The court for their match against Shohoku felt more alive than the sterile obsidian of the placement arena. The stands were packed, the air thick with the roar of a passionate crowd. This wasn't a silent machine; this was a furnace.
Shohoku stood across from them, a team of clear, fiery personalities. The giant center, Akagi, was a rock. The red-haired Sakuragi bounced on his toes, yelling about being a genius. The quiet, skilled Rukawa Kaede looked on with detached intensity. And the tiny, lightning-fast point guard, Ryota Miyagi, was already eyeing Riki.
The buzzer screamed.
Akagi easily out-jumped Teo, tapping the ball to Miyagi. In a flash, the point guard was past Riki, his speed breathtaking. He blew into the lane and laid the ball up before Teo could even rotate.
2-0.
Shohoku's game was pure, unfiltered energy. They were raw, sometimes clumsy, but explosively athletic. Sakuragi, for all his boasting, flew for rebounds with unbelievable springs. Rukawa moved with a natural, fluid grace, hitting difficult shots over Drei's outstretched hand.
Flowstate tried to impose their rhythm, but Shohoku's chaotic, relentless pace was disruptive. Bornok set a hard screen, but Miyagi simply zipped around it. Renz drove, but found Akagi's massive frame waiting in the paint.
The first quarter was a whirlwind. Shohoku's sheer physicality and speed pushed Flowstate onto their heels. The scoreboard told the story: Shohoku was dictating the terms of the fight.