Inside the Ryonan vs. Kawanobe arena.
Both teams gathered at center court, the atmosphere thick with tension.
Ryonan Starting Lineup
Center: Uozumi Jun — #5 (3rd Year, acting vice-captain)
Power Forward: Ryoji Ikegami — #6 (2nd Year)
Small Forward: Sendoh Akira — #7 (2nd Year)
Shooting Guard: Koshino Hiroaki — #8 (2nd Year)
Point Guard: Tomoyuki Uekusa — #9 (2nd Year)
Kawanobe Starting Lineup
Center: Yamamoto Itta — #8 (1st Year)
Power Forward: Aoki Kenta — #7 (2nd Year)
Small Forward: Yuta Watanabe — #6 (2nd Year)
Shooting Guard: Sato Shota — #5 (3rd Year)
Point Guard: Takigawa Mata — #4 (3rd Year, Captain)
Uozumi and Yamamoto stood opposite each other, tall shadows colliding in silence.
Yamamoto's gaze drifted past Uozumi, searching.
No red hair.
His eyes slid instinctively toward Ryonan's bench.
Akashi sat there—arms crossed, posture straight, expression calm.
Yamamoto smirked.
"So that guy's your first-year captain?" he sneered. "What, he's not playing?"
Uozumi snorted.
"For trash like you, he doesn't need to."
Yamamoto laughed loudly, deliberately raising his voice.
"Is that so? Looks to me like he's scared—hiding on the bench like a turtle."
Uozumi's eyes darkened.
A vein throbbed on his temple.
Behind him, Ryonan's bench erupted.
"That bastard—!"
"If Captain Akashi played, he'd be destroyed!"
"He's not even worth it!"
"Quiet."
Akashi's voice was soft.
Yet it fell like ice water.
The bench went dead silent—no shouts, no movement, even breaths restrained.
Yamamoto's grin stiffened.
Just one word… and the entire Ryonan bench obeyed.
Unease crept up his spine.
The referee stepped forward.
A sharp whistle sliced through the air.
Tip-Off
The ball rose.
At its apex—
Uozumi exploded.
BOOM.
His jump thundered across the court as he surged upward like a released beast.
Yamamoto jumped too.
But the difference was immediate.
While Yamamoto strained, fingertips still short—
SLAP!
Uozumi's palm struck first.
The gap between them was nearly half an arm.
Yamamoto's eyes widened.
Impossible.
The ball flew backward.
Uekusa caught it cleanly and sprinted.
Takigawa slid over to cut him off—
But—
BANG!
A sharp bounce pass.
Sendoh was already moving.
He caught the ball in stride and tore through Kawanobe's defense like a blade through paper.
No one caught up.
He leapt.
One hand.
CLANG!
The rim shook violently.
2–0.
Seven seconds.
The arena froze.
Takigawa stared at Sendoh's back, jaw tightening.
"…So this is Ryonan."
Yuta swallowed hard.
That speed—
It wasn't something effort could cover.
Second Possession
Takigawa dribbled calmly.
"Slow it down. One basket."
Then—
SLAP!
Uekusa appeared from nowhere.
The ball was gone.
Before Takigawa could turn—
A long pass cut the court in half.
Koshino caught it, rose, fired.
Swish.
5–0.
Sato cursed under his breath.
One mistake.
Punished instantly.
Kawanobe slowed completely.
Takigawa crossed half-court carefully.
"Itta!"
Yamamoto cut hard into the paint.
The pass came.
He caught it, grinning wildly.
"Watch this—!"
He spun, jumped—
Then—
Darkness.
A shadow swallowed the light.
SLAP!!!
The ball was obliterated.
It flew sideways like it had been struck by a hammer.
Yamamoto landed awkwardly, arms numb.
He stared.
Uozumi withdrew his hand calmly.
"You're too weak."
Yamamoto trembled.
"YOU—!"
"I haven't even used my strength."
Uozumi turned away.
As if it had meant nothing.
Time bled away.
Ryonan dominated everything.
Drives were cut off.
Passes intercepted.
Shots erased.
Uozumi ruled the paint like a god of war.
Sendoh hunted passing lanes.
Uekusa strangled rhythm.
Ten minutes in—
43–0.
Silence filled the arena.
Kawanobe players bent over, gasping, sweat dripping onto the floor.
Their confidence was gone.
Crushed.
Yamamoto stared at the court, chest heaving.
Every block echoed in his skull like a slap.
His taunts replayed endlessly.
Each word—
A nail.
They finally understood.
This was what a Top Four team meant.
This wasn't competition.
This was annihilation.