Ippon Nari's offense began.
Kazama Tooru brought the ball steadily past half-court, his pace unhurried. The basketball bounced rhythmically between his palm and the polished floor—thump, thump—a calm, controlled cadence.
He lowered his center of gravity slightly, knees bent, eyes sharp as a hawk's. His gaze swept the frontcourt, calmly tracking every teammate's movement and every flicker in Ryonan's defensive formation.
Just past the centerline—
Aoi Tsuyoshi moved.
He took a single deceptive step toward the baseline, selling the cut perfectly—then exploded in the opposite direction. His right shoulder dipped, left foot drove hard, and he sliced diagonally toward the right corner like an arrow loosed from a bow.
Sneaky. Clean. Efficient.
Sendoh noticed instantly.
But he didn't rush.
Instead, he slid two steps laterally, angling his body, cutting off the passing lane before it fully opened. One arm extended naturally, the other subtly raised—his footwork fluid, distance precise.
A living wall.
On the opposite side, Miyazawa Hideaki was having no better luck.
Ryoji Ikegami clung to him like a shadow, knees bent, arms active, denying every inch of space. Miyazawa tried twice to muscle his way free—
Nothing.
No angle. No window.
Kazama Tooru watched from the top of the arc, his brows knitting faintly.
Too tight.
He shifted slightly, preparing to slide toward the wing—
Suddenly—
Tomoyuki Uekusa burst in from the weak side.
Fast. Sharp. Like a blade slipping into a seam.
His hand shot out toward the ball.
Kazama reacted instantly.
A light retreat step—heel barely brushing the floor—his torso twisting with the momentum as the ball flowed from right hand to left in one seamless motion.
Uekusa grasped air.
His momentum carried him half a step forward, balance nearly broken.
He recovered immediately—but the chance was gone.
…?!
Uekusa's pupils tightened.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
Usually, guards panicked when he lunged—hesitated, exposed flaws, lost rhythm.
But Kazama hadn't hesitated at all.
No panic.
No wasted movement.
His face remained calm, eyes steady—like he'd already seen the steal coming.
So that's it…
Uekusa remembered Aida Hikoichi's briefing.
Kazama Tooru—court vision twice that of a normal player.
Uekusa stopped gambling.
He dropped lower, feet spread, knees coiled like springs, hands active—waiting.
Kazama stayed patient.
The ball continued its steady rhythm.
Thump… thump… thump…
Then—
"Here!"
Nagumo Kentaro suddenly burst free.
He dipped his shoulder, slipped past Koshino Hiroaki by half a step, then darted diagonally toward the top of the arc, palm raised, eyes bright.
Kazama lifted his arm—a pass feint.
The ball hovered half an inch from his palm.
Uekusa reacted instantly, sliding sideways, arms spread wide to seal the lane.
That was the trap.
Kazama pulled the ball back.
In the same breath, he drove—left foot planting, body cutting hard around Uekusa's outside shoulder.
Fake and go.
Uekusa's center of gravity betrayed him.
Too late.
Kazama blew past the three-point line in a single step.
The defense collapsed.
Uozumi stiffened under the rim, every muscle taut.
Nagumo—recovered.
Sasaki—lurking inside.
Too many threats.
Then—
Sasaki Shouta moved.
He backed down, then reversed suddenly, slipping along the baseline and slicing diagonally into the restricted area from Uozumi's blind spot.
Arm raised.
Calling for blood.
Uozumi's attention snapped inward.
That instant—
Nagumo Kentaro exploded.
A sudden arc cut along the three-point line—baseline corner.
Koshino reacted—but half a beat slow.
That was enough.
Swoosh—
Kazama's pass fired low and fast, skimming space like a bullet.
Perfect timing.
Perfect placement.
Nagumo caught it in stride, right foot planting just outside the arc.
No hesitation.
Jump.
Rise.
Release.
The shot flowed like water—no adjustment, no pause.
Koshino leapt late, fingertips brushing nothing but air.
He shot already?!
Swoosh—
The net snapped cleanly.
Ryonan 3 — Ippon Nari 3
Silence—then noise.
Nagumo grinned as Kazama rushed over, the two slapping palms together.
"Nice one," Kazama said, eyes sharp.
Nagumo laughed. "Just keep feeding me. I've got the hot hand today—"
He glanced sideways at Koshino, lips curling.
"And the guy guarding me doesn't seem that strong."
Koshino's head snapped around.
"What did you say?"
Uekusa stepped in quietly, voice low.
"Let it go. I'll get you the ball. Teach him a lesson."
Koshino exhaled slowly, fury cooling into focus.
"Fine."
The storm was coming.
Ryonan struck back immediately.
As the counterattack unfolded, Koshino suddenly accelerated—baseline cut, using Sendoh's screen at the elbow to shake free.
Uekusa saw it.
Both hands up—
The pass tore through the air like a spear.
Koshino caught it cleanly at the right-wing forty-five.
No hesitation.
Jump.
Release.
Swish.
Ryonan 6 — Ippon Nari 3
Koshino landed, turned, and sneered at Nagumo.
"Who wasn't strong again?"
Nagumo blinked, then laughed softly.
This guy's got a temper.
And then—
The game exploded.
What followed shocked everyone.
The court transformed into a battlefield of snipers.
Kazama and Uekusa dueled in orchestration—one calm and precise, the other sharp and aggressive.
Nagumo and Koshino became shadows beyond the arc.
Catch.
Shoot.
Swish.
Swish.
Swish.
The nets sang.
9–9.
15–15.
21–21.
The crowd roared with every shot, hearts pounding with each rising arc.
Then—
Clang!
The ball smashed into the front rim, ricocheting high and flying toward the baseline.
The rhythm broke.
The shootout—finally—ended.
Silence fell for half a breath.
And everyone knew—
This game had just crossed into another level.