Right now, the whole gym was dead silent.
The lights hanging overhead cast long shadows on the court. Even the sounds of people breathing in the stands could be heard clearly.
Everyone's eyes were fixed on Aoi Kunisaku, like time had frozen.
Hiss—
No one knew how much time had passed before a sharp gasp echoed from a corner of the crowd.
Then the murmurs spread like a wave across the stands—buzzing with shock and amazement.
"That guy's insane! Even Michael can't stop him."
"Their speed is unreal. Are they track athletes or what?"
"So this is a champion team... Guess they're not just hype after all. I used to think the national champs weren't anything special."
"Think we can still win?"
…
Ryokufu Bench.
Fujisawa Eri no longer wore the smug, commanding confidence she had at the start.
All the smug calculation from earlier was gone from her face. Her eyes were filled with fear, nerves, and panic—mixed with a kind of burning thrill and anticipation.
Her eyes were locked onto that figure in the No. 9 Shohoku jersey, like she was magnetized.
"If… if only he were one of our players…" she murmured softly. Her mind imagined Michael Okita and Aoi Kunisaku standing side by side on the court.
Then Inter-High? Winter Cup? Champions would be a given.
The more she thought, the more intense her expression became. The idea of recruiting Aoi Kunisaku into Ryokufu took hold deeply in her heart.
What she didn't realize was—just the thought of wanting Aoi Kunisaku to cooperate with anyone meant she'd already lost.
Beside her, Coach Ofuna couldn't stop staring at Aoi, eyes filled with awe.
That one offensive play and one defensive stop earlier made Aoi's talent overflowingly clear.
Just because Michael Okita could match Aoi's speed didn't mean they were on the same level.
Talent isn't measured like that.
Michael was going all-out just to keep up.
Aoi? That was just his regular speed.
They weren't even close in ability.
You could see it just from their physical states.
Aoi looked perfectly fine. No panting, no red face. Calm as ever.
Michael still looked composed, but his breathing was visibly quicker after that sequence.
That alone showed—sustaining this kind of inhuman tempo wasn't something most players could do.
That was the difference in talent.
Michael's talent was impressive.
But Aoi's was bottomless—a void with no end in sight.
Time passed in the screech of sneakers on hardwood.
The game moved on, a nonstop exchange of offense and defense.
Each time Aoi broke through the defense with ease, the game's rhythm flared up higher.
Things got faster and faster.
On the court.
Totsuka Tetsuya's steps were clearly slowing down.
He was dripping with sweat, breathing heavily. His stamina was clearly shot.
Why?
Because since Aoi Kunisaku stepped on the court, the tempo had exploded.
Even if Ryokufu wanted to slow it down, they couldn't.
Aoi wasn't just fast on offense. He also never let Ryokufu catch a breath on defense.
Every player on Ryokufu knew—even the smallest pause, a moment of hesitation, and Aoi would appear out of nowhere and steal the ball.
At first, when the ball landed in Totsuka's hands, everything seemed normal.
But the moment he hesitated on his next move, a hand suddenly appeared from the side.
A gust of wind blew past.
Smack—
One clean slap.
The ball vanished from Totsuka's hands.
Before he even processed what happened, Aoi was already racing down the court toward Ryokufu's basket—and scored.
That was the start of Ryokufu's darkest stretch—and of Totsuka's personal nightmare.
Ryokufu inbounded the ball.
They launched another attack.
The ball moved quickly between players, like a spark ready to ignite.
As Ryokufu advanced past the three-point line, the ball arced toward Michael Okita again.
Just then—a flash of red tore through the air.
Aoi Kunisaku appeared between Michael and the ball.
Smack—
He raised a hand and intercepted it cleanly.
Aoi turned and sprinted the other way.
Ryokufu's players scrambled to retreat, but Aoi's figure only grew smaller in the distance—like someone had hit fast-forward. All they could do was watch helplessly as he scored again.
What followed felt like a replay stuck on loop.
In every possession, Aoi Kunisaku haunted the court like a ghost—nowhere and everywhere.
Every Ryokufu player took a turn facing him.
Nadaka Hikaru's layup attempt?
Aoi popped up the moment Nadaka jumped and smacked the ball away. Then drove to the basket and scored.
Katsumi Ichirou's three-point shot?
