At the top of the arc, Yuki held the ball, watching as his seniors calmly stepped aside and left the possession to him. Seeing their complete trust, his chest tightened slightly.
"This shot… it's their trust in me. I have to make it count!"
Resolving himself, Yuki turned his eyes toward Mibuchi—the same opponent he'd been piercing through all of the previous quarter. His gaze hardened with determination.
And then, once he'd fully read Mibuchi's defense—he moved.
A sharp left-handed crossover—Yuki's first step was lightning-fast and explosive!
Like a gust of wind, he slipped past Mibuchi's side. But unlike the second quarter, Mibuchi was now enhanced! Though Yuki got past him, Mibuchi reacted almost instantly, spinning around and sprinting to chase him down. At the same time, Nebuya, stepped up to double-team.
Yuki frowned mid-drive. He could feel Mibuchi closing in fast behind him. Instinctively, he lowered his body and used his hips to seal Reo off.
Nebuya didn't go for the steal right away. Instead, he positioned himself just within range—ready to either defend or retreat, waiting for Reo to catch up.
By this point, Yuki's isolation had completely broken down. He knew it too—so he quickly pulled back out to the three-point line.
Kise started moving up to offer support—but Kota stopped him with a firm hand.
"What's wrong, Kota?" Kise asked, puzzled. He glanced at Yuki, who now stood beyond the arc, clearly planning his next move.
Kota shook his head and motioned subtly with his chin. "Look at Yuki's eyes right now."
Kise blinked, then turned. "He's got fire. Determination. He really wants to score this one!"
"But…" Kise rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "He's still not quite there yet, huh?"
As Kaijo's spearhead, Kise knew exactly how powerful Rakuzan's defense was—especially now.
With their "Team Zone" active, their defensive coordination was near perfection—comparable even to the legendary "Beyond the Zone" state that Seirin once reached against Rakuzan.
Even at his peak, combining his own "Zone" with "Perfect Copy," Kise wouldn't dare say he could just waltz in and score on this Rakuzan team.
So for Yuki, still growing and not yet at that level—it was even tougher.
Kota knew that too. But he still stopped Kise from interfering. Tugging on his arm, he said quietly,
"If you call for the ball, Yuki will definitely pass it to you. No question."
"That might cut down on mistakes," Kota added, "but it'd also rob him of a chance to grow."
Kise blinked, then grinned. "Wait—so you're doing this on purpose? Damn, Kota, you're cold!"
Kota: "...Huh?"
"Come on," he said with a smirk. "Before high school, Yuki probably never played against a team his own age that could actually challenge him."
"For a genius like that, losing teaches way more than winning ever will."
There was genuine meaning behind Kota's words. Yuki was a prodigy who had already played for the national youth team before even turning eighteen.
Among middle school players, there had never been anyone he truly needed to take seriously. He was talented, polite, easygoing—but he'd never really been tested.
So if Rakuzan could give him that wake-up call—show him his limits—then maybe that would be the best lesson of all.
Kise sighed, then smiled wryly. "You really are something, Kota."
The two stepped back to the baseline, choosing not to interfere, simply watching Yuki take charge.
At the arc, Yuki hesitated briefly, glancing at his captain and his ace—neither of whom called for the ball. His jaw tightened. Fine then. He'd go again.
"This time… I'll score for the team!"
He vowed silently, then jab-stepped forward. A quick feint—then he burst ahead.
His first step was still razor-sharp. Even with Mibuchi's enhanced defense and experience marking him for an entire quarter, he couldn't react in time.
Fortunately, Rakuzan's rotations were near-instantaneous.
Takeshi slid from the side to help, cutting off Yuki's lane — but interestingly, his positioning left a tiny opening on the right side.
Yuki's eyes gleamed. Through that gap, he spotted Takumi wide open under the basket. If he could get the ball there, even Nebuya wouldn't recover in time!
"Was this guy… inexperienced a year ago too?"
Yuki thought fleetingly, but his hands didn't stop moving. A perfect one-handed bounce pass—sharp as a scalpel—slid toward the open space. A confident grin spread across his face.
"Two points, easy!"
But—suddenly, a figure darted into the passing lane, cutting it off perfectly.
The ball stopped dead. Kaijo's entire attack—snuffed out in an instant.
Yuki froze mid-motion, disbelief on his face. Standing where the pass should've gone was a small-framed figure with crimson eyes—Akashi himself.
