Takeshi landed back on the court after his thunderous dunk, letting go of the rim as pink lightning still flickered in his eyes.
Kota's pupils shrank as he took in the sight. A ridiculous thought flashed through his mind.
"Could this even be possible…?"
"Nothing's impossible, Kota."
Akashi's calm voice answered his unspoken question. But this time… Kota could've sworn Akashi's voice sounded heavier—like two people speaking at once.
Kota turned his head slowly. Akashi stood there, still the same proud, unshakable Akashi. Yet something was off. His eyes—
His right eye was still the familiar crimson that reflected his playmaking mode. But his left eye… had turned gold.
At that moment, both of Akashi's eyes—one red, one gold—gleamed under the gym lights.
For most people, heterochromia might be a quirky trait. But when it came to Akashi Seijuro, this was nothing trivial.
Kota blinked, then forced out a dry laugh.
"Haha… Akashi, man… nice colored contacts. Where'd you get those?"
Akashi: "???"
"If you're that bored, just shut up, Kota," Akashi replied flatly. "For this match, I even brought out the second personality I can't stand."
As he said that, the gold in his left eye flashed faintly—almost as if annoyed by his words.
Kota sighed under his breath.
"Split personality's an illness, y'know… should probably get that checked."
By the end of the third quarter, with Akashi's dual personalities working in perfect sync, Rakuzan had begun to claw their way back.
Score: 84–78.
Kaijo still led, but the momentum was slipping.
Kota sat cross-legged on the bench, biting his thumb as he stared at the scoreboard.
Akashi's improvement was undeniable. With both personalities active, he combined the red-eyed strategist's orchestration with the gold-eyed powerhouse's individual dominance.
Apart from his slightly limited scoring repertoire, Akashi now posed as much of an offensive threat as Aomine himself.
The only good news—Akashi's defense, though more oppressive, still couldn't fully contain Kota.
But one way or another, Rakuzan was rising fast.
That last minute of the third quarter said it all — Kaijo had an extra possession, yet Rakuzan managed to cut the lead by three.
Victory, once within reach, now hung in the balance again.
"Tch."
Kota clicked his tongue and glared at Kise, who was sitting beside him casually drinking water like he had zero worries in the world.
Annoyed, Kota snatched the bottle out of his hand and set it aside, crossing his arms.
Kise blinked, confused. "What's up, Kota?"
Kota tapped his arm impatiently. "You seriously sitting there chugging water at a time like this?!"
Kise stared. "…You sure you're not running a fever, Kota?"
Kota ignored him and began counting on his fingers.
"Listen up, genius. First quarter was strategy. Second quarter, Yuki carried the offense. Third, I teamed up with you to deal with Akashi. You still don't get it?"
Kise frowned. "Uh… get what, exactly?"
Kota rolled his eyes, whipped out a paper fan from nowhere, and smacked Kise on the head.
"Idiot!"
Kise's eyes bulged.
"Wait—where'd you even get that fan from?"
"Doesn't matter!" Kota tossed the fan aside and grabbed Kise by the shoulder. "Akashi's been carrying Rakuzan for over two quarters. You're our ace—don't you feel even a little fired up?"
Kise pouted. "You were the one who told me to let Yuki handle things earlier! Otherwise, I'd have gone all out in the second quarter already!"
"Uh… fair point."
Kota scratched his head, then waved his hand dismissively. "Whatever. Look—the guy's got a full-blown split-personality mode going on. Don't ask me how, but it's made him even tougher."
He smirked and patted Kise on the back. "Fourth quarter's yours, Ace. Think you can handle it?"
"Of course!" Kise thumped his chest proudly, but then paused and tugged on Kota's sleeve.
"Uh… there's one tiny problem, Kota. I still can't freely enter the Zone."
Kota froze mid-step, turning around slowly. "…Come again?"
Damn it. Rookie mistake.
As Kota stepped back on the court for the fourth quarter tip-off, he cursed under his breath.
Since both Akashi and Aomine could enter the Zone at will — and Kota himself had learned to trigger it intentionally — he'd almost forgotten that most players couldn't just flip the switch whenever they wanted.
The truth was, Kaijo hadn't faced a single opponent yet this season that truly forced Kise to go that far. Their team's lineup was so strong that most games were decided long before Kise ever needed the Zone.
Less pressure meant less desperation—and less reason for Kise's mind to cross that invisible threshold.
"You'd better not choke on me now…" Kota muttered, dribbling past midcourt as Rakuzan's ace, Hirakawa, moved in to defend.
He flicked the ball toward Kise. No matter what, Zone or not—Kise was still their best shot at victory.
"Got it, Kota! I'll make it count!"
Kise licked his lips, his golden eyes narrowing as he faced Akashi.
"Whoa… Kota wasn't kidding. The pressure from this guy just went through the roof."
"But no matter what—Kaijo's ace doesn't back down!"
A golden spark flared in his eyes. His aura exploded outward.
Perfect Copy: Aomine Daiki.
Of all the geniuses Kise could mimic, Aomine's style was his favorite—reckless, free-flowing, instinctive. Maybe it was admiration, maybe their builds were similar—but every time Kise copied Aomine, it felt… natural.
He planted his left foot hard and exploded forward. His first step—blindingly fast.
He sliced past Akashi like the wind, his speed boosted by Aomine's explosive rhythm.
Even among the Generation of Miracles, this kind of offensive burst was elite.
But Akashi—now fused with both personas—wasn't just any Miracles player anymore.
His eyes flared.
Emperor Eye.
He pivoted sharply, arm whipping out like a blade. The moment Kise thought he was clear, Akashi was suddenly behind him—reading his next move, stealing the ball cleanly from his hands.
Kise froze. One second, he was past Akashi—the next, the ball was gone.
He looked down—empty hand. The ball was already bouncing toward Nebuya
"Crap!"
Even with his Aomine-level speed, Kise couldn't recover in time.
Nebuya's eyes went wide—jackpot! He lunged forward to grab it—
—but a blur of blue and white cut across the court.
"You seriously can't do anything without me, huh?"
Kota dove headfirst, snatching the ball before Nebuya could touch it, rolling on the floor as he passed it right back to Kise.
"Nice one, Kota!"
Kise caught it mid-stride, used his momentum to leap—and before Nebuya could even dodge, Kise slammed it through him.
BOOM!
The dunk rattled the rim. Nebuya's huge frame was sent sprawling backward, flat on his back.
And as if that weren't enough—because Genbu hadn't established legal defensive position, the refs blew the whistle.
"Kaijo #7 – And-One!"
The crowd erupted. Even Rakuzan's bench players couldn't help but whistle in awe.
Nebuya, meanwhile, just lay there on the floor—his soul leaving his body.
First, Yuki had dunked on him in the second quarter. Now Kise, in the fourth.
Two different Kaijo players. Two poster dunks. One poor guy.
In the long history of Japan's national tournament, few players had ever achieved such a unique record. Unfortunately for Nebuya, his legacy was sealed — not as a hero, but as a background prop.
Years later, when fans rewatch the highlights of this game, they'll see both those iconic dunks… and there he'll be—flat on his back in both clips.
Nebuya — officially crowned the "Best Poster Victim" in Interhigh tournament history.