Aoi burst out from the arc, leapt, and sent the ball flying with a vicious block. No mercy.
The ball bounced on the floor, then was quickly chased down by Aoi Kunisaku, who recovered it cleanly. Even with Michael Okita trying to disrupt him, he pushed all the way into Ryokufu's paint and, still under Michael's defense, slammed the ball into the basket.
Katsumi Ichirou was completely dumbfounded the entire time.
Right after landing from getting blocked, he turned around and saw… what the hell was that fast-forward playback in real life? How was Aoi Kunisaku already there?
Even a loose ball, he chased it down like it had GPS. Total cheat code.
Tsurumi Keiji didn't get many chances to shoot. Most of the time, he was stuck on defense.
But against Aoi Kunisaku, his defense was like a child playing house.
He tried to body up several times when Aoi was about to shoot.
But the difference in height was just too much.
Aoi stood at 192cm, while Tsurumi Keiji was only 175cm.
Aoi didn't even have to dodge. He could shoot comfortably right over him.
There was nothing Tsurumi Keiji could do—unless he stripped the ball before Aoi jumped.
But with Aoi's dizzying speed, he couldn't even find an opening. He just ended up failing again and again.
At this point, Michael Okita was the only one who could hold his own against Aoi on both ends.
Everyone else had been completely crushed.
The game's momentum swung hard to Shohoku's side.
The score kept shrinking under Aoi's relentless offense and defense.
39 to 51.
43 to 53.
49 to 55.
…
Just 5 minutes into the second half, the 20-point gap had been cut down to just 6 points.
Ryokufu was in a daze.
The players stood frozen on the court like soulless husks. The bench, once roaring with shouts, had fallen completely silent.
Aoi's scoring efficiency shattered their entire understanding of basketball.
'Is this guy even human?'
Tweet—
A whistle snapped through the gloomy air.
Ryokufu called for a substitution.
Fujisawa Eri's face was now completely dark.
She couldn't believe the dominant lead from earlier had vanished in a flash.
She refused to accept it.
Totsuka Tetsuya was now useless to her. Without hesitation, she put in the other twin—Tsurumi Seiji, No. 8.
Now both twins were on the court—Tsurumi Keiji and Tsurumi Seiji. Seeing them together was honestly kind of eerie.
Sakuragi Hanamichi blinked and muttered, "Seriously, they look exactly the same. If it weren't for the jersey numbers, there's no way to tell who's who."
Miyagi Ryota scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I heard twins can read each other's minds. Wonder if it's true?"
Mitsui Hisashi rolled his eyes. "You been reading too many manga? Maybe they've got some chemistry, but psychic stuff? That's a stretch."
With both twins on the court, Ryokufu's energy really did shift.
Tsurumi Keiji and Tsurumi Seiji moved like mirror images. The ball passed smoothly between them, echoing like a world flipped inside out.
Behind-the-back dribble from Keiji to Seiji. Seiji bounced it back with perfect timing. Their footwork overlapped and twisted, like some kind of eerie twin spiral dance.
Shohoku's players were left dizzy, unsure of who to mark.
Soon, the two had worked their way to Shohoku's three-point line.
Keiji held the ball.
Sakuragi Hanamichi stepped up to block.
But Keiji casually passed the ball behind him to Seiji, leaving Sakuragi grasping at air.
Mitsui Hisashi turned to cut off Seiji.
But then—another pass. Seiji lobbed the ball to Keiji, who had slipped past Sakuragi again.
Keiji caught it and went straight up for the layup.
Their coordination was perfect—tight like clockwork, catching Shohoku completely off-guard.
Everyone thought Keiji's layup would go in.
But then—a blur of red erupted from the edge of the court, bursting into the air with razor-sharp force. In a blink, the figure was right behind Keiji.
It was Aoi Kunisaku.
His long frame cast a giant shadow over Keiji under the spotlight, swallowing him whole.
Aoi's hand, all bone and tendon, reached out like a hawk's talon snatching its prey, diving straight for the ball.
Keiji felt the danger instantly.
His pupils shrank. His heart jumped to his throat. The hair on his neck shot up like needles. A chill raced down his spine.
'Shit—'
Smack—
A sharp, clean sound rang out.
Aoi's palm slammed perfectly against the ball.
With a flick of his wrist, the ball popped loose from Keiji's hand, landing securely in Aoi's arms as if summoned.
