Point guard Ikeo Ichirō was drenched in sweat.
Should I still force the pass to Nijimura?
It was no longer realistic.
The White Team had clearly identified Nijimura Shuzo as the only true threat and had already cut off every passing lane to him.
With no other choice, Ikeo could only gamble and lob the ball into the paint—
Where a battle between giants was raging.
Because Akashi had promised free Umaibō if they won, Murasakibara Atsushi's fighting spirit had skyrocketed to terrifying levels.
"Umaibō… that's my Umaibō… nobody's taking my snacks!"
He muttered nonstop, yet his eyes were as vicious as a beast guarding its food.
The one defending him, Takeda Shi, had already gone pale.
This is ridiculous—just for a snack, you're fighting this hard?!
Takeda gritted his teeth.
What pressed against his back didn't feel like a person—it felt like a mountain.
But I'm a third-year senior… I can't fall here!
"Raaah!"
With a furious roar, Takeda forced his way inside with his back to the basket, finally carving out a sliver of space at the edge of the paint.
He spun and went for a violent dunk.
Murasakibara reacted, but he had lost his balance slightly while fighting for position—and Takeda had gone all-in on this play.
Clang!
Takeda hung on the rim, gasping.
Murasakibara clicked his tongue.
"Damn it… my Umaibō almost flew away."
Watching from the side, Hanyu Sota's mouth twitched.
This was definitely not the Murasakibara who wanted to slack off in practice and sleep during games.
As expected—food was this guy's true source of power.
Possession switched.
White Team ball.
Aomine Daiki waved wildly like a kid begging for candy, his fighting spirit spilling from his eyes.
He only wanted one thing—
another head-on duel with Nijimura Shuzo.
Win or lose didn't matter.
As long as it felt good.
But to the absolutely rational Akashi Seijūrō, that was pure stupidity.
Why ignore the soft target and bite the hardest bone?
Impossible.
The ball was delivered steadily into Hanyu Sota's hands.
"Perfect."
The instant he caught it, a wild aura surged outward.
The defender, Aono, felt as if a boulder had slammed onto his chest.
How long could he survive against Hanyu in this state?
The answer—not even one second.
Before, he could barely keep up.
Now, he couldn't even see the taillights.
A flash of white crossed his vision—
and Hanyu was gone.
That wasn't human speed.
The aura radiating from him triggered instinctive fear.
Like encountering a top predator in the jungle.
On the sidelines, Assistant Coach Sanada adjusted his glasses and muttered,
"He's activated 'Wild Instinct.'"
A realm only a handful of geniuses could ever enter.
Playing purely on beastlike intuition—
crushing opponents at the root.
A gift countless players could only dream of.
On the court.
Hanyu blew past Aono as easily as crossing an empty morning street, facing the help defender Takeda Shi.
"Don't you dare get past me!"
Takeda, terrified yet stubborn, roared and charged forward, trying to overwhelm him with sheer presence.
But
It was completely useless.
At the instant they were about to collide, Hanyu slammed on the brakes.
His shoes shrieked against the floor.
He rose straight up—clean, beautiful.
"Not happening!"
Takeda leapt to block, fingertips nearly grazing the ball.
But he forgot—
There was a giant crouching under the basket.
Murasakibara Atsushi.
Though pinned behind, how could he allow anyone to run wild over his head?
The two tangled in midair.
Yet Hanyu's shot was too stable—
its arc absurdly high.
Swish!
The sound was like a death sentence for the Black Team.
Black Team ball.
Unlike the fiery energy on White Team's side, the Black Team felt lifeless.
Aside from Nijimura Shuzo, everyone else looked like they wanted to go home.
With their only scoring point sealed off, how were they supposed to fight?
Were they really about to be trampled by these snot-nosed freshmen?
"Stop this possession and victory is ours!"
"ROAR!"
The White Team shouted in unison—
especially Aomine, whose eyes were locked onto Nijimura like he wanted to devour him.
Ikeo held the ball—his hands were shaking.
This defensive pressure was inhuman.
Forget running an offense—
holding the ball for another second might get him stripped.
In panic, he threw a horribly amateur cross-court pass.
His face turned pale.
"Crap!"
Snap!
A long, bandaged hand shot out and intercepted the ball cleanly.
Midorima Shintarō!
The coach outside shook his head helplessly.
Except for Nijimura, the starters' mental state had already collapsed.
Fortunately, this year's freshmen were all monsters—
perfectly filling the vacuum left by last year's graduates.
"Get back!"
"Watch Hanyu!"
"No more points!"
The Black Team howled as they sprinted back.
Akashi pushed the ball up at shocking speed, his face screaming I'm taking this myself.
