Bang… bang… bang…
Tomoyuki Uekusa dribbled steadily, his steps light and precise, and in an instant, he had advanced into Miuradai's half-court.
The Miuradai players immediately reacted, scrambling into defensive positions. Their steps were chaotic yet coordinated, their line contracting quickly to meet the first wave of attack.
But before they could fully stabilize, a white figure—a phantom-like shadow—cut along the baseline, moving silently and swiftly.
By the time Miuradai reacted, he was already under their basket.
Uekusa's eyes narrowed. With a flick of his wrist, he delivered a precise pass.
Swish… The basketball threaded perfectly through the gap between two defenders, landing in the hands of Sendo.
Sendo leapt, arm muscles tensing, core engaged.
Clang!
A powerful one-handed dunk slammed the ball through the hoop, the net violently churning.
Ryonan scored first.
Ryonan 2 – 0 Miuradai.
The speed stunned Miuradai. None had expected Sendo to cut in so fast; there had been no time to react.
Now offense and defense switched.
Miuradai quickly reorganized. Araki Kazuo dribbled past half-court, lowering his center of gravity, eyes scanning Ryonan's defense for an opening, fingers twitching in preparation.
Before he could signal or move, a dark figure—like a leopard—burst from the flank.
Whack!
Uekusa had accelerated, snatching the ball cleanly from Araki's hands.
Araki's heart pounded. He twisted to chase, but Uekusa had already launched a seamless pass to the frontcourt.
Koshino Hiroaki received it, already moving, ambushing the perimeter like a wolf sensing prey. Without breaking stride, he leapt and shot.
Swish… The ball arced beautifully and dropped through the net.
Ryonan 5 – 0 Miuradai.
The crowd gasped.
Miuradai organized again, Araki about to pass, but Koshino, a phantom from the weak side, intercepted. Whack!
The ball flew, only to be secured by Ikegami, who had slid into position like a hound. Head down, arms pumping, he surged toward the Miuradai basket.
Clang!
A two-handed dunk. The rim rattled violently, the crowd holding its breath.
Before Miuradai could recover, possession changed once more. Ikegami shadowed the ball, steps shifting, a sudden cross-step, and the ball was intercepted.
Ryonan launched another counterattack. Uozumi received a bounce pass and returned it to Koshino, who shot without even fully stabilizing his stance.
Swish… Another three-pointer. Clean. Decisive.
Time ticked by, yet Ryonan controlled the court completely. Unconsciously, the scoreboard now read 18–0.
Even Fujima Kenji and Hanagata Toru's expressions darkened.
"So strong… in just five minutes, Ryonan has run Miuradai 18–0," Ayako murmured, voice trembling slightly.
Sakuragi Hanamichi pouted. "Miuradai's too weak!"
"It's not that they're weak," Kogure Kiminobu corrected calmly, adjusting his glasses. "It's that Ryonan is too strong. And… that guy hasn't even played yet."
At the word "that guy," all eyes instinctively shifted to the bench. Akashi remained seated, white jacket draped over his shoulders, arms crossed, chin slightly tucked. The 18–0 storm seemed to leave him untouched.
To ordinary spectators, Ryonan's dominance was overwhelming. To experts, however, the situation was far from simple.
Hanagata Toru crossed his arms, studying the court. "Ryonan's offense flows like water. Head-on, Miuradai is simply outmatched." He paused, narrowing his eyes. "However… Miuradai isn't a team to be easily defeated."
Fujima nodded slightly. Ryonan's strength surprised them, but it was only the beginning.
On the bench, Coach Taoka Moichi watched with a small, satisfied smile. "Everything's going smoothly. Maintain this momentum and we'll win."
Akashi said nothing, his gaze sweeping across every pass, every footwork, every movement, silently recording and analyzing.
Suddenly, his heterochromatic pupils contracted, a cold glint flashing.
Beep!
The whistle pierced the arena. All movements froze, eyes turning toward the basket.
The referee pointed at Kengo Murasame. "Miuradai #4, defensive foul."
Bang… the ball bounced away, rolling toward the sideline like abandoned evidence.
Uekusa clutched his scratched wrist, eyes blazing as he glared at Murasame. "You bastard…"
Murasame raised his hands, feigning innocence, a casual smile playing on his lips. But the shadow of his brow revealed a hint of cold triumph.
Ryonan took the free throws. The first swished cleanly. The second hit the rim. One of two.
The game continued.
Beep!
Another whistle. The ball hit the backboard top and bounced out of bounds. Koshino lay clutching his right hip, sweat dripping from his temples.
Takatsu Hiroshi had lunged from the side, appearing to block the shot, but his elbow had collided with Koshino's waist deliberately.
"Koshino!" Ryoji Ikegami ran to help him up. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine… damn it… he did it on purpose," Koshino gritted out.
Ikegami's face darkened. "Referee! That was intentional!"
Takatsu shrugged, voice innocent, eyes glinting. "I was just trying to block him… my foot slipped."
Uekusa scowled. "Don't argue. He clearly meant it."
The referee called only a defensive foul. No technical, no ejection, no warning.
Ryonan's players clenched their fists, forcing down their anger. Uozumi glared. Ikegami spun in frustration. Sendo stayed silent, teeth gritted.
Miuradai's foul tactics began to take effect. The once-smooth Ryonan offense faltered under repeated subtle fouls—arm pulls, shoulder bumps, waist checks, heel stomps. Painful, legal-ish, exhausting.
Every shot became a battle. Every drive a test of patience.
Yet the harder Ryonan pushed, the more Miuradai's morale rose. They played aggressively, defended fiercely, even cheering every successful foul.
The score gradually shifted. Ryonan still led, but the dominance waned. Each point was fought for like a battle.
Finally, after a tense back-and-forth, the scoreboard read:
Ryonan 31 – 16 Miuradai.