The atmosphere inside the arena never cooled during the first half.
Steals, fast breaks, forced jumpers, and last-second shots collided one after another. The roar of the crowd surged endlessly, waves of heat rolling down from the stands.
Every player on the court—Ryonan or Shohoku—could feel it pressing against their skin.
Yet in the eyes of Kainan and Shoyo's players, something felt… wrong.
The score was tight.
The confrontation fierce.
And yet—
"This game feels strange," Jin Soichiro muttered, tilting his head slightly, his brows knit with uncertainty.
"Huh? You too, Jin-senpai?" Kiyota Nobunaga immediately leaned in, nodding hard. "I thought it was just me. Something's been off since midway through the first half."
He turned toward the figure beside him. "Captain Maki, what do you think?"
Shinichi Maki didn't answer right away.
He stared at the court, arms folded, eyes narrowed in thought. Only after several seconds did he speak.
"On the surface, it looks evenly matched," he said slowly. "But…"
His gaze shifted.
Not to the scoreboard.
Not to Shohoku.
But to Akashi—who had just returned to the bench.
Akashi's breathing was calm. His face showed no redness, no trace of fatigue. His heterochromatic eyes were still and deep, like an ancient well undisturbed by wind.
Seeing that composure, Maki's unease deepened.
This isn't normal.
Hanagata Toru pushed his glasses up gently and glanced at the scoreboard. "A tie…?"
His voice carried genuine surprise.
He had analyzed both teams beforehand and expected Ryonan to hold a slight advantage by halftime.
"This is unexpected," he murmured. "Is Shohoku really this strong now?"
Fujima Kenji finally looked away from Akashi and replied evenly, "Shohoku's growth is undeniable. They may truly have the strength to challenge Ryonan."
Then he paused—and added quietly,
"But Ryonan hasn't shown everything yet."
Shohoku Bench
Takenori Akagi and the others sat down heavily, towels draped over their shoulders, sweat soaking their hair.
They weren't exhausted—but the amount of sweat told another story.
The first half had drained far more stamina than they'd anticipated.
"Great job, everyone," Ayako said brightly as she handed out water bottles. "Keep this up in the second half!"
Before the game, she'd only hoped Shohoku could avoid being overwhelmed.
But now?
They were tied with Ryonan.
Hope stirred.
Akagi stared at the scoreboard, his expression conflicted—half disbelief, half uncertainty.
We're tied…
If they could maintain this rhythm—
Victory didn't feel impossible.
Nearby, Miyagi Ryota wiped his sweat, but his movements were distracted. His brows remained tightly drawn together.
Finally, he spoke.
"Hey… honestly," Miyagi said, looking around, "that Akashi guy—he's really supposed to be that scary?"
The bench fell silent.
Everyone turned toward him.
"That's obvious," Ayako replied immediately. "Didn't you see his passes? His court vision is insane."
Miyagi shook his head slowly. "Yeah, his passing is sharp. His ball control is flawless. But that's it."
He looked genuinely puzzled.
"At least in the first half, he wasn't hard to deal with at all. I don't get how someone like that once beat us by fifty points."
The joy on the bench faded instantly.
Akagi's faint sense of confidence evaporated, replaced by something heavier.
At that moment—
A white glint flashed across Anzai Mitsuyoshi's glasses.
He raised his head and looked across the court.
At the Ryonan bench.
More precisely—
At Akashi.
Ryonan Bench
The Ryonan players sat quietly.
No shouting.
No agitation.
They wiped sweat, drank water, and regulated their breathing with calm precision—as if they had just completed a routine practice rather than a brutal half.
Coach Taoka Moichi stepped forward, his voice carrying a note of approval.
"The rhythm was excellent. Everything went according to plan," he said. "I didn't expect Shohoku to stabilize the score so well."
His tone sharpened slightly.
"We'll pull ahead in the second half. Tactical adjustments will follow Akashi's instructions."
"Yes," the team replied in unison.
Then Akashi spoke.
"The probing ends here," he said calmly. "There's nothing more to gain from observation."
Before the Game — Ryonan Locker Room
"Akashi," Coach Taoka asked, "do you have any suggestions?"
Akashi answered without hesitation.
"Shohoku's potential is high. They often exceed expectations during games," he said evenly. "I recommend using the first half to probe them. That will make the second half far more efficient."
Taoka considered it, then nodded. "Alright. We'll do it your way."
Back to the Present
Akashi's lips curved into a faint smile.
"The board is set," he said quietly. "Now, we capture the pieces."
He turned his gaze to the bench.
"Fukuda. You're in."
Fukuda Kiccho straightened instantly, eyes igniting.
"Besides scoring," Akashi continued, "your priority is Sakuragi Hanamichi. Keep him out of the paint. Do not let him approach the basket freely."
"Yes," Fukuda replied without hesitation.
The halftime break ended quickly.
Beep!
The whistle sliced through the noise.
Uozumi Jun and Takenori Akagi stood at center court once more, knees bent, eyes locked on the ball.
Akagi's gaze drifted—just briefly—to Akashi.
He didn't go all out… not even close.
Confidence?
Or calculation?
Akagi pulled his focus back to Uozumi.
Across from him, Uozumi's eyes burned with anticipation.
"Come on, Akagi," Uozumi called out. "Use everything you've got. Otherwise… you won't have a chance."
Akagi's pupils shrank.
A vein bulged on his forehead.
"What did you say?"
Uozumi merely snorted. "Nothing. Just hope you won't regret it later."
Unease replaced Akagi's anger.
Before he could think further, the referee stepped in.
Beep!
The ball was tossed skyward.
The second half—
officially began.