Everyone froze in shock.
No one had even noticed when Aoi got that close.
Just a blink—he was suddenly behind Keiji.
That speed and silence were unreal.
But Aoi didn't stop.
The moment he landed, his body pitched forward, legs coiled like springs. Then—bang! He launched himself like a missile, cutting through the air with a howling burst.
His acceleration came without warning. The leap from zero to max was so fast, even the air didn't have time to groan. All that was left was a red streak ripping through midcourt, surging straight into Ryokufu's half.
Only Michael Okita, relying on the sharp instincts forged in America, barely caught Aoi Kunisaku's movement.
His face changed instantly. He sprang into action and gave it everything he had, sprinting toward the paint like mad.
The moment Aoi reached the paint, Michael finally made it there too, gasping as he planted himself squarely in Aoi's path like a fortress, trying to block the wild red stallion charging at him.
Seeing someone in the way, Aoi didn't slow down. His footwork shifted rapidly—an eye-dazzling flurry of direction changes. Then came a clean, sharp spin move. He was aiming to break through from Michael's right side.
Michael's eyes were bloodshot. Years of grinding experience in the States had built reflexes into his muscles. On instinct, he slid sideways with impressive speed and just barely stayed with Aoi's spin.
As he breathed a tiny sigh of relief, thinking he'd shut it down, Aoi's body—mid-spin—suddenly rebounded like a spring and whipped in the opposite direction.
What had looked like a left-side drive was snapped mid-way and twisted back right. A gust of wind from the motion lifted the sweat-soaked bangs off Michael's forehead.
Michael's pupils went wide. His face drained of color as he scrambled to switch his momentum and shift left.
But Aoi hadn't even fully turned left. He'd only rotated halfway and stopped cold.
"No way…" Michael gasped, voice breaking from disbelief.
Seeing Aoi stop short so suddenly, his eyes nearly popped out. His own body was already swinging left with too much force. He couldn't stop it. All he could do was watch helplessly as his balance tilted off-center—face full of despair.
Just as Michael's momentum pulled him completely aside, leaving the center wide open, Aoi hit Max speed again and burst through like a flash of red lightning.
"Damn it," Michael cursed inwardly. But he couldn't do anything about it.
He steadied his body as fast as he could and pivoted to chase. But the tiny delay already gave Aoi a solid lead.
Now in Ryokufu's paint, only Katsumi Ichirou stood guarding the rim.
He watched Aoi charge like black lightning, heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst through his chest.
Defensive tactics flew through his head, but cold sweat still rolled from his temple into his collar. His jersey clung to his back, soaked.
The wild pressure radiating off Aoi felt like a physical wave crashing over him. His throat tightened. But his years of pride on the court forced him to stay steady.
He inhaled sharply, planted his feet like anchors, arms held taut like steel beams. He locked eyes on Aoi's every movement. Even the sweat clinging to his lashes trembled.
Aoi got closer with every thunderous step.
Katsumi clenched his teeth and stepped forward, trying to wall him off from the paint.
Just then, Michael Okita charged back in from the side. His arms swung like blades, sweat scattering through the air in glinting arcs.
They had a plan. With both of them collapsing on Aoi from front and rear, they were sure they could trap him.
But Aoi had already seen through them.
Just before colliding with Katsumi, Aoi froze.
Both knees bent unnaturally, like a bowstring drawn to the limit.
Then—boom!
He launched off the ground like a cannonball, carving a gust of wind behind him.
Michael and Katsumi reacted instinctively, jumping up too. Their arms swung up and nearly met in mid-air, both of them wearing confident, winning grins.
Their goal: block Aoi's shot completely.
But they had misjudged.
Aoi hadn't jumped straight up.
Instead, he angled off to the side. His whole body tilted at about 45 degrees to the floor.
The ball, cradled firmly in one hand, slipped right past their joint block.
A second later, Aoi's arm snapped forward.
With a sharp crack through the air, the ball fired toward the rim.
Everyone's eyes widened. No one could believe what they were seeing.
Fujisawa Eri's clear eyes flew wide open. Her lips parted in a soft, round gasp. Her lashes fluttered wildly, her whole face frozen in shock.
Coach Ofuna, standing beside her, blinked again and again, unable to hide his awe.
