The court for the Kainan match felt different yet again. It wasn't the fiery furnace of Shohoku or the deceptive calm of Ryonan. This was a library. A pristine, silent arena where the squeak of sneakers echoed with unnerving clarity. The Kainan players, in their crisp white and blue uniforms, moved through their drills with a quiet, terrifying efficiency. There were no wasted motions, no shouts. Just a series of perfect cuts, sharp passes, and swishes.
Their coach, Takato Anzai, sat on the bench with a calm that seemed to radiate across the court. This was a team built on discipline and fundamentals, a machine even more polished than Teikō in its own way.
Renz watched them, a frown on his face. "They're like robots. Perfect little basketball robots."
"Worse than robots," Drei murmured, his eyes tracking their offensive sets. "They're chess pieces. Every move is calculated. Look at their point guard, Shinichi Maki. He doesn't make a single dribble without a purpose."
Bornok cracked his knuckles, the sound loud in the quiet space. "Perfect guys are the most annoying. Let's mess up their hair."
Teo watched their center, Takashi Sorayama, a sturdy, no-nonsense player who set brutal, legal screens. It was a different kind of physical challenge than the raw power of Akagi.
Riki bounced the ball, feeling the tension in the air. This wasn't a test of passion or genius. This was a test of will. Of who could execute their system flawlessly under pressure.
The buzzer cut through the silence, sharp and final.
Kainan's starting five took their positions with synchronized precision. Maki's eyes locked onto Riki, devoid of emotion, already calculating.
Riki met his gaze, the rhythm in his chest a steady, defiant drumbeat against the oppressive silence. The most disciplined team in the Slam Dunk bracket was here, and they were expecting order.
Flowstate was about to bring the noise.