Dooot… The second-half whistle blew precisely on time.
Both teams returned to the court.
At center circle, Uozumi and Hanagata Toru faced each other. Their eyes met, battle intent clashing like sparks in the air.
The referee tossed the ball. Both jumped.
Uozumi, relying on his height, extended his arm first, fingertips grazing the ball. By all logic, he should have secured it.
But then—a sudden surge.
Hanagata Toru let out a sharp cry, his muscles coiling like springs. His body lifted past its previous limit, half a palm higher than Uozumi. His fingertips touched the ball first.
Uozumi's eyes widened in shock. His mind screamed at him to react, but his body couldn't keep up. Shoyo had snatched the first offensive possession of the second half.
Fujima Kenji caught the ball and immediately launched a fast break.
He hunched low, dribbling with speed and precision, aiming to catch Ryonan off guard. But just as he approached half-court, a red figure materialized in front of him.
Akashi.
Fujima's eyes widened. He had just checked Akashi's position—he had been near the three-point line. How could he have arrived so quickly?
No time to think. Fujima assumed a triple-threat stance, subtly raising his left arm while dribbling with his right, preparing to pass or break through.
Akashi remained perfectly still, heterochromatic eyes locked onto Fujima. Every subtle motion, every shift in weight, every micro-adjustment of his wrist—Akashi's gaze captured it all.
Something had changed.
In the first half, Akashi had controlled the game calmly, without fixating on a single opponent. But now, his focus was sharper, predatory.
Fujima feigned a pass toward Mitsuru Nagano. The movement was flawless, indistinguishable from a real pass.
Then—Akashi activated the Emperor Eye
Golden halos flashed in his heterochromatic eyes, freezing the world in his perception. Fragmented images of the next moment appeared: Fujima passing, pulling back, breaking to the right. All possibilities collapsed into the one truth: the ball would never leave Fujima's hands—he was attempting a fake breakthrough.
Calmly, Akashi waited.
Fujima executed the feint perfectly, retracting the ball and dashing to the right, seamlessly transitioning into a breakthrough. To any ordinary defender, it would have been unstoppable.
But Akashi?
A gust of wind brushed past him. Fujima's body, almost grazing Akashi's arm, froze in mid-stride. His mind screamed in disbelief—he hadn't been touched, yet the ball was gone.
Thump… Thump… Thump…
The sound of the basketball hitting the floor echoed. Akashi had stolen it effortlessly, already dribbling toward Shoyo's basket.
Shoyo's players froze. Hanagata, Hasegawa, Nagano—they had all rushed to support Fujima, but now their captain was standing behind Akashi, hands empty, eyes wide with shock.
"Where… where's the ball?" Takano's voice trembled.
Akashi moved like red lightning, dribbling unimpeded, crossing half-court in an instant. Shoyo's basket lay empty before him.
Without hesitation, he leapt into the paint, arcing smoothly, cradling the ball in his right hand, and released it.
Swish…
Ryonan 48 – 33 Shoyo.
In the stands, Shinichi Maki's brow furrowed. He had seen this before—Akashi's seemingly impossible steal. Miyagi had experienced it; Fujima now, the same. Precision beyond reaction, anticipation beyond logic.
Akashi didn't simply react. He predicted, he preempted, he controlled. Any attempt to fake him out was already visible in his mind.
Shohoku's veterans exchanged uneasy glances.
"This… he can really anticipate the next move?" Miyagi murmured.
"It's like he sees the future," Ayako said, contemplating.
On the court, Shoyo's players felt the crushing weight of the moment. Hanagata's desperate leap, Fujima's breakthrough—all meant to ignite hope—had been erased in an instant. Their momentum was shattered. Frustration, disbelief, and exhaustion bore down like a boulder.
Akashi had struck first. And Shoyo realized, with a cold sinking feeling: the second half had just begun, and their nightmare was only getting started.