At halftime, Fukura's locker room was dead silent.
Kazama had destroyed them.
He wasn't just playing—he was dominating.
They were down 1-0, and with the way Kazama was moving, stopping him seemed impossible.
Renji slammed his fist against the bench. "We can't let one guy wreck us like this!"
But even he knew the truth.
Kazama was a one-man army.
Shun, sitting quietly, stared at the floor. His mind replayed every move, every feint, every turn Kazama had made.
"I need to break him."
But how?
He had never faced someone like Kazama before. Someone who moved with absolute freedom. Someone whose instincts were so sharp that it felt like he saw the game in slow motion.
Then, something clicked.
Flow.
Shun clenched his fists.
"If he's playing with instinct, I'll do the same."
He stood up, eyes burning. "I'm marking him."