"Seirin calls for a timeout!"
Kagami sat down on the bench, face grim and silent. After getting posterized by Akashi and Nebuya's alley-oop, his Zone had completely faded.
On the other side, the pressure around Rakuzan hadn't diminished at all. If anything, it was even heavier. Nebuya especially was fired up — after being dunked on by Kagami over and over, finally slamming one back felt like a personal victory. He sat down, legs bouncing non-stop, itching for the timeout to end.
"Kuroko, are you good to go?"
Riko had her head in her hands. She'd been racking her brain for a solution, but how do you fight back against a team where all five players were in the Zone? One Akashi was enough trouble—now this felt like the Winter Cup's final boss stage.
Kuroko nodded slightly.
"I'll do my best."
The way things stood, Kagami's momentum was shot. Without the Zone, his energy had plummeted. If they wanted to flip the game, the opening would have to come from Kuroko.
In the stands, Aomine and Araki were still stunned by what they'd just witnessed. Kota, however, wasn't too surprised. If Akashi hadn't found a way to trigger a team-wide Zone, that would've been the real shock.
"How the hell… How did Akashi pull that off? Don't tell me he opened the gate?"
Aomine muttered, but no one had an answer. Not Araki, not Momoi—and certainly not him. Even Aomine's knowledge of the Zone was limited.
But Kota shook his head quietly.
No, that wasn't it. He could tell—this wasn't the so-called "Beyond the Zone." This was just an advanced application of it. Still terrifying, but not the final form.
"Oh? Kuroko's back in? I wonder if Seirin actually figured something out."
Kota chuckled as he saw Kuroko re-enter the court. At this point, it was just a shot in the dark. Unless Kagami found a way to unlock the gate to the true Zone like in the original story, Seirin didn't stand a chance against this Rakuzan.
"If we face Rakuzan in the finals, how big are our chances?" Kota rubbed his chin, thinking it through.
The answer? They had a shot—and a good one.
Rakuzan's full-team Zone was monstrous, but if Kota activated his own Zone, he could barely hold his ground. Pair that with Kise's overwhelming one-on-one skills, and Rakuzan wouldn't have a way to handle it. In a direct clash, Kaijo could absolutely win.
It wasn't just Kota pondering this. Araki was thinking the same thing:
"If Yosen met Rakuzan in the finals… would we have any chance?"
The answer: none. Himuro couldn't open the Zone, and even if Murasakibara somehow did, it still wouldn't be enough.
Araki stared blankly at the court. Rakuzan controlled the tempo entirely. Even with Kuroko back in play, nothing changed. They hadn't even found an opportunity for Kagami to pull the trigger again.
"You think Kaijo can actually beat Rakuzan in the finals?"Araki asked quietly, sneaking a glance at Kota.
Kota looked surprised, then pretended to think about it.
"Who knows? But this year's championship is ours."
Araki raised an eyebrow. After everything Rakuzan had shown, Kota was still that confident?
"Besides, Miss Masaki, you're getting ahead of yourself."
Kota's gaze returned to the court. He smirked faintly.
"You're acting like Rakuzan is guaranteed to reach the finals."
That caught not just Araki off guard, but Aomine and Momoi too.
"What? You're saying Seirin still has a chance to come back?"
The game had already hit the third quarter. 71–59. Rakuzan's lead was solid. If that margin held into the fourth, the match was practically decided.
But then they looked where Kota was pointing — and saw it.
Kuroko hadn't disappeared. Instead, he was standing right behind Kagami, both of them squaring up against Akashi's advance.
Akashi frowned.
"What are you thinking? You should know better than anyone, Tetsu can't keep up with our movements."
Still, he didn't slow down. Two sharp crossovers easily shook Kagami off.
But just as Akashi surged forward—he crashed straight into Kuroko.
BEEP!
Offensive foul on Rakuzan! Possession to Seirin.
"What the hell? That had to be a fluke, right?"
Mibuchi muttered from the wing. But no — when Kagami stepped, Kuroko moved in perfect sync, forming an angled defense that stopped Akashi in his tracks.
"Fluke? Not a chance."
Akashi's expression shifted, unsettled.
He didn't believe in coincidences. But there was no way Kuroko could physically match his speed. He shouldn't have made it in time.
"You really are hard to read, Kuroko."
"What the hell? How's Tetsu keeping up with Akashi?"
Aomine gawked from the stands.
Was this really the same guy he played with in middle school? Why couldn't he figure him out anymore?
"He's not keeping up with Akashi. He's reading Kagami's movements."
Kota's voice was suddenly serious. His usual playfulness was gone—this was the voice of someone analyzing the game for real.
A few minutes earlier—
"Kagami-kun, how about we give up for now?"
"Huh? Give up? What are you even talking about, Kuroko?"
"You misunderstood. I don't mean giving up the game. I mean… stop trying to beat Akashi one-on-one. Sometimes, you can trust us too."
Kagami paused, then chuckled.
"Alright then, Kuroko. Help me out."
Kuroko smiled faintly.
He couldn't predict Akashi, that was impossible. But with his connection to Kagami—their synchronicity, their trust—he didn't need to. All he had to do was cover Kagami's blind spots. That wasn't just about observation—it was about understanding and believing in your teammate.
Back to the present—Kuroko capitalized on that foul and scored a mid-range jumper, using his Vanishing Drive to shake Mayuzumi.
"Useless. No matter how hard you try, it's not enough."
Mayuzumi's patience wore thin. He pointed at the scoreboard with a sneer. The gap was still ten points, and Seirin still hadn't found a way to slow Rakuzan's offense.
Kuroko glanced his way, then smiled at Kagami.
"If you guys really think this game's already over… that's going to be a problem."