Drip…
The whistle blew.
The first half ended.
The numbers on the scoreboard froze at 54–32.
Ryonan had gone on an 8–0 run in the final two minutes, extending their lead to twenty-two points.
But despite that comfortable lead, the Ryonan players walking off the court didn't look pleased. Their faces were grim, their steps heavy — frustration burned quietly in their eyes.
Ryonan Locker Room
Koshino Hiroaki gulped down a few mouthfuls of water, then slammed the bottle to the floor with a roar.
"Those Miuradai bastards—using such dirty tactics!"
His side still throbbed painfully, the skin burning. If not for a shred of restraint, he might've already charged out to confront those thugs.
Ikegami Ryoji sat on the bench, rubbing his shoulder, muttering through clenched teeth.
"Playing like this… it's suffocating. I really want to give them a taste of their own medicine."
Sendoh leaned against the wall, his calm gaze drifting toward the silent Uekusa Tomoyuki.
"Uekusa… you alright?"
Uekusa lowered his head, his fingers unconsciously rubbing his right wrist. He simply nodded.
"I'm fine."
His voice was soft, but beneath it lingered a shadow of suppressed anger.
After a pause, he lifted his head, glancing toward Uozumi in the corner.
"You should be more worried about Uozumi-senpai… his arm."
Everyone followed his gaze — and froze.
Uozumi's forearm was covered in deep purple bruises. The most striking mark ran from his elbow to his wrist, red and raw, with faint scratches along its edge — as if someone had clawed at him.
The room fell silent.
Koshino shot to his feet, fury blazing in his eyes.
"No way. I'm going to find the referee and report those Miuradai bastards! This isn't basketball anymore — it's assault! They should be suspended!"
He turned toward the door, but a low, calm voice stopped him.
"There's no need."
Ake, who had been quiet all this time, slowly stood up. His tone was steady, but his presence filled the room.
"Even if you go now, it won't change anything. Once the referee makes a call, they rarely overturn it."
Koshino clenched his fists, his voice trembling with frustration.
"But we can't just let them get away with it!"
Ake didn't reply. His sharp gaze swept over Uozumi, Uekusa, and the rest — finally landing on Uekusa.
"Uekusa, you're sitting out the second half."
"Huh?"
Uekusa blinked, startled. His brows furrowed as if piecing together Ake's intent — then his eyes widened.
"Captain… you're going to play?"
The words hit the room like a dropped stone.
Everyone turned toward Ake, the red-haired figure standing silently under the locker room lights.
He stood tall, broad-shouldered, his expression unreadable — calm to the point of intimidation.
Those heterochromatic eyes, gold and crimson, gleamed faintly, radiating quiet pressure that made the air itself feel heavy.
"…It's been a while since I've moved," he murmured, flexing his wrist. His knuckles cracked softly. A faint smirk curved his lips.
"I'll remind them what it means to respect their seniors."
As his words faded, a chill rippled through the room.
In those mismatched eyes, the colors swirled like twin vortexes — deep, consuming, and merciless.
The Ryonan players stared in stunned silence.
At that moment, time itself seemed to pause.
Miuradai Locker Room
The air was heavy — thick and humid like a soaked towel.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, reflecting off the sweat on every player's face.
"Damn it… we're down twenty points," Hiroshi Takatsu groaned, slumping onto the bench with his hands on his knees.
From the corner came the soft crunch of a plastic bottle being crushed.
"Hey, don't look so hopeless," Kengo Murasame said, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His brow furrowed slightly, but his tone was casual. "It's just twenty points."
He swept his gaze across his teammates, his voice low and steady.
"If we stop Ryonan from playing their game, victory's still ours."
No sooner had he spoken than a deep voice rumbled from the back of the room.
"Do I need to play?"
Everyone turned. The speaker was a tall, bald young man with a powerful build — Naito Tetsuya, Miuradai's secret weapon.
He stood up slowly, his sheer presence pressing down on the room like a physical weight. His eyes burned, eerie and sharp, like twin flames.
"I'll crush every single one of those Ryonan players," he said with absolute certainty — as if his words alone could make it happen.
Kengo Murasame was silent for a moment, then smiled faintly.
"You're our trump card. It's not time yet."
He added firmly, "Your goal is to take down the champions — Kainan. Not waste your debut here."
Naito hesitated, then nodded. The explanation made sense.
After all, Ryonan was strong — but they weren't the final target.
In the Stands
"They're leading Miuradai by twenty points…" Kogure adjusted his glasses, eyes fixed on the scoreboard. "As expected of Ryonan."
"That's not the point," Mitsui muttered. "They must be furious right now."
Ayako nodded, frowning slightly.
"Right… except for Sendoh, every time a Ryonan player touches the ball, they're getting targeted. Hidden fouls, little hits the refs can't see — it's wearing them down."
"Miuradai's playstyle is disgusting," Miyagi said flatly, his face full of contempt.
"Yeah," Sakuragi snorted, crossing his arms. "Cheap tricks like that… despicable."
Takenori Akagi — watching quietly — said in his deep voice,
"Miuradai's reputation is well known. Now… let's see how Ryonan responds."
Halftime passed quickly.
Drip…
The whistle blew again.
The second half began.
Both teams returned to the court — but the energy had changed.
The once-boisterous stands quieted slightly, countless eyes turning toward one figure.
The red-haired newcomer.
"Ryonan made a substitution."
"Who is that guy? I've never seen him."
"Didn't he stand in front of them before the match? Maybe he's their captain?"
"Wait—Ryonan's captain is a first-year, right? Is that him?"
"Look at his hair—it's so bright!"
"And those eyes… two colors. Weird, but beautiful."
Whispers spread through the crowd like wildfire.
Fujima Kenji and Hanagata Toru both turned their heads, eyes locking on the red-haired figure walking calmly onto the court.
"So he's finally playing," Fujima murmured, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Hanagata adjusted his glasses, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"Hmph… let's see just how strong Ryonan's freshman captain really is."
Meanwhile, on Shohoku's bench, tension rippled through the team.
"It's Ake… he's actually going in," Kogure said in surprise.
He'd assumed Ake would continue commanding from the sidelines, not take the court himself.
Sakuragi's eyes widened, his fists tightening until his knuckles popped.
The memory of being faked out — humiliated — flashed vividly in his mind.
"Damn it… that bastard," he muttered.
Rukawa Kaede's lazy expression disappeared. His eyes sharpened, his body straightened.
He said nothing — but the focused glint in his gaze said everything.
Even Mitsui and Miyagi, who had never faced Ake directly, leaned forward.
'Was this the player everyone whispered about — the one whose presence could change the entire game?'
On the Court
Ake stepped onto the court unhurriedly. His movements were calm but carried weight — each step echoing like a heartbeat.
The sound of his sneakers wasn't loud, but the quiet gym seemed to hold its breath.
The Miuradai players noticed him immediately. Their expressions shifted — some surprised, some wary, some trying to hide unease behind forced smirks.
Kengo Murasame stood near the free-throw line, hands on his hips, smirking.
"Oh? The old man finally can't stand it anymore? Sending a rookie to take his place?"
Ake walked past him without so much as a glance.
As their shoulders brushed, his low, steady voice cut through the air like a blade.
"You talk too much."
Kengo froze. He turned sharply — but Ake had already passed, his voice calm, deliberate, and cold.
"People who make the most noise usually lack real strength."
The gym fell silent for a heartbeat.
Ake reached the baseline, turned, and faced him.
His arms hung loosely at his sides, those golden and crimson eyes gleaming beneath the lights — deep, cold, and unyielding.
"Know your place," he said quietly.
"It's the smartest thing you can do right now."