A crisp "smack" echoed across the court, freezing everyone's gaze on Shoyo.
Fujima Kenji's arm hung stiff in mid-air, eyes wide, face filled with disbelief.
On the other side, Hanagata Toru had raised his hands to receive the ball—but seeing the sudden change, his face mirrored pure shock.
Time seemed to rewind a few seconds.
Fujima dribbled outside the three-point line, his eyes sharp as an eagle's, sweeping over Ryonan's defensive formation. His fingertips twitched slightly—a subtle tactical signal.
Hanagata immediately boxed out Uozumi under the basket, pressing his back against the taller opponent to create space.
Takano Shoichi sprinted to the wing, widening the defensive gap, while the other Shoyo players scattered, each tying up their defenders.
For a moment, Shoyo's offense resembled a tightening net, creeping toward Ryonan's basket like a slow, strangling force.
Akashi stood on the perimeter, eyes scanning like a precise scanner, reading every Shoyo player's movement. From past games, he had memorized every habit, every subtle twitch—even Fujima's: the faint rotation of his wrist, the half-inch dip of his left shoulder before a pass.
Now, Akashi's gaze sharpened.
Hanagata boxed out Uozumi, and Fujima's wrist subtly rotated, shoulder dipping—the telltale signs. He was about to pass.
Before the ball even left Fujima's palm, Akashi moved.
Like an arrow released from a bow, he lunged, fingers reaching perfectly into the ball's trajectory.
The pass was intercepted mid-air.
The court froze. Players and spectators alike were stunned. No one had expected such a flawless, instantaneous steal. It was as if Akashi had predicted the pass before it even happened.
Fujima lunged to reclaim it, but Akashi's speed was unmatched. Pulling the ball to his side, he left only air for the frustrated point guard.
Without hesitation, Akashi flicked the ball toward Sendoh, who was already charging into the frontcourt. The pass was fast, precise, landing just one step ahead to maintain momentum.
Nagano froze outside the three-point line. Hasegawa tried to rush to help, but Fukuda Kiccho blocked his path, preemptively cutting off assistance in Akashi's well-laid plan.
Sendoh accelerated, white jersey a streak of lightning, and slammed the ball into the empty hoop.
Clang…
The scoreboard lit up: Ryonan 2 – 0 Shoyo.
Coach Taoka Moichi erupted, waving his arms in excitement. Two minutes of stalemate had left him anxious; now, Ryonan had broken through decisively.
Shoyo's players hadn't yet recovered from the steal. Akashi maintained his position on the perimeter, hands slightly open, watching Fujima while scanning the entire court with peripheral vision.
Fujima dribbled, attempting to reorganize. He eyed Takano Shoichi on the wing, preparing to pass—but before he could act, Akashi anticipated it. A subtle shift of his feet blocked the lane.
Fujima retracted, passing instead to Hasegawa—only to be blindsided by Koshino Hiroaki.
Hasegawa froze; the ball was gone. Fujima's jaw tightened. How had Koshino appeared so suddenly?
No time for shock. Koshino immediately lobbed the ball to Akashi. Akashi caught it and, with a raised hand, sent it to Uozumi under the basket.
Hanagata was still retreating. Uozumi, unguarded, held the ball, then turned and slammed it into the hoop.
Clang… Swish.
The scoreboard now read Ryonan 4 – 0 Shoyo.
Uozumi's landing was steady, eyes sweeping Takano Shoichi, calm yet radiating dominance. Without pause, he sprinted back to defend.
Takano clenched his fists, gritting his teeth. "That bastard."
The crowd erupted. Ryonan's cheerleaders screamed, "Ryonan… must win… Ryonan… must win!"
Shoyo's players tightened their expressions. Fujima, taking a deep breath, tried to calm his team. "Don't rush… it's only two baskets." But the urgency in his eyes betrayed his words.
He realized Akashi's true danger: anticipating every move, orchestrating both defense and offense silently, exploiting Shoyo's own tactics against them.
Fujima decided to drive personally, trying to break Ryonan's defense with a deliberate slowdown and a direct charge to the basket.
But Uozumi was there.
His massive frame shadowed Fujima, and before the shot could be executed, smack! Uozumi swatted the ball.
Fujima reacted immediately, trying to pull back and pass—but felt his grip betray him. Akashi had intercepted the rebound with near-telepathic timing.
"When was that?" Fujima muttered, stunned. His body had been moving, yet Akashi had already anticipated it.
The stolen ball reached Fukuda Kiccho, standing open at the perimeter. Without hesitation, he sprinted into Shoyo's half, scoring the layup.
Ryonan 6 – 0 Shoyo.
The cold tide of unstoppable attacks crashed over Shoyo. Turnovers mounted. Defensive gaps were exploited.
In just over two minutes, Ryonan scored 11 consecutive points.
The scoreboard blazed 11 – 0, a crimson reminder of Ryonan's dominance. Shoyo's players were frozen, disbelief written on their faces.
Fujima clenched his fists, sweat on his forehead. If this continued, the game would be lost before the first half ended.
He signaled Hanagata and Takano for a double screen, hoping to carve a path for himself. But Akashi had already seen it.
Akashi guided Uozumi and Fukuda to bypass the screen, cut off passing lanes, and stuck to Fujima like a shadow.
Fujima forced a shot. The ball hit the rim.
Uozumi grabbed the rebound, immediately passing to Akashi, who feinted, changed direction twice, then flicked the ball to Sendoh.
Sendoh accelerated like white lightning, layup executed perfectly.
Ryonan 13 – 0 Shoyo.
Five minutes had passed. A 13-point gap yawning on the scoreboard. Shoyo's players stood stunned. What had just happened?
Fujima's eyes locked on Akashi, stormy waves rising in his heart. Every tactic he had planned had been dismantled.
"When exactly was it…" he murmured, recalling every subtle movement. Suddenly, realization struck.
Akashi had been manipulating the rhythm all along, setting a trap with surgical precision—using Shoyo's own strategy against them.
Fujima exhaled, his mind racing, and signaled the referee.
Beep… Timeout. Shoyo requested a break.