Beep…
The sharp whistle pierced through the air of the arena.
Meizawa called for a timeout.
The coach could no longer stay seated — frustration written all over his face. He had expected this to be another easy, one-sided game. Just like before, he thought they'd crush their opponents and raise the championship trophy effortlessly, with Sawakita Eiji's dominance paving the way.
But reality had just slapped him across the face.
That red-haired Ake who suddenly appeared on the court — not only was he unbelievably strong, but his playstyle defied all understanding.
Ball handling smooth as silk.
Passes so precise they seemed to read minds.
Court vision so wide it was as if he could see the entire floor from above.
A basketball IQ so high it was infuriating.
But the move that truly haunted the coach was the one that kept breaking ankles — the same move that pierced his pride like a thorn lodged deep in his heart.
For a brief moment, he even wondered if the boy was a professional player.
Is this really a normal person?
Could a middle school student possibly have such skill?
Sawakita Eiji was already the most talented student he had ever seen, yet even Eiji might not be capable of pulling off those kinds of outrageous plays.
The current time in the Slam Dunk world was roughly the 1980s or 1990s — an era when the "ankle breaker" move had only ever appeared a few times in American professional basketball.
And now, that same divine move had appeared before them — trampling on their pride again and again.
Meizawa's Bench.
The players walked off the court with dazed expressions, as if waking from a nightmare.
Their coach wasted no time. He stormed toward Sawakita Eiji and ordered in a firm voice, "Sawakita, you're guarding that red-haired kid next. No matter what — don't let him score again."
Sawakita nodded without hesitation. He was intrigued by Ake too. Deep down, he wanted to see the full extent of his opponent's strength.
"Oh, right, Coach," Sawakita asked suddenly, "if I switch to defense, what about Sendo?"
The coach had already thought about it.
He scanned his players and said in a steady tone, "Seiyo only has two real threats. The other three aren't even worth mentioning. Our strategy stays the same — keep the double-team pressure."
He paused, his eyes sharp and voice filled with conviction.
"There isn't much time left. We're in the lead. As long as we hold the line, we win."
"Yes, Coach!" the players responded in unison, their frustration momentarily replaced by determination.
Seiyo's Bench.
The usually lively bench was unnervingly quiet.
The players sat silently, heads lowered. None of them spoke.
Yet, from time to time, their eyes flicked toward Ake.
Their gazes were complicated — filled with awe, confusion, and a faint sense of fear. It was as if they were staring at something inhuman, something dangerous.
Sendo slowly wiped the sweat from his forehead with a towel. His movements were calm, but his eyes remained fixed on Ake.
Surprise. Confusion. And something else — a feeling he couldn't quite put into words.
Ake sat still, expressionless, eyes closed. It was unclear whether he was meditating, steadying his breathing… or suppressing something deeper.
What stood out most were his eyes.
Behind his closed eyelids, the faint light flickering from his heterochromatic pupils was eerie — as if some non-human force was struggling to break free within him.
The whole bench seemed shrouded by an invisible pressure.
No one dared to speak. No one dared to move.
They could all sense it — Ake was hiding something.
Something that didn't belong to this era.
Something that didn't belong to this world.
And whatever it was… it was beginning to awaken.
Sendo's lips curved into a faint, wry smile.
He muttered under his breath, "This guy… who the hell is he?"
"You bastard! How dare you take control while I wasn't paying attention!"
Ake's furious roar echoed from the depths of his consciousness.
The second personality — the one controlling his body — responded with a calm, sinister smirk.
"You're wrong," he said softly, amusement dancing in his tone. "It's not that I took control while you weren't paying attention… You willingly gave it to me."
"I… willingly gave it to you?" Ake was stunned, his voice trembling with disbelief.
The other Ake's expression darkened, his tone growing cold. "I've told you before — you and I are one. You are me, and I am you. Your thoughts are mine, and mine are yours."
He paused, eyes glinting. "You just refuse to admit it. But denial doesn't change the truth."
"What a joke…" Ake growled, anger boiling within him.
"Believe what you want," the second Ake replied coldly. "But my existence proves everything."
Silence followed. Heavy. Painful.
Not the calm after rage — but the silence of a truth he couldn't deny.
Because deep down, Ake knew… the second him was right.
He had wavered.
He had doubted his teammates.
He had grown disappointed in their tactics.
He had lost trust in the team.
And from that tiny crack in his heart… the second personality had emerged.
Thinking of his teammates — sincere but naïve — he couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry.
They were so weak, yet so oblivious.
They reached the finals, yet didn't seem to care about victory or defeat.
They wasted every opportunity he created — yet remained loyal and earnest.
The thought made Ake's head ache.
But now, it was too late.
Something within him had shifted — a silent exchange between the two sides of his soul.
He didn't know how to take control back.
All he could do was watch helplessly as his second self — confident, ruthless, unstoppable — continued to dominate the court.
Even as he resented it… he couldn't help but be amazed.
That version of himself… was simply too powerful.
The "Emperor's Eye." The "Ankle Breaker." Even if not in their full forms, they were more than enough to shatter any defense in this era.
Beep...
The timeout ended.
Ake rose from his seat, his movements steady, eyes cold.
He didn't look at anyone — not his coach, not his teammates.
To him, the world now consisted of only one person.
"Victory is everything," he muttered — the voice of the second Ake.
Stepping onto the court, he whispered, his tone dripping with arrogance and conviction, "Watch closely. I'll show you how pathetic it is to rely on others."
A cold smile touched his lips.
"True strength… is holding your own destiny in your hands."
The moment his feet touched the court again, the entire atmosphere changed.
A crushing pressure swept over everyone.
His aura had evolved — sharper, colder, absolute.
All doubt was gone.
What stood there now was not a middle schooler. It was a predator — a force of nature cloaked in human form.