"Hey, hey, hey… What in the world was that?!" Kiyota Nobunaga abruptly stood up, eyes nearly popping from their sockets.
He watched in shock as Hanagata Toru and Takano Shoichi fell under the basket, and Akashi calmly scored. His mouth hung open, his face a perfect mirror of astonishment.
Jin Soichiro's brows were tightly furrowed, voice laced with awe and gravity. "This first-year captain of Ryonan… he's terrifying. From the steal to the breakthrough, now this score… he's had Shoyo in the palm of his hand the entire time. Shoyo's defense against him is paper-thin."
Shinichi Maki stared at Akashi, eyes narrowing into slits. Akashi's performance was no longer simply impressive—it pressed on him like a tangible weight.
A long-forgotten sense of pressure rose in his chest; the last time he had felt this was against a team in the National Tournament.
"What a joke…" he muttered, startled even by his own thoughts. "I am Kanagawa's 'Emperor Maki,' yet a kid makes me feel this way?"
On the court, Sakuragi Hanamichi and Rukawa Kaede clenched their fists simultaneously. Their expressions were tight with grit.
They knew this move all too well—Akashi's signature technique that faked out opponents, making them collapse to the floor.
Rukawa's eyes narrowed, gaze cold and fixed on Akashi. His body tensed subtly, lips pressed, yet he said nothing.
Sakuragi could not hold back. "That damn move again! Damn you, Akashi! Just wait—next time I face you, I, Sakuragi Hanamichi, will make you fall in front of me and show you the power of a genius!"
His voice carried across the court, drawing sideways glances from spectators, but he didn't care. Defiance burned in his eyes.
Kogure Kiminobu adjusted his glasses, admiration and apprehension in his gaze. "So strong… Shoyo is second in Kanagawa, and even if they're tired, they shouldn't be beaten like this. Akashi is completely at ease against Shoyo's defense, as if everything is under his control."
Mitsui Hisashi's usual casual demeanor was gone, replaced by pure shock. "He's actually become this strong…"
Miyagi Ryota murmured, dazed: "Where did this guy come from? Why have I never heard of him before?"
After a brief silence in the stadium, a deafening roar suddenly erupted:
"Ryonan… Ryonan… Ryonan…"
"Akashi… Akashi… Akashi…"
The stadium was almost entirely cheering for Ryonan and Akashi now. Shoyo's fans could barely be heard, their voices thin and scattered.
On the court, the tide had turned entirely in Ryonan's favor.
Shoyo's offense was like a trapped beast in a swamp; every advance was met with crushing difficulty.
Fujima Kenji was completely stifled by Akashi's defense. Every attempt to break through or pass was intercepted at the most crucial moment.
Once… twice… thrice… Continuous steals disrupted Shoyo's rhythm entirely.
The Shoyo players' faces gradually lost their stubbornness, replaced by visible anxiety.
Hanagata Toru tried hook shots in the paint, all firmly blocked by Uozumi. Kazushi Hasegawa sought outside shots, but Koshino Hiroaki's defense allowed no space.
Damn it… Mitsuru Nagano, watching his teammates repeatedly fail, clenched his jaw. "If that's the case… I'll do it myself."
He lowered his head, dribbled, and charged straight for Ryonan's basket, as if venting every ounce of frustration in a single drive.
Uozumi adjusted immediately, and Sendo came from the side. Ryonan's defense was seamless, never allowing Shoyo an easy path.
Mitsuru leaped in the restricted area, raising the ball for a dunk.
But a ghost-like figure appeared beside him: Sendo, smiling faintly, eyes tinged with exasperation.
"You… you haven't forgotten there are other people on the court, have you?"
Before Mitsuru could react, Sendo's palm struck the ball like lightning. Bang.
The basketball flew from Mitsuru's grasp.
Mitsuru landed, staggering, unwillingness etched on his face. Uozumi caught the ball and made a precise long pass to Akashi.
Fujima's nerves stretched taut. He knew if Akashi received the ball, Shoyo's defense would face yet another devastating blow.
Ignoring his aching legs, Fujima raced toward Akashi, arms spread, ready even to foul.
"No one can defy my command," Akashi said calmly, catching the ball, eyes fixed on Fujima, tone indifferent.
Thump… The ball hit the floor. Akashi walked past Fujima leisurely, steps unhurried as if taking a stroll.
Fujima, struck by an invisible force, stumbled backward, disbelief in his eyes. Thump… thump… thump… The dribble echoed like heavy hammers against his chest.
"Fujima… your era has ended," Akashi's calm voice resonated through the arena. No mockery, no boasting—only undeniable certainty.
Fujima sank to the floor, knuckles white, eyes slightly red, chest heaving. He was Shoyo's captain, one of Kanagawa's Twin Stars. Yet here, he could do nothing against Akashi's dominance.
Akashi turned to the basket. Calmly, he raised the ball, flicked his wrist, and shot.
Swish… Perfect trajectory, straight into the hoop.
Beep… The final whistle rang.
Score: Ryonan 109 – 59 Shoyo. A full 50-point difference, a staggering chasm.
The arena gasped. No one expected such a result. Shoyo, Kanagawa's second-place team, obliterated.
Tears streamed down the Shoyo players' faces. Pride, stubbornness, and dreams crushed beneath the enormity of defeat.
Fujima Kenji sat frozen, lips trembling, eyes hollow. He had imagined leading Shoyo to the National Tournament countless times… but all his goals now lay in ruins.
Akashi glanced once at Shoyo, expression calm, devoid of triumph or disdain. Victory seemed effortless.
The first half had shown him as a precise commander. The second half revealed his unanswerable power: steals, breakthroughs, suffocating defense. The invincible aura shocked the arena.
Coach Taoka Moichi's body trembled—not from nervousness, but exhilaration. "We won… we won," he cheered silently. Ryonan had secured qualification for the National High School Tournament.
He recalled past failures, near-misses, and pressure-filled years. Now, Akashi had illuminated Ryonan's future, fulfilling a long-cherished wish.
Even facing Kainan, Coach Taoka felt no worry. Victory here was guaranteed; the championship was merely a formality.
He watched Akashi, walking calmly across the court, the scoreboard reading 109–59, thinking: It's insane… such absolute dominance… truly insane.
Ryonan had risen, from looking up to Shoyo and Kainan, to defeating Shoyo with unrelenting power.
Thus, the era of Shoyo and Fujima Kenji came to an end.