To everyone's surprise, the one handling the isolation wasn't the guard—but the small forward matched up against Hanyu Sota.
Teiko's players froze for a moment.
In this day and age, someone actually dares to bite the hardest bone?
"Oh?" Sota lowered his stance, silver-white eyes locking onto the opponent's shoulders like blades.
"You really think you can get past me?"
"..."
The Musashi small forward felt as if Mountain had crashed down on him. The pressure was suffocating.
He clenched his teeth and forced a drive.
No fancy feints.
Just raw explosion—charging hard to the left.
But in Sota's eyes…
It was moving in slow motion.
Too slow. Full of openings.
Snap!
With a crisp sound, Sota cut off the lane and shot his left hand out like lightning, cleanly stripping the ball.
"Crap!"
"Get back on defense!"
Once again, Sota became a hunting leopard.
This time, there was no empty basket waiting.
Musashi's shooting guard reacted quickly, blocking the lane, eyes burning with a do-or-die resolve.
Unfortunately—
Such struggle was meaningless.
Because in front of absolute power, courage was worth nothing.
Sota suddenly slammed on the brakes in full sprint—
then exploded forward again.
"Wha—where did he go?!"
The defender's vision blurred as a white afterimage, wrapped in violent wind, ripped past him.
The same script played out again.
Chisawa Nishiki, guarding the paint, didn't even have time to raise his hands—
Swish!
The ball was already through the net.
4:0!
"So—so strong!"
"This is really the second string? You can't stop that kind of drive at all!"
The stands erupted.
A knowledgeable spectator said grimly,
"That kid is first-string level—no, he's ace material."
That smooth transition, that sense of domination…
He wasn't even in the same dimension as the others on the court.
If Teiko's second team was this monstrous,
what were the other schools supposed to do?
Back on the floor, Musashi was completely swallowed by fear.
"Is this guy a monster?!"
"Wait—why is he running faster with the ball than without it?!"
Behind him, the Musashi players chased desperately, lungs burning, yet the distance only grew wider.
Their coach's face turned iron-blue.
So this is the true value of Teiko's first team…
This pressure alone is suffocating.
The game continued.
Sota glided through the court like an empty morning street—
past the small forward, the power forward…
Their proud defense was as thin as window paper—
one poke, and it shattered.
Charging into the paint, he faced the towering Chisawa Nishiki.
Sota suddenly stopped at full speed, leaned back violently, and rose for a jumper.
"Not a chance!"
Chisawa leaped with everything he had—
But all he could do was watch the ball trace a perfect arc over his fingertips.
Stopping like that at this speed?
That's not even human!
Swish!
Another heart-shattering sound.
The Musashi players felt as if a dark cloud hung over their heads—impossible to wave away.
Their chests heaved. Sweat blurred their vision.
They had truly done their best.
They'd used every last ounce of strength.
But
They still couldn't stop him.
Even the crowd, after the shock, began to feel pity for the home team.
Against a monster like this…
what else could they do but accept their fate?
The first-quarter buzzer finally sounded.
28:5.
The game was already over.
Except for Chisawa Nishiki, who still forced himself to stand,
Musashi's spirit had completely collapsed under Sota's dominance.
Even Teiko's second-string teammates felt chills down their spines.
So this is the monster who crushed his seniors during tryouts…
Thank goodness he was wearing the same uniform.
Thank goodness…
Akashi Seijūrō handed him a bottle of water.
"Sota, you went a little too hard."
"Uh…"
Sota scratched his head sheepishly.
"I kinda got carried away…"
Akashi said calmly,
"In the second quarter, try to handle the ball less. This is their home court—leave them some dignity."
The second-team coach agreed.
Kill, but don't exterminate.
Otherwise, you make enemies.
Sure enough, the second quarter began.
Sota held back, and Musashi sent in their full bench—
But the result was still one-sided annihilation.
108:28.
Nearly a fourfold difference.
"So this is Teiko…"
"They're not human."
When the final buzzer sounded, the roar nearly blew the roof off the gym.
"Thank you for the game!"
The two teams lined up again—
but Musashi's voices were trembling, on the verge of tears.
Time flowed like water.
In the blink of an eye, nearly two months had passed since Sota and the others joined the first team.
Their growth could only be described as terrifying.
The veterans could only sigh:
"God really feeds these kids."
That day, the moment Sota stepped into the gym, he heard buzzing whispers all around.
"Akashi, what are they talking about?"
Akashi was tying his shoes. He looked up and smiled.
"Apparently, a new member is joining us."
"A new member? Another promotion from second string? What's so surprising about that?" Sota frowned.
Teiko's competition was brutal. Roster changes were normal.
Akashi shook his head.
"They say he's the fastest climber since us.
And he's also a first-year."
"A first-year…"
Sota's eyes lit up.
"Name?"
Akashi shrugged.
"No idea. All I know is—he plays your position."
"Oh?"
Sota grinned.
"So he's coming for me?"
Slowly, the first team assembled.
Even captain Nijimura Shuzo stood at the front, face dark.
Yet the rumored newcomer still hadn't shown up.
By logic, shouldn't a rookie arrive early to mop the floor on day one?
At this hour, he was already seriously late.
Nijimura's brow furrowed.
He hated indiscipline more than anything.
"Yo. What's up, everyone?"
A lazy, mocking voice suddenly echoed from the doorway.
Everyone turned.
