Ryonan High School — Basketball Gym.
Bang… bang… bang—
bang bang bang—
The echo of a basketball striking the floor reverberated through the empty gym like a heartbeat.
Each thud landed heavier than the last, faster, more desperate—
Until the ball rolled weakly into a corner and came to a stop.
Silence followed.
A suffocating, absolute silence.
No footsteps.
No cheers.
No exclamations.
Only stillness—so thick it felt as if the air itself had solidified, pressing down on everyone's chest.
"Hoo… ha… hoo… ha…"
Heavy gasps finally tore through the silence.
Fukuda Kicchou's knees slammed into the floor.
The sound was dull, powerless.
His palms pressed against the wooden surface, fingers trembling, knuckles whitening as sweat dripped from his hair, splattering onto the court in uneven droplets.
His chest heaved violently, every breath ripping through his lungs like a serrated blade.
There was no emotion left on his face.
Only emptiness.
His eyes stared forward, unfocused—
as if something essential had been stripped away.
Gulp.
Then another.
Subtle swallowing sounds rippled outward, breaking the frozen air like cracks in ice.
The surrounding players swallowed hard in unison.
Their pupils trembled as they stared at the scene before them.
What had they just witnessed?
It wasn't a match.
It wasn't even a defeat.
It was a total collapse—body and spirit alike.
Fukuda knelt there like a beast pinned beneath a hunter's foot, head lowered, shoulders shaking, as if even the strength to remain upright had been taken from him.
Akashi stood before him.
Still.
Immovable.
Like a mountain gazing down upon the ruins at its base.
His eyes were calm.
His voice, light as wind brushing over water, carried no emotion at all.
"Are there any more questions?"
The words landed softly.
Yet to Fukuda, they struck like a hammer to the heart.
His vacant eyes trembled.
Emotion surged back violently—
unwillingness flared like fire,
terror seeped in like ice,
fear coiled tightly around his heart.
His lips quivered.
"N… no more."
Three words.
Hoarse.
Broken.
Devoid of pride.
The entire gym seemed to shudder.
Akashi didn't look at him again.
He turned and walked off the court, footsteps steady, unhurried.
Each scrape of his sneakers against the floor sounded unnaturally clear in the silence.
Just before stepping off the court, his voice rang out again.
"From now on, you're the starting power forward."
A pause.
"Don't disappoint me."
The players remained frozen.
Shock.
Awe.
Envy.
And an unspoken chill spreading quietly through their spines.
"He couldn't fight back at all…"
"That wasn't a match—it was annihilation."
"Captain Akashi really is a monster."
"I'm glad… I'm on the same team as him."
No applause followed.
No cheers.
Only the scuffed floor—
bearing silent witness to a surrender that needed no words.
From that day on, Fukuda Kicchou changed completely.
The defiance vanished.
The disrespect disappeared.
In its place was obedience—almost reverence.
He followed Akashi's instructions without hesitation, fear flickering deep within his eyes, as if worried he might cross an invisible line again.
Ryonan's training rhythm tightened further.
Like a bowstring drawn to its limit.
Within Akashi's "no-pass scrimmage," Fukuda was forced to move.
To cut.
To read space without guidance.
With no passes coming, he could only rely on instinct—
timing his runs through chaos, carving paths through disorder.
At first, mistakes were constant.
He rushed.
Overextended.
Forced opportunities.
But gradually—
His footwork steadied.
His cuts sharpened.
His awareness deepened.
He began reading defensive rotations, predicting help-defense routes, slipping into space just before it vanished.
His weaknesses remained.
Mid-range shots were stiff.
Defensive rotations lagged.
Akashi did not rush him.
His goal wasn't perfection.
Only optimization.
"This is sufficient," Akashi thought calmly from the sidelines, arms crossed, calculations forming silently.
The rest—
Would be settled in actual games.
Time passed in the blink of an eye.
May 15th arrived.
Morning light spilled faintly across the court, the air already tinged with early summer heat.
Ryonan High School — Basketball Gym.
"I'm baaaack!"
A clear shout shattered the quiet.
Everyone turned at once.
Aida Hikoichi burst through the door, panting heavily, cheeks flushed, sweat rolling down his temples.
He held a rolled-up sheet of paper high in his hand.
"The tryout groupings are out!"
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
Every breath paused.
Who would they face first?
Would they meet Kainan?
Shoyo?
Coach Taoka Moichi crossed his arms, face composed, eyes already fixed on the paper.
"Post it," he said.
Hikoichi rushed forward and pinned the schedule to the whiteboard.
As it unfurled, it felt like the curtain rising on a new season.
Players crowded in, three layers deep.
"This year," Hikoichi announced, "there are 264 participating schools in Kanagawa alone!"
Gasps rippled through the group.
"264?!" Koshino widened his eyes. "Didn't we have barely over two hundred last year?"
"Competition's fierce," Ikegami muttered. "Everyone's confident this year."
"Even Group C looks dangerous," Uekusa sighed.
Hikoichi raised his hand.
"Good news first—last year's Top Four are all in separate groups."
"Kainan — Group A."
"Shoyo — Group B."
"Takezato — Group D."
"And us—Group C."
A collective breath escaped.
Avoiding early clashes mattered.
Then Hikoichi's tone shifted.
"But there's more."
"Due to the increased number of teams, the organizers decided—"
"To increase qualifying spots from two to three."
The gym stirred.
Eyes lit up.
Three spots meant opportunity.
It meant they weren't just chasing survival—
they were competing for dominance.
Coach Taoka's eyes gleamed sharply.
"Kawanobe High School…" Uozumi read aloud. "First opponent?"
"Never heard of them," Koshino shrugged.
"Doesn't matter," Ikegami said calmly.
Taoka finally spoke.
"With three spots available, we must defeat either Kainan or Shoyo to advance."
The air tightened.
Kainan—
sixteen consecutive national appearances.
Shoyo—
eternal challengers.
But before doubt could settle—
Akashi spoke.
His voice was calm, deep, and heavy, like pressure sinking into the ocean floor.
"There will be no surprises," he said evenly.
"From preliminaries to finals."
He scanned the room, heterochromatic eyes cold and unwavering.
"Don't think about unnecessary things."
"No matter who we face—"
"We crush them."
His gaze settled on the finals column at the center of the schedule.
"Only we will stand at the top."
Coach Taoka nodded slowly.
"As long as we keep this confidence," he said, "we'll defeat them one by one."
"Yes!"
The response came in unison.