Shinichi Maki stood near mid-court, the ball in his hands, but he didn't charge forward as usual. Instead, he slowly scanned Ryonan's half-court, his gaze finally resting on Akashi.
That red figure stood calmly in his own half, arms slightly spread, posture composed, yet radiating an invisible pressure.
I can't let him steal the ball again, Maki thought. The images of Akashi's earlier steals replayed vividly in his mind. He still couldn't decipher the pattern of Akashi's predictions. Facing him directly now was far too risky.
Taking a deep breath, Maki launched the basketball high across the court, arcing it precisely toward Jin Soichiro. A temporary retreat from Akashi's razor-sharp edge, giving his teammates room to breathe and find offensive openings.
Jin caught the ball smoothly, eyes scanning Ryonan's defense. Maki, without hesitation, rushed toward Akashi, leaning forward to press against his arm, using physical confrontation to hold him in place. Tie him up. Create space. It was the best plan he could muster.
But Akashi remained perfectly composed. His feet rooted, center of gravity low, he didn't flinch nor overreact to Maki's pressure.
Jin dribbled to the three-point line, ready to adjust his rhythm—but Koshino Hiroaki had already moved, arms wide, blocking his path with laser-focused intensity.
Then, from the wing, Kiyota Nobunaga called out, using Muto Tadashi's screen to shake off Sendoh and create a brief opening near the free-throw line. Jin's eyes lit up. An opening!
A slight flick of the wrist sent the basketball flying toward Kiyota.
And then—Clap.
A crisp, startling sound. The ball never reached Kiyota. A hand—seemingly from nowhere—intercepted the pass midair.
The court froze.
Jin's passing motion hung in suspension, disbelief etched across his face. The angle had been perfect, avoiding Koshino's interference and Uozumi in the paint. How could it have been intercepted?
Kiyota's hand reached instinctively, but the ball was gone. Shock and confusion flooded his expression.
And then they saw it.
Akashi. Still pressed by Maki, chest to chest, seemingly immobilized. Yet his right hand had extended backward like a living whip, snatching the ball mid-pass without breaking form.
This is absurd… how wide is his field of vision? Jin thought, trembling.
Maki's mind went blank. Even under close coverage, he can disrupt my teammates' passes…
Akashi didn't pause. He pivoted smoothly, wriggling through the gap between Maki's defense, sprinting toward Kainan's basket.
You won't score! Maki roared, chasing from behind, every muscle tensed.
In a heartbeat, Akashi had crossed half-court. Muto Tadashi and Takasago Kazuma rushed to meet him, spreading their arms to block the path.
"You won't get past!" Muto shouted.
"Move aside." Akashi said.
"Move aside? Impossible!" Takasago bellowed, bracing for the impossible.
Maki joined from behind, forming a three-sided trap. Akashi seemed cornered, caught between a rock and a hard place.
Then, his eyes narrowed. The Emperor Eye activated.
In an instant, the movements of all three defenders were laid bare to him.
Without hesitation, Akashi pressed down on the basketball—thump. It hit the floor, rhythm peculiar, almost commanding the surrounding balance.
Maki felt his feet on soft cotton, his center of gravity shifting uncontrollably. He stumbled forward, unable to stop himself.
Akashi dribbled twice more—thump… thump…—each landing trickier than the last. Muto and Takasago lost balance, legs splaying, collapsing sideways. Thud… thud… thud.
The crowd went silent. They had never seen such dominance—not in dunks, not in speed, not in precision.
A gap opened between the fallen defenders, perfectly wide for Akashi. He dribbled through, steady and unhurried, and reached the free-throw line.
Then, without hesitation, he sprinted, jumped, and raised the ball for a layup.
Maki, fueled by sheer determination, forced himself up, chasing from behind like an arrow shot from a bow.
As Akashi prepared to release, he paused slightly, adjusting the ball behind his back as if preparing a pass. Maki's mind raced—he might still deliver a deadly assist!
Akashi flicked his wrist, and the ball shot left—then, impossibly, bounced off Akashi's elbow mid-air, redirecting toward the right. The crowd froze.
Passing with his elbow? Maki's mouth fell open. He had seen countless passes, behind-the-back, one-handed—but never this.
Then, like a guided arrow, Sendoh Akira appeared. He leapt, catching the ball mid-air, and slammed it down hard into the hoop.
Clang. Swish.
Sendoh landed calmly, faint smile in place, as the referee blew the whistle.
Ryonan 40 – 21 Kainan
A 19-point difference. The stadium erupted in shock, awe, and disbelief.