He'd heard of this player before—a high schooler named Aoi Kunisaku.
He'd heard the rumors: super-high-speed dribbling, formless shooting technique.
His eyes were still locked onto Aoi Kunisaku. That sudden stop-and-go spin move when breaking past Michael Okita, and the slanted arc shot that looked reckless but hit with pinpoint accuracy—every frame challenged his understanding of traditional basketball.
Those textbook-style tactics seemed to morph into freeform improvisation in this boy's hands. It was like the basketball wasn't just a tool but a living partner.
"So this is super high-speed dribbling and formless shooting..." he murmured, voice low, eyes flickering with excitement.
In all his years on the court, he'd seen too many players stick to the rulebook. Rarely had he encountered someone who made basketball come alive like this.
Bang...
Swish...
The muffled thud of the ball off the backboard snapped everyone back. The orange-red ball rebounded along a short arc and fell clean into the net.
Basket in.
The white net swayed gently like rippling water, and the scoreboard blinked to life.
Shohoku 51 to 55 Ryokufu.
Tap...
Aoi Kunisaku landed.
He just stood there.
Everyone's eyes were drawn to him like magnets.
He smirked. That devilish curve of his lips hung playfully in place—it looked like mockery, or maybe just total control of the game.
Katsumi Ichirou and Michael Okita stared at him with complicated expressions.
Katsumi was still wide-eyed in disbelief. His throat bobbed, and a raspy breath squeezed out. "That guy's shooting is insane..."
Michael bent over, hands on knees, panting hard. Sweat dripped from his jaw, darkening the court beneath him. "Damn it, he's too fast. I can't predict his next move at all."
That helpless feeling ate him alive.
The rest of Ryokufu looked the same. Eyes wide, stunned like they'd just seen a ghost.
Masao's throat tightened. His voice shook. "Is he even human? What normal person can pull that off?"
On the other side, Mitsui Hisashi sneered at Masao with a scoff. "There's no such thing as impossible."
Sakuragi Hanamichi's gaze was full of jealousy and frustration. He grumbled, "Damn it! That guy's stealing the spotlight again!"
Possession switched.
Michael Okita called to his teammates. "Stay calm. Let's slow the tempo."
Ryokufu pushed back up to Shohoku's perimeter.
Michael faced Aoi again.
He tried several crossovers to break through, but Aoi shut him down at every angle.
The Tsumuri twins, Seiji and Keiji, moved in to double-team him.
But Aoi, like he had eyes on the back of his head, stepped back just as they closed in, slipping neatly between them.
He widened the gap between himself and Michael with a quick retreat step.
Michael's eyes narrowed. He thought this was his shot to pull up and fire.
To be safe, he also stepped back before rising to shoot.
At that moment, Tsumuri Seiji and Tsumuri Keiji were lined up perfectly between Michael and Aoi, forming a solid wall.
If Aoi wanted to block the shot, he'd have to go around them.
And that's exactly what he did.
Right after his retreat, Aoi pushed off hard. In a single bound, he darted past both twins.
Michael had already taken off, eyes locked on Shohoku's rim, just about to let it fly.
But then—out of nowhere—a streak of red flashed across his vision.
He blinked.
Aoi was already in front of him.
Michael's pupils shrank, face stunned.
He couldn't believe Aoi caught up even after all that.
That's when it hit him—Aoi wasn't just fast. His explosiveness was inhuman.
As Aoi's hand closed in on the ball, Michael panicked. He yanked the ball back and glanced behind.
He spotted Masao behind the three-point line.
Without hesitation, he passed it back.
The decision was sharp and fast—no wasted movement.
But someone else was even faster.
Aoi had read the change instantly. Judging from Michael's stance and the court's spacing, he already guessed who the target was.
Trusting his instincts, Aoi twisted in mid-air. His body rotated a full 180 degrees.
While turning, his arm whipped around with it.
That sweeping motion brought his palm swinging right at the ball.
Just as Michael let go, Aoi's hand sliced in with force.
Smack!
Under Michael's blank stare and the stunned gazes of everyone else—
Aoi's hand hit the ball square and clean, sending it flying.
The entire gym froze in that moment.
The Ryokufu cheering section, once loud and synchronized, fell completely silent.
A thousand faces turned pale with shock.
The arena dropped into eerie, absolute silence.