But the reality before him was undeniable. Haizaki Shogo was terrifying.
The enormous impact left Midorima Shintaro almost in disbelief. Staring at Shogo, he felt an urge to ask: How on earth are you doing this?
"How's that? Scared yet?"
"Shogo… you're really different from before."
Midorima didn't answer. He muttered to himself instead.
Shogo looked at him, feeling a chill run down his spine at the intensity in Midorima's gaze.
Even Murasakibara Atsushi, who had just blocked him earlier, felt the weight of Shogo's words.
"The real show's just starting. Let's continue!"
But at that moment, Teiko Junior High's coach, Shirogane Kozo, called a timeout.
And Kuroko Tetsuya was formally subbed out. Facing Fukuda Sasaki, Kuroko felt he had done all he could—yet there was nothing he could do.
"Tetsuya-kun, you did well!"
Satsuki Momoi handed him a towel and purified water. Kuroko took them, slightly puzzled, looking at Momoi, who could analyze and predict gameplay with uncanny precision.
"Momoi, what's up with number 11? I can clearly feel he isn't influenced by my misdirection at all."
Momoi sighed quietly. She couldn't believe it either—a player in middle school basketball who could completely neutralize Kuroko Tetsuya.
"Tetsuya-kun, number 11's gaze is fixed solely on you. Every action you take, he sees. He ignores everything else on the court. From start to finish, he only watches you."
"What?"
"It's… unbelievable. Tetsuya-kun, observe number 11 yourself."
"Understood."
The behavior of this number 11 reminded Kuroko of a story he had read while researching visual misdirection techniques years ago.
Long ago, a master thief, skilled in misdirection, would sneak into a village and steal. No villager or police officer could catch him. After each theft, he would casually slip away using his misdirection skills.
In that village was a man everyone called a fool, who stood under a large tree at the village entrance, watching intently every day. Every movement of the thief—entry, exit, everything—was seen. Not once did the fool miss a thing.
Kuroko realized the truth: he was the thief, and number 11 was the fool. He stole the basketball; number 11 guarded him.
In this vast world, there is a natural balance—every force has its counter. Kuroko's inner darkness seethed: Damn it… how could I be caught by this idiot?
While Kuroko and Momoi spoke, the game resumed.
Haizaki Shogo received the ball from a teammate outside the line, dribbling lazily with light pats.
He strolled to halfcourt—not because he didn't want a fast break, but because his teammates couldn't match his pace. Ahead of the play, he would face five Teiko defenders.
So he waited patiently, letting his teammates settle into defense. Only then could he score with ease.
With Kuroko out, Shogo relaxed slightly. No surprises, no sudden steals—he could focus entirely.
Finding his moment, he jumped for a shot—two points. The ball sank into the net as the first-quarter buzzer sounded.
Back in the rest area with his teammates, Shogo took a towel and purified water from Shimizu Rena, wiping sweat and taking a sip.
"So, Shimizu-chan, were they shocking? Terrifying?"
"They were… definitely shocking. And terrifying!"
"Oh? Tell me more."
"Honestly, Shogo-kun, number 8, Kise Ryouta, really reminds me of you… but not as strong. Number 5, Murasakibara Atsushi, is like a wall, blocking all of Fukuda Sogo's hope. Number 7, Midorima Shintaro… I can't tell yet. I feel like he's deliberately hiding something."
Hearing this, Shogo looked at Shimizu with some surprise. Feeling his scorching gaze, Shimizu blushed slightly.
Good. Shimizu Rena is finally growing. Giving her a playful head pat, Shogo made her cheeks flush before continuing.
"Well done. Keep observing, keep collecting data."
"I will, Shogo-kun!"
Turning to glance at his coach and teammates, Shogo's expression froze for a moment. Then he stayed silent, sitting to rest.
He could hear the heavy breaths of the four players on the court. His mind tensed slightly.
The first-quarter starters—except Fukuda Sasaki—were utterly exhausted. Their breaths were far beyond mere panting; they couldn't continue playing.
It was no surprise. One teammate guarded Murasakibara—Shogo couldn't imagine the pressure and humiliation he faced. The mere fact they hadn't collapsed yet was the best outcome.
Another guarded Kise Ryouta. With Shogo off him, Kise kept scoring relentlessly, punishing their teammates.
Fukuda Sasaki, defending Kuroko, was in much better shape.
The last player defending Teiko's second-team powerhouse was also nearly spent. Fukuda's first-quarter starters would soon need subbing.
Sigh. What a tragic reality.
Against a team like Teiko, Fukuda Sogo's players could only hold out for one quarter.
Coach Ichiro Kudo's face darkened as he began planning substitutions.
"You… you… you five, go warm up. The first three will play the second quarter."
After just one quarter, Fukuda Sogo was forced into a substitution strategy—a desperate attempt to seize any tiny chance.
Seeing the passion and determination of his coach and teammates, Shogo clenched the towel in his hand, returned it to Shimizu, and stood up to head back onto the court.
The second quarter began amid the audience's eager anticipation.
"CLANG!"
The ball passed inside. Murasakibara caught it, lightly jumped, and slammed it into the basket with no resistance.
Even though he felt helpless—apart from Shogo, no one on Fukuda's team could match him.
Murasakibara strolled past Shogo lazily.
"Haizaki, come defend me. The others aren't worth it."
Shogo said nothing, wearing a face that implied he was equally helpless.
But inside, he roared: Atsushi, do you think I'm stupid? If I collide head-on with you, what's left for the rest of the game?
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