The Shinwa High rooftop was a quiet haven, the Tokyo skyline shimmering as Kenji Tachibana tossed a ball between his hands, the referee whistle—etched with a Kurogane crest—cold against his palm. The Principal Cup qualifiers loomed, Kita High up first, and Kaede's plan to broadcast Kaito's father's crimes mid-game was a ticking bomb. Hoshino's showdown demand to Akira echoed from the Aoyama win, and Kaito's traps waited. Downstairs, school buzzed—students waving Cup banners—but the whistle felt like a dare to seize the court.
In history class earlier, Kenji had linked a warrior's resolve to his own fight, dodging Kaito's rumor with a grin. Hana, rushing from a council fundraiser pitch, slipped him a note: Fake ref list out—Kaito's dad's rattled. Her gaze steadied him. Rin, solving a physics puzzle, ignored classmates' awe, his mind on shots. Jiro got busted for candy, laughing it off, while Riku aced a quiz, Daichi beamed at his own, and Kaito Hattori's dropped book sparked giggles. Akira, sketching plays, muttered, "Hoshino's mine."
The courtyard pulsed with Cup fever, students chanting Shinwa's name. A girl snapped a selfie with Kenji, his fame a spark, but the new student—Kurogane's spy—hovered, eyeing Hana's bag. "He's close," Kenji whispered, her nod sharp.
The team huddled at a local ramen shop, not the gym, to dodge spies. Haru's laptop showed Kaede's test feed: an empty Cup arena, a whistle like Kenji's on a table. "She's hacking the broadcast system," Haru said. "Files ready—bribes, '98 orders, Kaito's dad's name." Hana mapped a plan, her voice fire. "We beat Kita, let her air it. Fake refs keep them guessing." Her hand grazed Kenji's, a spark of courage.
Akira clenched his chopsticks. "Hoshino gets his shot. I'll end it." Jiro's bad chopstick trick drew laughs, Riku raced Daichi to finish, and Tatsuya teased Kaito Hattori's fumble. Rin, sipping broth, murmured about shot angles. Morita, rare off-campus, smiled. "Team's your edge." His words landed soft, heavy with pride.
At a Kurogane fan meet in a Tokyo arcade, Kenji tossed a ball for fans, charm masking tension. An exec jabbed, "Qualifiers are your last shot, kid." Ami, blending in, texted: Kaito's dad's tightening security—Kaede's feed's live tomorrow. A guard with a Kurogane pin watched, too close. Kenji grinned, defiance sharp. "I don't miss."
Back at school, the gym thrummed with final drills. Morita called, "Kita's guards steal fast—keep it tight!" Rin sank a three, Kenji weaved and passed, Jiro slashed, Riku sprinted, Tatsuya faked. Daichi crashed the boards, Kaito Hattori blocked with grit. Hana's fake play misled Kita's scouts. Akira's calls were sharp, eyes on the stands, expecting Hoshino.
Post-drill, Haru confirmed the fake ref list spread, Kurogane scrambling. Hana's voice was steel. "We win, Kaede exposes them." Kenji caught her gaze, their bond electric. Akira vowed, "Hoshino's mine."
As they left, a basketball rolled across the courtyard, its surface scratched with a red "K." No note, just a taunt, glinting as Kita's game waited.