Kirisaki Daiichi's small forward drove with the ball, trying to shake off Kise's defense—but no matter how many feints he threw out, he couldn't break free.
"Let's see what he does now… oh? A planted step into a power drive! He really put his weight into that one!"
"To be honest, that move… is definitely questionable. Let's see how the refs call it… The referee rules it a legal play."
In the livestream booth, Bobo's expression twisted slightly even as he gave commentary.
Counting the play just now, Kirisaki Daiichi's physicality had been rising nonstop. In Bobo's eyes, more than a few of their drives were already aggressive enough to be flagged as offensive fouls.
But the referees turned a blind eye—as if Kirisaki Daiichi had paid them off.
The chat scrolled with an endless wall of "rigged ref!" messages. For a moment, Bobo didn't know what to say. All he could do was calmly break down the flow of the match for the audience.
After all, whether it was Basketball Rendezvous or the Nationals Livestream, the entire broadcast was sponsored by the Akashi family. Even the Nationals themselves were funded by them.
From this standpoint, not only could Bobo not criticize the referees, he actually had to distract the viewers to keep the public from fanning the flames.
On the court
The point difference had narrowed to ten.
42–32, Kaijō still in the lead.
They were still ahead, but Kirisaki Daiichi was undeniably closing the gap.
The reason was obvious: Kirisaki Daiichi had boosted their physical intensity, and the referees simply refused to react.
Kota wiped the sweat from his chin, his expression calm as if none of the biased officiating mattered at all.
From his perspective, it wasn't hard to understand the referees' motives.
First of all, the idea that Hanamiya had bribed them could be ruled out immediately. In a tournament funded by the Akashi family, shady tricks like that would never be allowed.
But that didn't mean the referees were perfectly fair either.
As employees of the organizing committee, they were essentially company workers. Their job was to ensure the game progressed smoothly.
And as everyone knows, the referee profession comes with many unspoken rules.
One of the big ones: aside from maintaining fairness, they must keep the match exciting enough to retain viewers.
"So because Kirisaki Daiichi is trailing, they're giving them a little favoritism to keep the game from ending too early, huh…"
With over fifty years of basketball experience — if you counted all his reincarnated lives — Kota saw through it instantly.
"Pass it over!"
Kota called for the ball. The moment he caught it, he felt all kinds of unfriendly gazes locking onto him.
Feeling Kirisaki Daiichi's predatory stares on him, Kota scratched his nose and sighed, joking,
"Man… look at them staring like they're about to eat me alive. Scary."
The words had barely left his mouth before he exploded into a drive. Unlike his earlier elbow-bait move on Hanamiya, this time he unleashed his full offensive threat. One step was all it took to blow past Hanamiya cleanly.
Realizing he'd been beaten, Hanamiya immediately pivoted and chased, shouting, "Trap him! Trap him!"
He didn't spell it out, but Kirisaki Daiichi's players understood instantly.
Two big men in the paint lunged at Kota from both sides, not just aiming for the ball — they wanted to bulldoze him backward with sheer body contact.
Normally, against this kind of defense, Kota could simply pump fake, flop convincingly, and get two free throws.
But with how the refs were calling the game? Even if he performed an Oscar-winning flop, the whistle still wouldn't blow.
But that didn't mean Kota was out of options.
"Referee Rule No. 1: even when favoring the weaker team, you still have to maintain 'fairness.'"
Predicting the contact, Kota didn't avoid it—he accelerated into it. But his move wasn't clean at all.
He dipped his body slightly, exposing his shoulder joint—basketball players call this move "dropping the shoulder."
The defender had barely stepped in when a sharp pain exploded through his chest.
Kota already had elite physical strength. With a dropped shoulder added to it, his impact level shot straight to maximum!
A moment later, the defender was sent flying, leaving the paint wide open.
The second defender stared blankly, frozen in place as he watched Kota score the layup.
Hanamiya reacted first, rushing at the referee:
"Ref! Ref! Didn't you see that!? That's an offensive foul!!"
But the referee only motioned for him to return to the court, expression calm and unmoved. The meaning was clear.
Kota's basket counts.
The player who had been knocked over immediately ran toward the referee, fuming.
"Are you blind?! He rammed into me like a truck and you still count it!?"
"Do you refs even have—mmpf!? MMPF!"
Before he could finish, Hanamiya clamped a hand over his mouth and dragged him back, forcing a smile toward the referee.
The ref, who had been about to blow the whistle, lowered it with a snort.
"Consider yourself lucky."
Only once the ref turned away did Hanamiya let out a long breath. Then he glared at his teammate, voice icy:
"How many times have I told you? Do. Not. Argue. With. The. Referee."
"If he decides to target us because of you, are you going to take responsibility when we lose?"
The player wasn't stupid—he quickly realized how close he'd come to ruining everything. He patted his chest in relief.
"Good thing you stopped me, Hanamiya… that was close."
But praise didn't make Hanamiya happy at all. He stared across the court at Kota, his expression darkening.
"Good? No… not good at all."
"That guy… he's a nightmare."
The moment Kota chose to use a dropped shoulder, Hanamiya knew the referee's bias would swing back toward Kaijō.
As mentioned earlier, Kirisaki Daiichi might get the whistle occasionally, but only because the refs wanted to keep the game exciting—not because they were bought.
If Kirisaki Daiichi escalated physical contact, the refs would tolerate it to a point.
But if Kaijō escalated as well, and neither side crossed into "unsportsmanlike foul" territory, then the refs had to call it fair.
Hanamiya rubbed his fringe, a sudden thought striking him. A new plan formed in his mind.
On Kirisaki Daiichi's next offensive possession, he passed the ball away early—then casually drifted toward Kota.
"Kota."
Hanamiya wore a warm smile.
"Actually, I've always admired you…"
Kota didn't look at him, most of his attention still on the ball. He chuckled.
"Oh? I'm honored, Hanamiya"
"This guy… what cheap trick are you trying now?"
Outwardly Kota remained polite, but internally he didn't take a single word seriously.
"I really mean it," Hanamiya continued. "Leading Kaijō to a three-peat? That's not something just anyone can do."
He shook his head in exaggerated admiration.
"But I've always been curious… what's your secret? Even though Akashi outshines you individually, you still managed to win three straight championships."
"Are you just… good at hugging someone's coattails?"
Kota finally turned to look at him. Hanamiya's smile stayed gentle and innocent, as if he had no idea what he'd just said.
"Trying to provoke me into making a mistake, huh?"
Kota narrowed his eyes. He had seen through Hanamiya instantly.
High school players were full of pride. One jab was enough to make most of them lose their temper.
All Kota had to do was ignore him and focus on the game—Hanamiya's plan would fall apart.
Unfortunately… Kota wasn't the type to let verbal jabs slide quietly.
"Makoto Hanamiya…"
"Prodigy of Kitagawa Junior High. Even with such limited resources, you served as both ace and acting coach."
Kota's calm voice recited the information he'd gathered. Hanamiya's brows twitched in confusion. Why was Kota suddenly listing his biography?
"Kota, I asked—"
Hanamiya tried to regain control of the conversation, but Kota cut him off.
"In your first year, you led Kitagawa all the way to the national middle school semifinals. For a weaker school like Kitagawa, that achievement is practically legendary."
"'Prodigy Makoto Hanamiya'—that was your nickname back then, wasn't it, Hanamiya?"