But it was all Oscar-worthy acting.
Just as everyone thought he was breaking through—
His wrist flicked.
A flawless behind-the-back pass.
Thump!
The ball bounced once and landed perfectly in the corner.
Midorima Shintarō.
"It's over—it's a three…"
"If this goes in, it's done!"
Catch.
Bend.
Jump.
Textbook form, not a single wasted movement.
Whoosh!
The ball left his fingertips, drawing a towering orange arc—
A full meter beyond the three-point line.
"This morning's horoscope said Cancer is number one, so I won't miss."
As if to prove his ridiculous prophecy—
Swish!
The net flipped like white waves.
For the Black Team, this sound was the funeral bell.
Completely finished.
Though the game wasn't technically over, the outcome was sealed.
After a minute of garbage time—
The final buzzer echoed through the gym.
47–38.
"The freshmen really won."
"We thought they were arrogant—turns out they had the right to be."
This was the evolution of geniuses.
Today's limit is tomorrow's starting line.
Their growth speed was terrifying.
Especially Aomine Daiki and Hanyu Sota.
One grew wildly through collision—
the other treated seniors like a personal scoring machine.
On the court.
The Black Team panted heavily, wiping sweat from their eyes as they approached the celebrating White Team.
Aono forced a bitter smile.
"You won."
A loss was a loss—no excuses.
Akashi bowed slightly.
"Thank you for the lesson, senpai."
Aono nodded, then looked at Hanyu.
"The starting spot is yours now.
Don't disgrace Teiko."
Hanyu immediately straightened, serious.
"Don't worry, senpai. I'll give everything I have."
Teiko Basketball had always followed one rule:
Strength decides everything.
The strong rise.
The weak fall.
This wasn't just tradition—it was recognition.
Off to the side, Aomine Daiki was pouting.
Winning felt great, but he hadn't beaten Nijimura one-on-one.
Nijimura saw through him, walked over, and ruffled his hair.
"Who are you sulking for? You won. I lost too.
Get it?"
Aomine opened his mouth, then nodded reluctantly.
Nijimura smiled.
He didn't dislike this simple, fiercely competitive kid.
Teiko's future—
was secure.
Hanyu Sota.
Aomine Daiki.
Midorima Shintarō.
Akashi Seijūrō.
Murasakibara Atsushi.
Five genuine little monsters.
Clap! Clap!
Applause rang out as Assistant Coach Sanada approached, his poker face as stiff as ever.
Hanyu even wondered if the man's facial nerves were dead—he'd never seen him smile.
"Good performance."
Rare praise.
"Thank you, Coach!" everyone shouted.
"Training's over. Dismissed.
Starting jerseys will be issued in three days."
"Yes!"
The team began to pack up.
The manager girls lingered reluctantly—some even tried to wait for Hanyu, but he politely sent them away.
After all, someone still had to clean.
As the crowd dispersed, Hanyu felt a gaze full of sour resentment behind him.
Aomine Daiki was glaring at him with the look of someone thinking:
All normies must die.
Who wouldn't want to be surrounded by girls?
His skills weren't bad.
His looks were… manly.
So why wasn't anyone handing him water?
And as for Satsuki…
Did she even count as a girl?
She was basically the housemaid he'd grown up with!
"Alright, stop being sour. Grab the mop and get moving—finish early, go home early."
Hanyu Sota tossed the mop at Aomine.
And just like that, the six newly promoted starters began their miserable cleaning duty.
Well—six, plus one self-proclaimed volunteer: Momoi Satsuki.
"Akashi, if you guys are done, you can head out first. Aomine and I are staying to practice a bit more," Hanyu said while wiping the windows.
"A… Akashi?"
Akashi Seijūrō froze.
Was he… calling me?
In all his life, no one had called him that.
Even his strict father only ever said "Seijūrō."
And yet…
It didn't feel bad at all.
"Alright. We'll head out first."
"See you tomorrow."
Soon, the massive gym was left with only three people.
Once the cleaning was done, Aomine immediately dragged Hanyu into a one-on-one.
"…."
Momoi rested her chin in her hands, watching the two of them sweat it out.
Are these guys possessed by basketball or something?
Didn't they just finish playing?
By the time the sun sank and the sky darkened, the three finally headed home.
After that satisfying battle, Aomine's earlier frustration had completely vanished.
He was in such a good mood he even felt like whistling.
Yeah—
having a rival who could truly match you was the best feeling in the world.
The Next Morning
Teiko Middle School was a basketball powerhouse—any small movement in the club became school-wide gossip.
Yesterday's "rookies overthrow the seniors" match had spread like a virus overnight.
