The next day.
By official announcement of Coach Taoka Moichi, Akashi had become the new captain of the Ryonan basketball team.
The gym was silent. No objections, no murmur of dissent.
Koshino Hiroaki and Ryoji Ikegami, who had initially questioned the change, remained speechless. After witnessing Akashi's duel with Uozumi yesterday, they had no reason to argue.
Even Tomoyuki Uekusa, who had once firmly stood by Uozumi, now bowed his head in silent acceptance.
And Uozumi himself had willingly relinquished the captaincy. Who else could object?
Sendo, observing quietly, couldn't help but feel a twinge of surprise. This guy only joined two days ago… and he's already captain?
The freshmen looked at Akashi not just with awe, but with admiration. A freshman captain? They had never seen such a thing. If word spread, it could shake all of Kanagawa—and even the national high school basketball scene.
From this day, Akashi began quietly reforming the team—not with dramatic lineup changes, but with precise, calculated improvements to each player's training regimen.
At first, many were skeptical. But within days, the results spoke for themselves. Technical flaws were corrected, conditioning optimized, and individual strengths sharpened. Doubt quietly transformed into trust—and even gratitude.
One rule remained unchanged: the capable advanced, the weak retreated. Those lacking sufficient strength, regardless of grade, stayed on the bench.
Coach Taoka Moichi approved. By choosing Akashi as captain, he had placed his full trust in him. Interference would only come if something truly outrageous occurred—and even then, it would be measured.
That day, inside the Ryonan gym:
Coach Taoka Moichi addressed the team, serious and firm.
"In a week, we will have a practice match against Shohoku."
He let the statement sink in, scanning each player.
"Their captain, Akagi Takenori, is the county's top center. They also have a super freshman this year: Rukawa Kaede. Shohoku is no longer Akagi's one-man team. Take this seriously. Never underestimate them."
"Yes!" The team responded in unison, spirits ignited.
Coach Taoka nodded. "Continue training."
The players dispersed, but the conversation naturally turned to Shohoku.
"A practice match against Shohoku…" Aida Hikoichi muttered, thoughtful. He had decided to gather intelligence on the opponent.
Though not strong or tall, his skill in observation and analysis—enhanced by his reporter sister, Aida Yayoi—made him suitable for the task. Akashi approved, trusting his delegation.
Koshino scoffed. "Shohoku? They were eliminated in the first round last year. Not even top-tier in Kanagawa."
Ryoji shrugged. "The only threat is Akagi. The rest aren't worth mentioning."
A calm, sharp voice cut through.
"Don't underestimate anyone."
Akashi's tone was flat, yet it carried undeniable authority. His gaze swept over them, calm but penetrating.
Koshino and Ryoji stiffened instinctively. Ever since Akashi became captain, every word seemed to carry weight. Respect wasn't forced—it came from his presence, from his combination of strength and authority.
"On the court, anything can happen," Akashi continued. "Even a lion must give full effort to catch a rabbit. The weak defeating the strong… it's not unheard of."
"Well said." Coach Taoka's approval was clear. "Shohoku may not have been strong previously, but we cannot be careless. Victory is our path to the National Tournament."
Sendo sighed, resigned. I knew it… with this captain, I won't have many leisurely days ahead.
Meanwhile, at Shohoku High:
"Gather!"
A loud, commanding voice echoed through the gym. The speaker—nearly two meters tall, dark-skinned, chiseled, calm—was Akagi Takenori, Shohoku's captain.
Players immediately lined up, disciplined and alert. His authority was absolute.
Shohoku's lineup was generally unremarkable in height, except for two freshmen who stood out:
Rukawa Kaede—black-haired, over 180 cm, approaching 190 cm, indifferent and seemingly untouchable.
Sakuragi Hanamichi—red-haired, tall, with a provocative glare, ready to challenge anyone, unaware of caution or fear.
Other players included Kogure Kiminobu (3rd year), Yasuharu Yasuda (2nd), Tetsushi Shiozaki (2nd), Kakuta Satoru (2nd), and freshmen Kentaro Ishii, Satoshi Sasaoka, and Toki Kuwata.
At the front stood the coach: Anzai Mitsuyoshi. White-haired, kind, round, and calm, he addressed the team.
"We have a practice match against Ryonan, scheduled one week from today."
The announcement hit.
Second- and third-year players who knew Ryonan's reputation froze.
"Ryonan?!" Yasuda exclaimed.
"We're actually playing last year's county top-four?!" Kogure muttered.
Kakuta broke out in cold sweat. "Are we really going up against such a strong team?"
Even the new freshmen felt the tension, palms sweating.
Yet two remained unfazed:
Rukawa Kaede—indifferent, lost in his own world.
Sakuragi Hanamichi—unaware of fear, oblivious to stakes.
Anzai Mitsuyoshi wasted no more words. He immediately ordered an intra-squad scrimmage to gauge Shohoku's current strength.
Soon, the Shohoku gym buzzed with the beginning of the scrimmage—its first step toward the inevitable clash with Ryonan.