A gray-haired boy with vicious eyes strolled in, hands in his pockets.
"You plan on giving a proper explanation?"
Nijimura's voice was cold as ice.
"Why are you late?"
"Sorry, sorry," the boy smirked.
"Ran into some blind idiot on the way.
Taught him a lesson. Took a little time."
Taught someone a lesson…
Why did that sound so much like a street brawl?
Staring at that face, a few well-informed members suddenly realized—
First year.
Gray hair.
Arrogant.
"You wouldn't happen to be Haizaki Shōgo, would you?"
"Haizaki? That legendary violent delinquent?"
"Ahahaha… so my reputation's that big already? Even the seniors know me."
Being called a delinquent didn't anger Haizaki in the slightest.
On the contrary, he looked proud—as if it were a medal of honor.
Watching that punchable grin, Nijimura Shuzo felt the fire in his chest surge.
Late on the first day, arrogant, undisciplined—his first impression had dropped straight into the negatives.
But he forced himself to stay professional.
"Since you're here, your task today is to keep up with our training pace. Can you manage that?"
"Yeah, yeah…"
Haizaki casually dug a finger into his ear, clearly not taking it seriously.
Keep up?
Give me a break. That kind of bone-grinding nonsense is for idiots.
The second string was too fragile to even be fun. He thought the first string would be interesting—but they were just a bunch of training freaks too.
Only the weak rely on practice to close the gap.
True winners are born that way.
During training, Nijimura's gaze never left Haizaki.
His brow only grew tighter.
This guy wasn't slacking—he was barely moving.
Ten times more half-hearted than even the laziest Murasakibara Atsushi.
"Alright! Basic training is over. Free practice!"
"Yes!"
The first team spread out to find partners.
Haizaki, however, walked straight toward the group of first years around Hanyu Sota.
"Heard you guys got fast-tracked after tryouts? Even pinned your seniors to the floor?"
Midorima Shintarō pushed up his glasses, disgust written all over his face.
This shallow, ill-mannered personality was nauseating.
Not to mention that foul delinquent aura oozing from him.
Akashi Seijūrō stepped forward, calm as ever.
"What do you want?"
"Nothing special. Just saying hi—
and seeing whether these so-called 'miracles' are really worth the hype."
Haizaki tilted his head, grinning provocatively.
"From what I see? Pretty disappointing."
"If you've got such a sharp mouth, how about we settle it on the court?"
Sota spun the ball lazily, smiling.
"Fine. I'll go easy on you, big hero."
And just like that, it turned into a one-on-one duel:
Hanyu Sota vs. Haizaki Shōgo.
Rules were simple—first to three buckets out of five.
Sota tossed him the ball.
"Guest goes first."
Haizaki caught it with one hand, lips curled in a mocking smile.
That lazy posture made it obvious—
he didn't take Sota seriously at all.
"Watch closely, rookie."
He feinted left, body leaning hard—
then exploded forward at full speed.
In his head, he had already rehearsed a hundred trash-talk lines for after the blow-by.
So this is first string? Nothing special.
He broke through, stopped, rose for a jumper—
And then
A hand came down like lightning, slamming the ball straight out of his grip.
"Eh?"
Haizaki's pupils shrank—true shock flashing across his face for the first time.
"If that's all you've got,"
Sota said coldly,
"then this is boring."
"Hmph. Interesting. Guess you're not completely rotten."
Haizaki scoffed.
"My turn."
In an instant, the situation flipped.
Haizaki's vision blurred—
silver hair and a white afterimage sliced straight into the paint.
Swish!
He froze, eyes bulging.
"What the hell kind of speed is that…?"
Sota picked up the ball and glanced at him—not with mockery, but pure disappointment.
"You sure bark loud. This is your bite?"
"Bastard… don't look down on me!"
Haizaki snapped, rage igniting.
He swore he'd make this guy pay.
He would toy with him until he broke.
But reality struck like a slap to the face.
He couldn't get past.
Why?!
He might hate basketball and barely train, but his talent had crushed the second string.
Yet now, against someone his own age, he was helpless?
Impossible. Absolutely impossible!
Snap!
The ball was stolen—clean and ruthless.
Sota didn't attack immediately.
He stood there, dribbling, deliberately waiting for Haizaki to reset his stance.
Haizaki's heart sank.
What is this… humiliation?!
That crushing pressure—
the terror of being locked onto by a top predator
No.
It had to be his imagination.
Thud!
Sota gave the ball a light bounce—
and Haizaki flinched left like a startled animal.
On the sidelines, Aomine Daiki shook his head.
It was over.
This wasn't even the same league.
Sota's show began.
He feinted left, but his weight stayed planted on his right foot.
The moment Haizaki shifted—
Sota slipped past him cleanly.
Easy layup.
Second point.
The third came just as effortlessly.
Too fast to react.
The outcome never in doubt.
Cradling the ball, Sota let out a scornful laugh.
"So this is all?
What a joke."
He was normally easygoing—but that didn't mean he was soft.
To someone who picked fights for no reason and spewed garbage,
he owed no mercy.
Haizaki collapsed to his knees, gasping.
At that laugh, shame burned his face dark red.
"You bastard…!"
He lunged up and grabbed Sota's collar.
His fist rose by instinct—
But when he met Sota's calm, icy gaze, his heart skipped.
He hesitated.
Dozens of eyes were watching.
This was the basketball club—
not some back alley where he could run wild.