Outside the court, it felt as if time itself had frozen.
The entire stadium fell silent, as if suspended in awe. Spectators stared wide-eyed at the court, mouths agape, their expressions shifting from shock to bewilderment, and finally settling into outright disbelief.
Even the Kainan and Shoyo teams watched, stunned.
What had they just seen?
Someone had passed the ball using his elbow.
It was the first time anyone had ever witnessed such a move. Incredible didn't begin to describe it.
"Th-that guy… he… he just used his elbow?!" Kiyota Nobunaga's eyes practically popped out of his skull. His trembling finger pointed at Akashi as he stammered, unable to form words.
On Ryonan's bench, Coach Taoka Moichi was equally stunned. He watched Akashi retreat calmly, admiration in his eyes. The level of precision, control, and ingenuity in that pass exceeded anything he had imagined possible.
Aida Hikoichi was practically shaking in his seat, pointing at Akashi in disbelief. He had abandoned his pen, once dedicated to tracking Shohoku's plays, entirely consumed by the memory of that elbow pass.
Time seemed to stretch in the deathly silent arena.
Then someone gasped.
And the stadium erupted.
Cheers exploded like a detonating powder keg.
"Wow… what was that?!"
"I've never seen a pass like that before!"
"Passing with the elbow… is that even legal?!"
The crowd went into a frenzy, their voices rolling like waves. The visual shock of that impossible pass had shattered all expectations.
On the court, Shohoku's players stared at Akashi, who retreated calmly. Their expressions were a chaotic mix of confusion, astonishment, and awe.
Was this really humanly possible?
Miyagi Ryota felt an unprecedented weight pressing on him. Cold sweat beaded his forehead. This guy… he's a monster.
Rukawa Kaede said nothing, eyes ablaze with the flames of battle. Akashi had shaken them—but the game was far from over.
Shohoku's vigilance had now reached a terrifying level.
"Let's get a point back!" Takenori Akagi roared.
He swung the ball in his large hands and passed it steadily to Miyagi.
Miyagi gripped the ball, the image of the elbow pass still vivid in his mind. He briefly hesitated, weighing whether to drive or pass—but then Mitsui Hisashi ran into an open space, waving for the ball.
Miyagi stepped back deliberately, creating a safe two-step gap from Akashi, and flicked the ball to Mitsui with controlled precision.
Mitsui caught it, adjusted, and jumped before Koshino Hiroaki could close in.
Swish.
The ball arced beautifully, perfectly centered, and sank through the hoop without a hitch.
"Good…" Mitsui raised his arm high. Shohoku had begun to reclaim momentum.
Rukawa and Sakuragi worked their unpredictable rhythm. Sakuragi darted seemingly aimlessly, drawing Fukuda's attention. Rukawa pressed, entangling defenders and creating opportunities.
Mitsui's shot was nearly blocked by Uozumi—but Sakuragi leapt in at the perfect moment, blocking Uozumi and giving Mitsui the chance to score.
Miyagi faced a similar challenge against Akashi. Stifled and cornered, he prepared to force a pass. But Sakuragi appeared suddenly, interposing himself perfectly, leaving Miyagi a narrow gap to dart through. He accelerated, tipping the ball into the hoop.
Even Takenori Akagi and Uozumi, locked in a battle for position under the basket, were subtly affected. Sakuragi's chaotic but timely interference disrupted Uozumi just enough for Takenori to push forward, leap, and slam the ball into the hoop.
Shohoku was rising.
More than half of the second half had passed. The scoreboard reflected Shohoku's growing resilience:
Ryonan 84 – Shohoku 76
The gap had narrowed to eight points. Anxiety rippled across Ryonan's players. If Shohoku's momentum continued, overtaking them seemed inevitable.
Coach Taoka furrowed his brows, weighing a timeout. The game had slipped from his hands faster than he anticipated. His eyes lingered on Akashi. What is that kid doing?
In the stands, Jin Soichiro's calm expression flickered with surprise. "Shohoku is… formidable."
Kiyota Nobunaga sneered. "So what? That red-haired monkey just runs around aimlessly."
Hanagata Toru adjusted his glasses, voice steady but grave. "If Shohoku keeps this up, things will only get worse."
Fujima Kenji frowned. What can Ryonan do now?
Aida Yayoi, camera paused, murmured, "When did Shohoku become so strong? They were trailing… and now…"
Kamishiro Ruri raised her eyebrows slightly, noting the shrinking gap, but remained outwardly calm. She trusted Akashi would find a solution.
Shohoku's bench, once subdued, now roared in full force.
"Shohoku! Go! Shohoku! Go!"
"Sakuragi Hanamichi! Good job!"
"Everyone! Let's go!"
Ayako and Coach Anzai smiled. The team's energy surged, their momentum renewed.
Akashi observed it all calmly. He dribbled steadily, thump-thump, measuring the space around him.
Mitsui Hisashi and Miyagi Ryota flanked him, arms extended, blocking his path.
Akashi remained tranquil, expression unchanged.
Then, with a soft exhale…
He stopped dribbling. Shoulders relaxed. Hand lowered.
And did something that left everyone—players, coaches, and spectators—utterly dumbfounded.