The Kanagawa Prefecture preliminaries entered their third day.
Morning sunlight slanted into the gymnasium, the air still carrying a trace of coolness, yet the atmosphere on the sidelines had grown increasingly heavy.
The reason was simple.
The aftershock of Ryonan's previous games had not faded.
Today's opponent was Yanagishita High School.
A team considered lower–middle tier in the prefecture. They had once reached the top sixteen but had never truly threatened the elite. Their style was practical—active defense, disciplined rotations, and an offense built on passing and outside shooting.
On paper, they were not weak.
But against the current Ryonan—
Those strengths collapsed from the moment the whistle blew.
Akashi Seijuro once again sat on the bench, arms crossed, posture straight, expression unreadable.
From the opening possession, the game became a one-sided push.
Sendoh controlled the rhythm.
Uozumi anchored the paint like an iron wall.
Uekusa and Koshino sealed the perimeter.
Every successful stop turned instantly into a fast break, slicing through Yanagishita's defense like lightning.
Yanagishita's players sprinted back desperately, yet the ball often kissed the net before they even reached the three-point line.
By halftime—
78 : 20.
In the second half, Yanagishita attempted adjustments, even deploying a dual–point guard lineup to speed up the offense.
It was useless.
Five consecutive turnovers.
One long outlet pass.
Fukuda Kiccho caught the ball midair and hammered down a one-handed tomahawk dunk, the backboard shuddering in response.
That moment broke them.
When the final whistle sounded, the scoreboard froze at:
139 : 36
A 103-point difference.
Silence swallowed the arena.
No cheers.
No applause.
Only the relentless clicking of camera shutters, recording a score that felt almost unreal.
Day Four
Ryonan's momentum did not slow.
Their opponent was Hirai High School—a traditional, slow-paced team, none of whose starters stood taller than 185 cm.
Before the game, murmurs spread among spectators.
After two straight 100-point blowouts, surely Ryonan would ease up… right?
The answer arrived instantly.
Akashi remained seated.
Sendoh dictated tempo.
Uozumi erased the paint.
Uekusa and Koshino suffocated the backcourt.
Fukuda and Aida Hikoichi scored repeatedly in transition.
Every possession felt mechanical—precise, ruthless, inevitable.
Hirai struggled to even initiate offense.
A five-second violation at half court.
A blocked put-back.
A chase-down block from Sendoh that slammed morale into the floor.
Halftime:
80 : 22
In the second half, Ryonan began running advanced pick-and-roll rotations—as if the opponent were merely a moving practice board.
Final score:
145 : 42
Another 103-point difference.
Three consecutive games.
Three demolitions.
The disbelief ended.
The fear began.
The Fifth Game
Ryonan's next opponent was Ippon Nari High School.
Unlike the previous teams, Ippon Nari was no sacrificial lamb.
A stable mid-tier powerhouse.
Top sixteen finishers last year.
Balanced offense, disciplined defense.
This was the first true test.
Ryonan Locker Room
The lights were dim.
The scent of sweat and sports spray lingered.
Aida Hikoichi stood before the tactics board, documents in hand, voice steady.
"Ippon Nari's starting lineup," he began.
"Sasaki Shouta—captain. Center. Third year. 193 cm, 88 kg. Strong rebounder. Emotional core of the team."
"Aoi Tsuyoshi—small forward. Solid mid-range shooter. Excellent team awareness."
"Miyazawa Hideaki—power forward. Athletic. Excels at put-backs and fast breaks."
"Nagumo Kentaro—first-year shooting guard. Extremely accurate from three, especially off the dribble."
"Kazama Tooru—point guard. Court vision above average. Reliable ball handling."
He paused.
"There's also a substitute—Hojo Ichiro. First year. Defensive specialist. Can guard multiple positions."
Koshino crossed his arms.
"They're aiming for top eight."
Ikegami scoffed.
"So what? We'll still win."
Uekusa shot him a look.
"Careless words."
Ikegami stiffened the moment his eyes met Akashi's calm gaze.
"Ha… kidding… totally focused…" he muttered, retreating.
Sendoh stepped beside Akashi.
"You still won't play?"
Akashi replied calmly, "Not yet. This is within your ability."
Sendoh sighed, smiling wryly.
Akashi felt different now.
Not less dangerous.
More.
Ippon Nari Locker Room
Tension filled the air.
Nagumo clenched his fists.
"They won three games by over a hundred…"
Miyazawa swallowed.
"They haven't even used their captain…"
Silence fell.
Then Sasaki Shouta stood.
"We can't change who we face," he said firmly.
"But we decide how we face them."
His gaze burned.
"No matter how strong Ryonan is—we do not give up."
"Yes!" the team roared.
Entrance
Metal doors opened.
Two corridors.
Two teams.
Ryonan emerged first—steps steady, formation precise.
Akashi walked at the front, jacket still on, expression calm to the point of indifference.
Ippon Nari followed—solemn, resolute.
The audience fell silent.
This was no longer a massacre.
This was a confrontation.