Tsukubu's locker room.
The room was eerily quiet, heavy with the weight of defeat. Every player's head was bowed, shoulders slumped, breaths ragged and frustrated.
"Damn it… damn it… damn it!" Nango Koichiro stomped his foot, making the benches vibrate. His fists clenched, knuckles white, as he growled, trying to roar out the anger, vexation, and helplessness boiling inside him. The repeated collisions with Uozumi's towering frame replayed in his mind, each block fueling his irritation.
Godai Tomokazu sat in the far corner, hands buried in his hair, as still as stone. His lowered eyelashes hid the turmoil in his eyes, but the trembling of his shoulders and the tight press of his lips betrayed his frustration.
Before the game, they had promised each other glory—making it to the National Tournament, asserting Tsukubu's name across Kanagawa. But now, that confidence had been shattered. They had hoped to contend with Ryonan, maybe even pull off an upset—but reality had struck mercilessly.
The fire of unwillingness blazed in Godai's chest, eyes reddening with determination. Suddenly, he lifted his head, voice hoarse but resolute:
"The game isn't over. We still have a chance."
Every eye in the locker room turned toward him. Godai stood, fists clenched, gaze sweeping across each despondent face. "We just need to catch up in the second half. Nineteen points is nothing!"
Natsume Hiroshi hesitated, biting back a word. The obsession in Godai's eyes was unnerving. He knew the reality: the skill gap between the teams was enormous. Catching up might be possible—but winning? That was a dream bordering on fantasy.
Still, Nango slapped his thigh, muttering, "Yeah… the game isn't over yet. I won't give up. Maybe we can turn this around."
Izumi Takashi exhaled a long breath, letting out pent-up frustration, nodding firmly. "Then let's slowly claw back in the second half."
Kenta Mine added with conviction, "No doubt about it. Let's give it everything until Ryonan is convinced!"
The spark ignited in their hearts. Natsume's lips curved into a small, determined smile. "I'll pass the ball to you. Scoring? That's on you."
Tsukubu's players exchanged looks, the earlier despair replaced by burning resolve. The locker room's atmosphere shifted; even their breaths carried the scent of determination.
Coach Kawasaki Kazumi's eyes softened, a warm relief spreading across his face. He cleared his throat, voice steady:
"Very good. To keep your fighting spirit at a time like this shows you already have the qualities of excellent players. The situation is difficult—but as long as the whistle hasn't blown, we haven't lost. There is still a chance."
He raised his voice, striking like a hammer:
"There are countless examples of teams coming back from behind! Why not us, Tsukubu?"
The players straightened, fists clenched, determination rekindled.
"Cheer up! Let Ryonan, let everyone in the stadium, see the spirit of Tsukubu!"
"Yes!" The unified shout resonated, the locker room alive once more.
Ryonan's locker room.
The first half's intensity had left the players slightly relaxed. A 19-point lead allowed them a rare moment of levity, laughter breaking out here and there.
Yet Akashi sat alone, tying his shoelaces. His white jacket lay to the side. He was clearly preparing to enter the court.
Sendo, noticing, raised an eyebrow. "Akashi… are you planning to play the second half?"
The chatter died instantly. Every gaze turned to him. Akashi rarely played with such a large lead; Ryonan without him was already nearly invincible, and with him? Almost unbeatable.
Koshino Hiroaki asked, unconsciously echoing everyone's thoughts, "We're leading by 19… isn't victory secure? Do we really need to play?"
Akashi finished tying his shoes, slowly looking up, expression calm:
"Ah, the outcome is largely decided. But Tsukubu won't give up easily. No matter how weak an animal, when cornered, it fights desperately."
He stood, straightening his jersey, a faint smile tugging at his lips. His heterochromatic eyes gleamed sharply, an invisible aura of authority filling the room.
"I will not allow it. We must extinguish their last spark."
The locker room fell silent. Awe, anticipation, and a hint of tension radiated from Akashi, permeating the team. Even Coach Taoka Moichi leaned back, sighing quietly. A strong team must be ruthless…
The second half approached. Akashi stretched his ankles, joints making faint clicks, and finally said, calm yet commanding:
"Alright. Let's go out."
Court No. 2.
The whistle for the second half hadn't even blown, yet the spectators immediately noticed the substitution.
"Ryonan made a change!"
"The red-haired one!"
"The first-year captain? He's playing?"
Confusion rippled across the stands. Many expected Ryonan to coast to victory—why risk playing him now?
Hanagata Toru whispered to Fujima Kenji: "They're leading by 19… isn't that enough?"
Fujima's gaze remained fixed on Akashi. Calm outwardly, his mind was tense. "I think… he wants to completely eliminate any possibility of a Tsukubu comeback."
Even Kainan noticed.
Kiyota Nobunaga scratched his head. "That red-haired player… why does he seem familiar?"
Shinichi Maki's brow furrowed as he studied Akashi. Calm, sharp, unmistakably exceptional. "I've seen him before… somewhere."
Jin Soichiro, Kainan's sharpshooter, felt an unusual nervousness. "His aura… it's overwhelming."
Muto Tadashi muttered, "Number 4… first-year captain of Ryonan?"
Kiyota scoffed, puffing out his chest, "What's so great about him? When Maki graduates, I'll be captain."
Takasago Kazuma, Kainan's starting center, spoke firmly: "Even if Maki isn't here, there's still Jin. The captain's position isn't yours."
Kiyota froze, mouth twitching. Jin smiled gently, nodding.
Shinichi Maki's voice cut through, calm yet commanding: "Watch the game first. Ryonan's Number 4 is not simple."
All Kainan players fell silent, the weight of those words settling heavily.