The news of Ryonan's crushing 23-point victory over Shohoku spread almost immediately.
It wasn't just Ryonan and Shohoku supporters who talked. Basketball club members from other schools—Shoyo, Kainan, and beyond—were buzzing with disbelief. They had come to observe, to learn from the strongest teams in Kanagawa, but instead witnessed an extraordinary display of skill and control.
The eyewitness accounts rippled outward like stones thrown into a lake. Within hours, the story of Ryonan's dominance—and of Akashi Seijuro—saturated the Kanagawa high school basketball scene.
What people discussed wasn't just the score. It was Akashi himself.
From his physical fitness to his ball-handling, from his flawless playmaking to his absolute command of the court, Akashi's performance redefined the role of a point guard. Previously, Shinichi Maki's "King" status had been unchallenged, with Fujima Kenji close behind. But now, Akashi had earned a reputation that rivaled Maki's—and even subtly surpassed Fujima Kenji.
If not for the enduring legacy of Kainan's "King," Kanagawa's top point guard title might already have unofficially gone to Akashi.
That night, every basketball weekly and newspaper in Kanagawa scrambled. Headlines were rearranged, dedicating large sections to Ryonan. For Akashi, every technical move, tactical decision, and key moment was analyzed in meticulous detail, as if to introduce the world to the rising first-year captain of the crimson team.
After the match, Ryonan didn't linger. The team headed straight to a favorite barbecue restaurant.
The familiar aroma of grilled meat welcomed them, melting away the exhaustion from the court. Tables quickly filled, the club's sizeable roster making even the modest restaurant feel lively.
This was a ritual for Ryonan. Between high-intensity training sessions, team meals like this built morale. Today, victory made it all the sweeter.
Aida Hikoichi approached a staff member. "Beef tongue and marbled Wagyu, please. We won today, so we deserve a treat!"
"Hikoichi, you didn't even play," Koshino Hiroaki interjected, smirking.
"I cheered from the bench! That counts as effort!" Aida protested sheepishly.
Koshino laughed and turned to the staff. "Pork belly and vegetables for me."
Ryoji Ikegami, ever eccentric, added, "And a glass of juice with salmon sushi."
Sendoh raised an eyebrow. "Sushi at a barbecue restaurant?"
"I'll still eat barbecue," Ikegami replied seriously, "but sushi doesn't conflict with it."
Fukuda Kiccho groaned. "Rules exist for a reason!"
Akashi, smiling faintly, intervened: "Today is a celebration. Let everyone enjoy their meal, rules aside."
The staff smiled, arranging the charcoal. Soon, sizzling meat, smoky aroma, and laughter filled the restaurant. Even Uozumi relaxed, the tension of the court replaced by camaraderie and the simple pleasure of food.
Meanwhile, Shoyo's basketball club walked along the streets in silence. Heads down, brows furrowed, steps heavy. The weight of yesterday's match with Ryonan hung over them.
Akashi's performance had left an unprecedented impression. The meticulous control, the foresight—it was almost impossible to grasp.
Fujima Kenji noticed the despondent expressions of his teammates. His own heart was uneasy too. They had faced skilled opponents before, but Akashi was different.
Suddenly, Fujima stopped. His teammates froze, confused.
He turned to them, gaze steady, demeanor composed. "What's wrong? Hanging your heads like this isn't Shoyo's way."
Their eyes lifted.
"Our next opponent is Ryonan. Yes, they're strong. But are we weak? We've consistently ranked second in Kanagawa for years. We didn't get here by luck. No team is invincible—not Kainan, not Ryonan, not us."
Hanagata Toru's eyes lit up. At critical moments, Fujima always steadied the team, restoring their confidence.
The heaviness in the air lifted. Their spark returned.
Fujima smiled, proud. "Remember who we are. For years, besides Kainan, no team has consistently beaten us. That hasn't changed."
The Shoyo team followed their captain's lead, their resolve reigniting.
The next day dawned bright over Kanagawa. The first round of the 4-to-2 competition had ended. The four strong teams—Ryonan, Kainan, Shoyo, Shohoku—had a day of rest.
But it wasn't true rest. Every team knew preparation now was crucial. Coaches analyzed footage, drawing targeted strategies on whiteboards. Players studied opponents' habits, weaknesses, and coordination patterns. Every detail counted.
At Shoyo High, Fujima and Hanagata dissected Ryonan's plays. At Kainan, Shinichi Maki drilled Shohoku's weaknesses into his team. At Shohoku, Ayako organized thick stacks of opponent data. And at Ryonan, Akashi planned meticulously for Shoyo.
A silent storm was gathering beneath the calm.
That afternoon, the second-round matchups were announced:
Morning: Kainan vs. Shohoku
Afternoon: Ryonan vs. Shoyo
For Kainan and Ryonan, a win meant near-certainty of early qualification. For Shoyo and Shohoku, it was do-or-die. Lose, and their path would become far more difficult, possibly requiring an extra playoff.
The stakes were enormous.
With Ryonan and Kainan looking nearly unbeatable, the second-round matches carried unprecedented significance. Every team knew: any lapse could change everything.