Damn it… Fujima Kenji watched Akashi's back as he completed the layup, fists clenching silently at his sides, heart still pounding from that steal.
He replayed the scene over and over in his mind, but nothing made sense.
He had executed a flawless fake, protected the ball tightly while dribbling, and Akashi hadn't even made a noticeable move to reach out—so how had the basketball appeared in his opponent's hands?
The powerlessness of losing the ball without realizing it frustrated him more than the widening score gap.
As Akashi turned to retreat on defense, passing Fujima Kenji, the latter could no longer suppress his disbelief. He looked up, voice trembling slightly.
"What exactly did you do?"
Akashi stopped, turned slightly, and lowered his heterochromatic eyes toward him. Calmly, almost as if stating an unimportant fact, he said:
"I didn't do anything. I just saw it… and then stole the ball."
Saw it… and then stole the ball?
Fujima Kenji stood frozen, chewing over those words, unable to comprehend them.
Hanagata Toru quickly approached, noticing Fujima's dazed expression. "Fujima… are you alright?"
Fujima inhaled deeply, raising his head slowly. His gaze followed Akashi's retreating form. His voice carried unprecedented gravity.
"I'm fine… it's just…"
He didn't continue, but the shock lingered. The Akashi before him was not the calm, tactical point guard of the first half.
That Akashi had orchestrated plays with precision, focusing on passing, working within the bounds of strategy.
The current Akashi exuded a chilling foresight, as if he could see through every feint, every disguise.
This was dangerous.
Possession returned to Shoyo.
Fujima exhaled, forcing himself to regain composure. His gaze swept over the court. He subtly nodded to Takano Shoichi beside him.
Takano understood immediately. With Fukuda Kiccho distracted under the basket, he quietly moved to Akashi's diagonal rear—a classic pick-and-roll tactic. Takano's body would block Akashi, creating a path for Fujima's drive.
Everything happened silently.
Fujima saw Takano's position, then surged forward, dribbling into Ryonan's half.
Sure enough, Akashi approached, as expected.
Now…
Fujima tightened his grip, shifting his body to the side to use Takano's help defense as a shield against Akashi.
But in the next instant, something impossible happened.
Akashi turned with him.
Not blocked by Takano's body, he sidestepped the obstruction perfectly, standing firmly in Fujima's driving path once again.
What?
Fujima froze. Takano's help defense was a blind spot. How could Akashi bypass it so effortlessly?
Takano stood stunned. "He… dodged it?"
Normally, Akashi would be delayed at least a second. But he hadn't paused at all.
Hanagata Toru, watching from the sidelines, muttered in disbelief: "He completely ignored Takano's help defense…"
Fujima gritted his teeth. "I… can't drive through…"
Akashi's defense was a net—tight, inescapable. Every move Fujima made, every chance he sought, was anticipated and blocked.
Then Mitsuru Nagano called out: "Here…"
Fujima instinctively stepped back to create space and pass. But before he could act, Akashi's hand shot out like lightning. Snap.
The ball slipped from Fujima's control.
"How…?" Fujima stared at his empty hands, mind blank. "The step-back was unconscious… it shouldn't have been predictable. How did he do it?"
Akashi ignored him, turning back toward Shoyo's half. Pushing off, he charged forward like a crimson gust, dribbling at breathtaking speed toward their basket.
"Get back on defense!" Fujima roared, panic threading his voice.
Shoyo scrambled, finally reaching their half-court, but it was too late.
Akashi reached the three-point line, steps unhesitating. Two figures finally arrived to block him: Hanagata Toru and Takano Shoichi.
Hanagata spread his arms, knees bent, sweat trickling down his face. Takano stood ready beside him. Together, they formed a near-perfect barrier.
Akashi's steps did not falter. His calm gaze swept over them. "Move aside!"
"What? Who do you think you are?!" Hanagata bellowed.
Takano gritted his teeth. "Move aside? Never! Don't be arrogant, first-year kid!"
Hmph… Akashi snorted softly. Then, with a sudden change in dribbling, everything shifted.
Bang… Bang… Bang… The basketball switched hands, pushed to Hanagata's left. He shifted instinctively—but Akashi's ankle twisted, spring-loaded, and the ball bounced back to the right, slipping under Hanagata's arm.
Takano lunged from the wing to help, but Akashi accelerated, shifting the ball's rhythm in a dazzlingly fast arc.
Hanagata's shoulder dropped slightly; he stepped to block, only to see the ball spin past with a feint. His center of gravity collapsed.
Takano's feet crossed awkwardly as he followed the rapid changes; balance lost, strength drained.
Thud… thud… Both defenders fell to the court, bewildered, unable to comprehend what had just happened.
The gymnasium fell silent. Even the referee paused, stunned.
Akashi, unaffected, dribbled between them with unhurried grace.
"My command is absolute," he said calmly. No mockery, no showmanship, only certainty.
He stopped in front of Shoyo's basket. Raising the ball, he flicked his wrist gently.
Swish…
Perfect arc, perfect precision.
Ryonan 50 – 33 Shoyo.
Less than a minute into the second half, Ryonan had extended their lead to 17 points.