"Hey, did you hear?"
"The first-years crushed the starters!"
"Isn't there a Hanyu? I was there—he was so cool!"
A girl clasped her hands, eyes sparkling.
The boys rolled their eyes in unison.
You're shallow!
We watch skills—you watch faces!
Get lost!
…But honestly, tall, handsome, and insanely good at basketball—
that's just cheating. How are normal people supposed to survive?
For the defeated seniors, this day felt like a public execution.
Wherever they went, the whispers stabbed like knives.
"Aono, you got shut out? That's brutal, man—hahaha!"
As the main background character, Aono was roasted nonstop.
"Shut up! You wanna die?!"
He collapsed onto his desk, wishing the floor would swallow him.
Losing was bad enough—
did they really have to keep rubbing salt into the wound?
Lunch Break
Hanyu had already been popular, but after yesterday, he became the entire school's dream guy.
His desk was surrounded all morning.
Being swarmed after class was one thing—
but even during lessons, girls dared to pass him notes.
On the rooftop.
Hanyu leaned on the railing and sighed dramatically.
"I just want to be a quiet, beautiful man…
but alas, beauties cling too tightly.
Life is lonely as snow."
Aomine almost sprayed out his drink.
How is this guy even more shameless than me?!
Just because he's a few shades lighter—does he really have to act like this?!
If Hanyu could hear his thoughts, he'd definitely jump up and shout:
A few shades? That's not skin tone—that's species separation!
Hanyu's gaze fell on the pink lunchbox in Aomine's hands.
His expression turned strange.
So this rough, daiki…
had a girly heart after all?
Momoi tilted her head.
"Hanyu-kun, you're just eating bread? That's not nutritious."
Hanyu smiled bitterly.
"I'd love a hot meal, but I don't dare go to the cafeteria. I'm afraid I'll get eaten alive."
Suddenly, Aomine became absurdly enthusiastic.
"I'm not hungry! Here—take my bento! You're still growing!"
"..."
That mood swing was way too suspicious.
Just like last time.
Only Aomine knew the truth.
This wasn't a bento—
this was a biochemical weapon.
This was a lifeline.
Even if it was selfish, he had to pass it on.
Momoi's big eyes went wide as she twisted the soft flesh on his waist—
360 degrees.
"AAAGH!"
A scream like a dying pig echoed across the rooftop.
Momoi puffed up angrily.
"I make Aomine's bento every day and he doesn't appreciate it!
Fine, then I'll make one for Hanyu too—it's just one more pair of chopsticks!"
Hanyu's eyes lit up.
"Really?! That would help so much!"
"Of course! Leave it to me!"
"Thank you! Momoi, you're an angel!"
Who could survive on dry bread every day?
Aomine clutched his waist and looked at Hanyu with pity.
Brother…
rest in peace.
You have no idea what you just agreed to.
You are about to become the second victim of Momoi's dark cooking.
May heaven be free of pink lunchboxes.
Momoi smiled sweetly and shot Aomine a smug look:
"See? My cooking is popular! Only an idiot like you can't appreciate it!"
Aomine twitched.
That's because Hanyu hasn't seen hell yet!
Why don't you taste it yourself—just one bite!
He stared at the heavy pink bomb in his hands, facing life's greatest dilemma.
Eat… or not eat?
A philosophical question.
Fine.
If no one goes to hell, who will?
Hanyu sipped his yogurt, watching Aomine look like he was walking to the gallows.
"…It's just lunch. Is it really that serious?"
But the moment Aomine opened the lid—
Hanyu understood.
"..."
"Gulp."
That black, bubbling, purple-misted thing…
what exactly was it?
Hanyu's voice trembled.
"Is that… charcoal briquette?"
Wouldn't this require an ambulance?
Aomine stared at the unidentifiable mass in silence.
I was wrong.
I should've never had hope.
Suddenly, a bolt of realization struck Hanyu.
Momoi said she made Aomine's bento every day.
Which meant—
The creator of this biochemical weapon…
was that smiling girl?
Hanyu turned pale, cold sweat pouring down.
What did I just agree to?
Can I take it back?
I still want to live a few more years!
"Um, Momoi, actually—"
Seeing her creation, Momoi grew embarrassed and forced a smile.
"It doesn't look great, but it definitely tastes good!"
Then, uncertainly—
"…Probably."
"..."
Aomine inhaled deeply, picked up a piece—
And put it in his mouth.
Chew.
In that instant, his taste buds suffered a nuclear strike.
Sour, sweet, bitter, spicy, salty—
plus the flavor of burnt plastic
All exploded at once.
Disgusting.
Absolutely disgusting.