Beep… A crisp whistle cut through the court.
The first half officially ended.
The scoreboard read 46 – 33.
A 13-point difference.
On the surface, it seemed like an ordinary halftime gap. But anyone who had witnessed the entire first half knew better. These 13 points were no ordinary margin—they were a curse, sown from the very beginning, an invisible barrier that weighed heavily on Shoyo.
Every player felt it. Every effort seemed futile. Even Fujima Kenji, walking off the court, could not hide the weight in his fists, the tension in his shoulders. This wasn't a gap in skill—it was suppression, a silent but relentless pressure that had made every attack and defense feel like an uphill battle.
In the stands, Shinichi Maki's gaze followed Shoyo's players, finally settling on Fujima. His rival's usually upright, confident posture was slightly bent; the usual spark of Shoyo's spirit seemed dimmed.
"Fujima…" Maki murmured, a pang of sorrow unexpectedly welling up, like the rabbit dies and the fox grieves. But the feeling passed quickly. His eyes returned to the red figure on the court.
Akashi.
Maki's expression hardened. As a top player in Kanagawa, he had faced many gifted opponents—but none who could so silently, effortlessly control Shoyo, second only to Kainan. Akashi wasn't just fast or strong. His mastery of the court, the way he orchestrated both offense and stamina, was a far more terrifying form of dominance.
Shohoku had been stunned five minutes earlier. Akashi's words and actions repeated in their minds. The 13-point gap wasn't the end—it was bait, a carefully laid trap to force Shoyo to exhaust themselves chasing a lead.
The brilliance was clear: Ryonan preserved their stamina while pushing Shoyo past their limits. Every precise pass, every controlled attack, every opportunity given to Shoyo to fight back was part of a meticulously planned strategy.
Miyagi Ryota's gaze was fixed on Akashi, admiration shining in his eyes. A point guard himself, he understood the genius on display. This wasn't mere passing or speed—it was chess. The court was a board, the players pieces. Every move exploited weaknesses, every misstep manipulated stamina, every success of Shoyo anticipated.
Mitsui Hisashi rubbed his chin, disbelief on his face. "Akashi's speed… it rivals Sendo's. Was he holding back against us?"
"He probably didn't need to," Ayako replied solemnly. "From the moment we've seen him, he's always confident. He hasn't reached his limit yet. Imagine the strength he's capable of."
The Shohoku team fell silent. Ayako's observation revealed what they had overlooked: Akashi's composure was not arrogance—it was control. Everything he did was within his expectations. Every game, every opponent, every movement, calculated.
On Ryonan's bench, Koshino Hiroaki gulped water, impressed. "Shoyo's tenacious. I let up a little, and they almost found a counter."
Fukuda Kiccho shrugged. "Doesn't matter. We're still leading."
Sendo, wiping sweat from his brow, shook his head. "Don't be careless. Exhausted or not, a desperate beast's final counterattack is the deadliest."
Akashi's voice cut through the chatter, calm but commanding:
"Shoyo is not a team that gives up easily. As the game nears its end, their will will only harden. Even if their bodies falter, their pride as Kanagawa's second-best will keep them fighting."
He paused. "This was part of my plan. Let them counterattack if they want; you do your job."
The team glanced at each other in confusion, then understanding. Sendo's eyes sparkled with anticipation. "Akashi… you're really going to take action personally?"
Akashi's calm reply left no doubt. "It's all the same. Shoyo is easier to deal with than Shohoku. Guard your opponents. I'll handle the rest."
Excitement and tension ran through the Ryonan bench. They knew Akashi's offense was a force few could stop. Past scrimmages proved it: he could take on five defenders alone and score effortlessly.
Sendo relaxed slightly. "Then the second half is up to you, Captain."
Unaware, Shoyo was about to face the most desperate moment of their lives.