His expression was cold as frost. "You've grown arrogant"
"Rakuzan isn't as simple as you think."
Before Yuki could even react, Akashi whipped the ball forward—and like a cheetah released from a cage, a figure exploded toward Kaijo's half.
Hayama.
Empowered by Akashi's Zone link, his already blistering speed became blinding. A gust of wind followed in his wake, his face glowing with excitement.
"This one's mine!"
Akashi's pass was perfectly timed—just enough distance for Hayama to reach top speed.
He caught the ball, leapt high above the rim, and raised it for a thunderous dunk—
BANG!
A massive sound echoed—but it wasn't the ball hitting the rim. It was another hand—smacking the ball out of the air!
"You're fast, kid," came a teasing voice, "but not faster than me."
Hayama froze midair, staring as the ball flew off course. Then he turned sharply—and saw Kise grinning behind him, arm still extended from the block, smirk full of mischief.
The crowd gasped. The whistle blew.
Ball out of bounds. Kaijo touched it last. Rakuzan's ball.
Akashi, who'd just been posing with eyes closed after his assist, suddenly opened them in shock.
Impossible.
His Emperor Eye had predicted a clean finish. The play should've succeeded—unless…
"You knew I'd intercept Yuki's pass?" he demanded, frowning at Kota, who was casually strolling across Rakuzan's half.
"Me? C'mon," Kota said, pointing to his face with a look of mock surprise. "You think I've got your fancy future-seeing eyes?"
He wagged a finger. "I didn't know you'd steal it. I just figured the kid's drive would get stopped somehow. Didn't know how exactly."
He wasn't lying. The sequence that led to Kise's block had been based on Kota's intuition.
If Yuki's pass got intercepted by Akashi, Kota knew he'd trigger a full-court fast break—like the one that had just happened. Which meant Kise—Kaijo's best athlete—had to be ready to chase him down.
But if any other Rakuzan player had stolen it, the ball would've gone straight back to Akashi to reset the play—and that would've been Kota's job to stop.
Akashi's expression darkened. "You're using Rakuzan as target practice for your rookie?"
Letting Yuki go one-on-one despite knowing he'd get stopped—in the finals, no less—was outright provocation.
Sensing Akashi's irritation, Kota quickly raised his hands in defense. "No, no, nothing like that! He's just young, that's all. Kid's got real talent, though! Honestly, I kinda thought he might actually pull it off. Guess I bet on the wrong horse, haha!"
Akashi snorted coldly, clearly unconvinced.
Kota, however, smiled faintly—an unreadable expression on his face. He pointed at the scoreboard.
"Come on, Akashi. If you really think I'm underestimating you guys, take a look at the score."
63–57. Kaijo's eight-point lead from the first half still stood strong.
"If just training our rookie can keep us ahead of the tournament favorite Rakuzan," Kota said lightly, "then maybe you guys aren't quite as scary as people think."
Meanwhile, across Japan—
In the Basketball Association's office.
The Chairman was fumbling clumsily with his computer, trying to find the live-stream link. In his fifties and stubbornly old-fashioned, he had no idea how to navigate the streaming site—but his pride wouldn't allow him to ask for help.
The result? Though he'd remembered to check the match right after the first quarter, he only managed to find the stream halfway through the third!
"Ha! Who says old folks can't keep up?"
He wiped the sweat off his forehead and chuckled proudly.
…Not realizing, of course, that what most people could've done in ten seconds had taken him half an hour.
Still, he'd made it—and the screen now showed Kaijo on offense, Kota raising his hand to direct the team's spacing.
He rummaged through a drawer, put on his reading glasses, and leaned in, squinting at the screen.
"Kaijo… and that kid, Kota…"
...
Beeeep—
Rakuzan ball out of bounds. Kaijo gains possession.
Another round of offense began. Yuki once again charged into Rakuzan's paint, but Akashi cut him off with a quick steal. Luckily, Yuki's reflexes were sharp — he slammed the ball down hard, bouncing it off Nebuya's leg and sending it out of bounds.
"Phew…"
Hearing the referee's call, Yuki exhaled in relief. He turned around to apologize to his teammates — only to get a light kick to the butt from Kota.
"Wha—?!" Yuki turned, clutching his backside, thinking Kota was mad about his failed drive. But before he could say a word, Kota raised a finger to his lips.
