Akashi seemed to have eyes in the back of his head. Without even turning, his right hand shot out like lightning, snatching the basketball from Shinichi Maki's grasp.
Slam.
The crisp sound echoed across the court. The ball was firmly in Akashi's hands.
"What?"
Maki and Takasago Kazuma froze simultaneously, their bodies locked in disbelief.
Maki's eyes widened as he stared at his empty hands. His timing for the breakthrough was flawless. Takasago's screen had been executed perfectly. Yet Akashi had anticipated and intercepted it without even looking behind him.
Takasago's jaw dropped. Even feeling the airflow from Akashi's arm, he couldn't comprehend how the steal had been executed so precisely. It shattered everything he knew about defensive basketball. No observation, no guesswork—Akashi simply knew.
The arena erupted in murmurs.
"How did he do that?"
"That should have been a blind spot!"
"Oh my god, his move was too precise!"
"Does he have eyes in the back of his head?!"
The whispers grew louder, drowning the court in astonishment.
Outside the court, Coach Takato couldn't contain himself. He sprang to his feet, leaning forward, shock etched on his face.
"How is this possible…"
Aida Yayoi's voice trembled. "He moved the instant Maki tried to break through, and didn't even look behind him!"
Nakamura could only gape. "It's incredible… it's as if he can see the opponent's next move."
In the stands, Shohoku's team watched wide-eyed.
Sakuragi Hanamichi's hair, now buzzed short, seemed to bristle with his shock.
"Whoa… how did he know Maki was breaking from that side?!" he exclaimed.
Miyagi Ryota's face reflected the same disbelief. "That's impossible! A pick-and-roll like that is instantaneous! No one can predict it!"
Even seasoned players like Kogure Kiminobu frowned, adjusting his glasses. "That bad feeling… he really seems to be able to predict the future."
Mitsui Hisashi leaned back, silently questioning whether he could have reacted if he were in Maki's shoes. The answer, he knew, was likely no.
Rukawa Kaede, legs crossed, feigned calm. Yet the narrowing of his eyes betrayed his inner calculation as he replayed Akashi's steal in his mind.
Akashi's next move was lightning-fast. After the steal, he dribbled full speed across half-court, entering Kainan's paint like a predator closing in on prey.
Muto Tadashi, rushing from behind, stretched out his arms to disrupt him. It was the last chance to interfere, to buy a few precious seconds for Kainan's defense.
But Akashi, without even glancing at Muto, slammed the ball to the floor with extra force.
Bang.
The ball bounced at a sharp, unpredictable angle, arcing directly over the restricted area. Muto swung, missed, stumbled forward, completely thrown off.
"What… what kind of move is this?" he muttered, baffled. Years of experience and countless drills could not have prepared him for such an unconventional play.
At that exact moment, a white figure streaked from behind—Fukuda Kiccho.
It was as if he had known the ball's trajectory in advance. He timed his movement perfectly, gliding around defenders to meet the rebound.
Leaping with precision, he slammed the basketball over the hoop.
Clang! The metal rim rattled, the net shook violently. The ball swished cleanly through.
Muto clenched his fists, frustration clear. Kainan's other players shared his grim expressions.
Maki's eyes sharpened, dark with a rare intensity. He had never been repeatedly outmaneuvered in a single game like this.
Yet, Maki's discipline and leadership showed. He inhaled deeply, suppressing his anger and impatience. "Cheer up. Let's attack again," he said calmly.
His voice, measured and steady, drew the team back together. The scattered morale slowly coalesced.
Akashi, calm as ever, turned back to defend. His expression unchanged, unaffected by the steal and assist he had just orchestrated.
Maki's mental resilience was intact—he was a national-level powerhouse, after all. He knew better than anyone that Kainan would never collapse completely from a temporary deficit.
Time passed. Back-and-forth offense and defense continued, but the scoreboard told the story: Ryonan's lead grew, their advantage widening.
Akashi moved like a controller, intercepting passes, reading plays, and disrupting Kainan's offensive rhythm. Every attempt Maki made to break through or pass was anticipated and countered.
Even when he managed to penetrate the paint, Akashi was there, stealing the ball with precise timing.
Maki wiped sweat from his brow, his initial disdain replaced by a seriousness he had never shown before. Akashi's ability was an invisible net, entrapping every offensive move, leaving Kainan helpless.
The scoreboard confirmed it:
Ryonan 38 – 21 Kainan
Seventeen points. A chasm. A tilt in the game that seemed insurmountable.
With the first half nearing its end, Kainan had little time left to recover.