Second quarter.
Souta kept his rhythm steady, hitting 5 of 8 shots for another 10 points in the quarter.
With him leading the pace, Hozumi Academy played loose and confident. By halftime, they were up 52–39, a comfortable 13-point lead.
That's when people started to realize—something was off.
On the big screen, and even in the TV broadcast, the halftime MVP was revealed.
It wasn't Ota.
It was the guy who looked like a defense-first player—Souta.
His halftime stats read: 20 points, 6 rebounds, 8 assists, 3 blocks, and 3 steals.
When the numbers popped up, fans were practically blinded.
"Twenty, six, and eight?!"
"And three blocks and three steals?!"
"Wait—did he even do that much on offense?"
"Hold on, did he even shoot that often? I could've sworn he barely took any shots!"
"Wasn't he just defending the whole time? Isn't he supposed to be doing the dirty work? How the hell is he the leading scorer?"
"I swear I barely saw him shoot! Where did all those points even come from?"
"…"
The fans were dazed.
Everyone had assumed Ota was the MVP—after all, he'd absolutely destroyed Yamaguchi High's center in the first half.
He'd gone 5-for-8 for 12 points, solid numbers that met everyone's expectations.
But the problem was—Souta's stats crushed his.
Even as a center, Ota had only grabbed 5 rebounds. Souta had more.
Listening to the chatter, Souta couldn't help but chuckle inwardly.
This era didn't even have "box-out forwards" yet.
All it took was a bit of convincing, and Ota totally bought it. Souta told him it made more sense to seal off opponents instead of fighting head-on for rebounds—after all, that was way easier.
Second half.
Souta went right back to picking on Asakura.
Yamaguchi High didn't send extra defenders to help him this time.
They'd tried that in the second quarter—and paid for it, when Hozumi's offense flourished under Souta's passing.
Souta caught the ball in the low post, backing Asakura down.
Asakura's mind was racing.
Is he gonna go one-on-one? Or pass it out?
He couldn't read Souta at all.
And just as he hesitated, Souta spun and released a smooth hook shot.
Low arc, quick release—classic Duncan-style hook. Stable even under contact.
Swish!
By the time Asakura turned, the ball was already sinking through the net.
Unguardable.
Completely unguardable.
Against Souta, he felt like a toy—helplessly at his mercy.
Next possession.
After holding back for over a quarter, Asakura finally snapped.
Repeatedly getting toyed with had shredded his composure.
Using a teammate's screen, he cut hard into the lane.
Ota stepped in to help, but Asakura twisted midair, pulling off a smooth acrobatic layup—
—only for Souta to explode up from behind, sending the ball flying into the baseline stands and knocking Asakura two meters backward with the impact.
It was a total domination.
Asakura was completely destroyed.
He hit the floor and didn't get up for a while.
When his teammates rushed over to help, they saw nothing but confusion in his eyes.
There are a lot of "geniuses" in basketball—at least according to fans. One flashy play and they'll call you a prodigy with limitless potential.
But real geniuses?
They're like a dark firefly in the night—impossible to miss from the very first spark.
This game was already decided.
Souta had dismantled everything. Yamaguchi High's ambition crumbled under sheer, undeniable strength.
When the final buzzer sounded—
108–81.
Hozumi Academy won their first round of the prefectural tournament by 27 points.
Cheers and sighs filled the arena as both teams walked off.
The cheers were for Hozumi Academy—and for Kasugano, who posted a triple-double: 34 points, 10 rebounds, 10 assists.
The sighs belonged to Yamaguchi High.
They'd spent a year training for a shot at the Nationals, only to crash out in the first round. Some third-years couldn't hold back their tears.
Asakura didn't cry. He just sat there, hollow-eyed, questioning his entire existence.
"Good work out there!"
"But don't get cocky—the real test hasn't even started yet!"
"Stay humble. Feed that hunger. Our goal isn't just the prefectural title—it's the national crown!"
Coach Oten was giving one of his fiery locker room speeches.
Whether or not they could actually do it was irrelevant—yelling about it was free.
Afterward, Souta left the gym.
Sora, along with Kazuha Migiwa and the others, were waiting outside.
They'd planned to celebrate—Souta's "revival match victory," as Kazuha called it… well, not in those exact words, but close enough.
Although now that she thought about it—when had she become so close with Souta, anyway?
Was it back when he decided to quit basketball?
Maybe because she'd given up her viola too, she'd felt a strange kinship with him.
But now...
Watching his back as he walked ahead, Kazuha felt a pang of emotion she couldn't quite name.
Souta, of course, had no idea what was going through her head.
He just wanted to get home as soon as possible and play Genshin Impact—
Wait, no.
Start the simulation.
After grabbing a quick bite, he and Sora headed home together.
As for Haruka, the "gentle" one, Yorihime Nao had already dragged him off.
"All you do is fuck around… your brain's gonna rot one of these days."
Souta muttered a curse under his breath and got on the train with Sora.
She seemed like she wanted to say something—opened her mouth a few times, then closed it again.
He didn't press her.
Girls were complicated enough. Sora even more so.
Her whole world had always been just the two of them.
"…Souta."
She finally spoke.
"That rich girl—you and her, what's your relationship?"
By "rich girl," she obviously meant Kazuha Migiwa.
"We're friends."
"Just friends? I've never seen you get along with any other girl like that."
"You're a girl too, aren't you? Or are you secretly a guy in disguise?"
You're comparing me to other girls?
Sora's eyes flashed, anger bubbling up. She stomped on his foot—hard.
He didn't even flinch.
After all these years, he'd practically trained his legs into steel.
"Don't lump me in with other girls!"