"Shh. Listen, kid" Kota said, wrapping an arm around Yuki's shoulders and leaning in close. "On the court, don't apologize for your mistakes. You fix those after the game. During the match…" He grinned. "Just say it's my fault. That's enough."
Yuki froze for a second — then nodded firmly. "Got it, Kota-senpai. Thank you!"
"Good boy."
Kota laughed and patted Yuki's shoulder, then pointed toward the sideline, signaling for him to inbound. Yuki understood instantly and hurried over to pass the ball back to Kota.
By now, Yuki had accepted it — with his current skill level, he couldn't match Rakuzan's elite players. And that was fine. Kaijo didn't need a rookie to carry the team.
If the sky fell, the tall ones would hold it up — as long as Kota and Kise were still on the court, Kaijo's foundation wouldn't crumble.
Humming a tune, Kota dribbled up the court until he stood face-to-face with Akashi. Feeling the weight of Akashi's aura pressing against him, Kota smiled. "Thanks for taking care of my junior earlier," he said lightly. "But now… let's give the crowd something really worth watching."
His eyes narrowed — a sharp flash of white lightning flickered in his pupils.
The next instant, a surge of pressure burst from Kota's body like a shockwave. He slammed his right foot into the court and exploded forward on his right side, left arm ready to meet Akashi's defense head-on!
Akashi's brows furrowed — he could tell there was no stopping Kota head-on. Instead of forcing the steal, he retreated, signaling Rakuzan's defensive line to collapse on Kota.
But Kota read the play instantly. Keeping his posture steady, he charged straight into the double-team. When Takeshi stepped up beside Akashi to trap him, Kota didn't dodge — he leaned in, slammed shoulder-first into Takeshi's chest, and tossed the ball toward the hoop.
The ball missed everything — a complete airball.
But Kota looked completely unfazed. Instead, he high-fived his teammates as if he'd just nailed a highlight play.
BEEEP—BEEEP—
Everyone was confused — until the referee raised his hand.
"Rakuzan defensive foul! Two free throws!"
"What?!"
Takeshi was stunned. He rushed toward the referee, arms spread wide. "That was a clean block! A perfect defense! Didn't you see? He jumped into me!"
His frustration boiled over — in his mind, this was a one-hundred-percent bad call. He hadn't even moved! How could that possibly be a foul?
Unfortunately, while Takeshi's game sense was solid… his understanding of basketball politics still needed work.
Before his teammates could stop him, the referee's face darkened. He crossed one hand over the other, forming a clear 'T' shape — the universal sign every basketball fan knew by heart.
"Technical foul on Rakuzan, one free throw and possession!"
Takeshi froze. Then, a second later, his expression turned from disbelief to fury.
"You—!"
"Shut it, Takeshi!"
Thankfully, Akashi stepped in before things escalated. He bowed slightly toward the referee, offering an apology. Given Rakuzan's status as the tournament's major sponsor, the referee decided to let it slide — barely.
The tension died down before it could blow up further.
Watching the referee walk away, even Akashi couldn't help letting out a small sigh of relief.
"Could've been worse…"
Then his eyes sharpened. He turned to Takeshi , voice low and cutting:
"You do realize you almost destroyed this entire match, right?"
"Damn it… But Akashi, I swear I didn't foul him! That guy jumped into me! The ref's blind!"
Takeshi 's face shifted from guilt to rage as he pointed furiously toward Kota, who stood nearby pretending to mind his own business.
"Enough!"
Akashi's sharp command silenced him instantly. He glanced toward Kota, who was clearly eavesdropping with a smug grin, and took a deep breath.
"I'm not blaming you for the foul. I'm blaming you for what came after. You argued with the referee — are you all muscle and no brain?"
Harsh words, but he wasn't wrong. If Takeshi had kept going and earned a second technical, Rakuzan would have lost him on the spot — a disaster at this stage of the game.
And Takeshi wasn't just any player — he was Akashi's carefully chosen counter to Kota, a powerhouse with a guard's mobility and enough strength to disrupt Kaijo's rhythm.
Strangely enough, despite being nearly twenty centimeters taller, Takeshi stood stiff and obedient under Akashi's scolding — like a giant puppy caught chewing the furniture.
Rakuzan's coach, Shirogane, watched the scene and decided not to interrupt. Instead, he calmly signaled to the table.
Rakuzan timeout.
Takeshi gulped and muttered quietly to himself.
"…Man, this is rough."