the basketball nearly leaving his hand.
Uekusa reacted fast, sliding sideways to block the passing lane, his toes pivoting, ready to jump and intercept.
But the very next instant, Kazama's wrist retracted. The fake vanished.
He pushed off hard with his left foot and sliced sideways, switching the ball from right to left hand, cutting past Uekusa's outside shoulder in a sudden, lightning-fast move.
'A feint?!'
Uekusa's pupils shrank. His balance was off—his weight still on the wrong foot. He tried to recover, but Kazama had already blown past him, gliding by like a gust of wind.
Kazama's dribble didn't break once. He slipped past the three-point line, steps light, control absolute.
Under the basket, Uozumi immediately tensed. His shoulders squared, muscles coiled, eyes sharp as blades as he scanned every possible passing target.
Nagumo was locked by Koshino. Kazama had the ball. Sasaki Shouta was lurking inside.
Every one of them was a potential threat.
Uozumi didn't move. Not yet. His body was like a drawn bow—taut, waiting for the right moment.
Then, in a flash, Sasaki made his move.
He backed down first, then spun, pushing off the baseline with his right foot. His left shoulder dipped, and he slashed diagonally into the paint, coming from Uozumi's blind spot. His arm shot up—calling for the pass.
Uozumi's eyes narrowed, his focus locking in—
—and just then, Nagumo Kentaro suddenly exploded into motion.
He cut hard along the three-point line, charging toward the opposite baseline. His sudden burst ripped a hole through Ryonan's defensive formation.
Koshino froze for a fraction of a second—caught off guard by the unexpected reverse cut—then instinctively gave chase, but he was half a beat too slow.
The moment Nagumo took off, Kazama's wrist flicked.
The basketball flew low and fast, slicing through the air like an arrow. It hit the exact spot one step ahead of Nagumo's sprinting line.
Nagumo caught it without breaking stride. The ball practically delivered itself into his palm.
One powerful step outside the arc, and he rose into the air.
Jump—raise—release—all in one fluid motion.
His body leaned back slightly, his wrist snapped, and the ball rolled off his fingertips. The whole move was clean, natural, and sharp.
Behind him, Koshino looked up just in time to see the shot leave his hand.
'He's shooting already?!'
The ball arced high—
Swish!
Straight through the net.
Ryonan 3 – Ippon Nari 3.
Koshino stared at Nagumo's back, his expression darkening. The casual smirk on his face had long disappeared.
This opponent… wasn't simple.
"Nice shot, Nagumo," Kazama said, running up and giving him a solid high-five.
Nagumo grinned, eyes bright. "Keep feeding me! I'm on fire today. And…"
He glanced sideways at Koshino, a smirk tugging at his lips. "…the guy guarding me doesn't seem that strong."
Koshino's head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. "What did you just say?"
He was being looked down on.
Unforgivable.
Even an uncle could endure it—but an aunt could not.
Ryonan's players exchanged knowing glances.
Uekusa quietly stepped beside Koshino and whispered, "Don't mind him. I'll get you the ball next. Make him regret those words."
Koshino inhaled deeply, steadying himself. He nodded. "Got it."
When he looked up again, his eyes were no longer filled with anger—but with icy focus.
The game continued.
Ryonan struck back like a brewing storm.
As soon as Uekusa initiated the counter, Koshino cut sharply from the baseline, using Sendoh's screen at the elbow to shake free. In seconds, he'd created half a court of space.
Uekusa didn't hesitate. His arms lifted, and the ball soared across the entire court like a guided missile.
Koshino met it perfectly, catching the pass in stride.
Ippon Nari's defense hadn't even reset. Koshino was already in the air—jump, raise, release.
The shot flew.
Swish.
The net rippled cleanly, the ball falling straight through without touching the rim.
Ryonan 6 – Ippon Nari 3.
The counterattack hit like a sudden punch, catching Ippon Nari off guard.
What stunned them most wasn't just the speed—but Koshino's precision.
Smooth jump. Quick release. Perfect arc. Clean finish.
He landed softly and turned, his gaze locking on Nagumo, a smirk curling his lips. "Hey, kid—who was it you said wasn't strong again?"
Nagumo raised an eyebrow, half amused. "This guy… really holds grudges."
From then on, the game became a long-range duel.
Kazama and Uekusa alternated orchestrating the offense—one calm and calculating, the other sharp and decisive.
Nagumo and Koshino turned the court into a battlefield of threes, firing back and forth like rival snipers.
Swish. Nagumo hit from the left corner.
Swish. Koshino answered from the right wing.
Swish. Nagumo pulled up from the top of the arc, ignoring Ikegami's closeout.
Swish. Sendoh drove and kicked—Koshino caught in the corner and buried another.
Each clean shot rang out like a drumbeat, shaking the gym.
The crowd's cheers surged higher and higher.
The scoreboard ticked relentlessly—
9 to 9.
15 to 15.
21 to 21…
And then—
Clang!
The sharp sound of metal echoed through the arena.
The ball smacked the front rim and bounced high, spinning wildly toward the baseline.
The fierce three-point shootout that had lasted several minutes—finally broke its rhythm.