"What was that?"
"What did he just do?"
"All of Meizawa's players fell down!"
"Did you see that? The red-haired guy—he dribbled straight through and scored!"
"Am I dreaming? How could something like that even happen?!"
…After a moment of stunned silence, the stands erupted with scattered exclamations and heated discussions.
Everyone from Meizawa's side—even the coach—stood frozen in disbelief. It all felt unreal, like they were trapped in a dream.
The invisible pressure Ake had unleashed moments ago was simply overwhelming. For a brief instant, their bodies refused to move—as if compelled to kneel before a higher power.
On Seiyo's bench, confusion turned to excitement. No one quite understood what Ake had done, but the result was clear for all to see.
Only Sendoh frowned, his gaze fixed on Ake. "Ake…" he murmured.
There was something different about him now—something beyond explanation. Sendoh couldn't pinpoint it, but this wasn't the same Ake he had once faced one-on-one.
"What… what was that?" Sawakita Eiji muttered, his expression dark and serious. He had never witnessed such a style of play before.
One man had faked out three defenders in a row.
'Was it luck? Coincidence?'
Even Sawakita, the so-called prodigy, couldn't imagine pulling that off himself.
The questions lingered, but the game continued.
Yet a strange heaviness now filled the air—a suffocating tension that pressed down on both teams.
All eyes unconsciously gravitated toward Ake.
Meizawa began their offense. The ball was in the hands of their power forward.
Kirihara Hayato moved in to defend—but before he could, another figure stepped forward to cut off the attacker.
Ake.
The Meizawa forward froze for a split second when their eyes met.
He had faced strong defenders before—but Ake was different.
He stood there without moving much, yet his mere presence was suffocating—like a towering, invisible mountain blocking every path forward.
Ake's cold, heterochromatic eyes gleamed faintly, carrying an aura that corroded one's will. It wasn't just a stare—it was like those eyes could pierce straight into his soul.
The Meizawa forward's palms began to sweat. His heartbeat quickened.
Every possible move flashed through his mind—but each time, an alarm went off deep inside him.
'No… not that.'
'No… that won't work either.'
Cold sweat dripped down his temple as hesitation crept in. Doubt. Fear.
He cursed himself silently. Was he really that afraid of this kid stealing the ball from him?
His eyes darted between Ake and his teammates. Finally, he made up his mind.
With a sudden swing of his arm, he went for the pass—
Clap!
The sharp sound sliced through the air like a whip. The Meizawa forward's heart stopped.
A blur moved across his vision.
Before the ball could even leave his hand, a long, steady hand had already snatched it away.
Ake.
Time seemed to freeze.
He had anticipated the move—half a beat earlier than anyone else.
His body tilted slightly forward, feet pushing off the court. His arm stretched like a hawk diving for its prey.
He didn't even need to lunge. A simple jump—clean, effortless—and the ball was his.
For a moment, everyone saw the faint glow flicker within his crimson and gold eyes.
"Did he… see through my move?" the Meizawa forward whispered, disbelief twisting his face. "How is that possible?"
He knew his pass had been an instinctive reaction—even he hadn't fully decided on it until the very last second.
Yet Ake had read it perfectly.
He stood frozen, mouth open but unable to speak, his chest tight with disbelief.
Meanwhile, Ake didn't even spare him a glance. His movements were smooth, controlled—like the steal had been the most natural thing in the world.
Then he was gone.
With a burst of speed, Ake sprinted across the court like a cheetah, his steps light and silent.
The entire gym seemed to hold its breath.
Ake's dribble was sharp and rhythmic—each bounce perfectly timed, his gaze unwavering.
As he neared the three-point line, Meizawa's center stepped up, towering over him like an immovable wall.
His eyes locked on Ake's every movement, his muscles tensed, ready for anything.
But instead of driving forward, Ake did something no one expected.
Outside the three-point line, he suddenly leaned back, raising the ball with both hands in one fluid motion—smooth, confident, deliberate.
A chill ran down Meizawa's center's spine.
And then—
Ake jumped.
Soaring into the air like an eagle, he released the ball.
The basketball cut through the air in a clean, perfect arc.
The gym fell silent. Every eye followed the spinning ball, hearts beating in sync with its path.
Meizawa's center tilted his head back, powerless to do anything but watch as the shot flew past.
For the first time, he realized—his height meant nothing.
Swish.
The ball fell cleanly through the hoop.
For a second, time seemed to stop.
Then, slowly, Ake landed, his feet steady on the court.
He didn't celebrate. Didn't smile. Didn't even glance at the scoreboard.
He simply turned around, calm as ever, and walked back toward his half of the court.
The clock ticked down.
And as the game pressed on, one thing became clear—Ake had completely stolen the spotlight.
Every pair of eyes in the arena followed him.
He dominated both ends of the court like a god of the game itself—an unstoppable force.
Meizawa's players could do nothing against him.
Seiyo's Kirihara, Kobayashi, and Yamamoto had faded into the background.
Even they realized it. Ake, once their teammate who passed the ball and trusted them, now seemed to have transcended them—playing his own game.
Their expressions grew complicated.
Sendoh, on the other hand, understood.
He didn't feel frustrated or overshadowed—instead, he focused all his energy on locking down Sawakita Eiji.
He knew none of Meizawa's other players could stop the current Ake.
From the sideline, Coach Nakamura's eyes flickered uneasily. Something about Ake's presence didn't feel right—but with Seiyo's momentum surging, he hesitated to act.
He was still young, inexperienced compared to veteran coaches.
And so, he said nothing.
Slap. Swish. Bang.
Steal. Drive. Shot.
Ake's relentless rhythm exploded across the court, igniting the crowd into a frenzy.
Each move brought another roar, another gasp.
The scoreboard reflected the growing pressure.
Seiyo: 76.
Meizawa: 80.
Two minutes remained.