"That blonde guy just now… did he really shoot from his own three-point line… all the way to our basket?"
"No way. What is this, a movie? What's next—he's Captain America now?"
"Captain America couldn't pull that off either. I did see some green-haired kid hit a shot like that in a highlight reel once… If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I'd swear this guy's just like that green-haired freak—some crazy edit job."
"Man, this kid's lucky."
The Youth Team bench was buzzing. Kise's last shot—a full-court three—had completely stunned them. No matter the outcome of this scrimmage, that one moment alone made it worth showing up today.
They were shocked, sure. But none of them took it that seriously.They chalked it up to luck — a fluke. There's no way anyone could consistently hit shots from that far.
Kota watched their reactions and chuckled to himself. Not only could someone hit from that far… they could do it with 100% accuracy.
Kise didn't mind being underestimated — he actually found it kind of fun. As long as they didn't take him seriously, he could drop those deep threes all day long and get free points out of it.
And so, under the stunned and disbelieving eyes of the Youth Team…Kise hit three more full-court threes. All from within his own three-point line.
71–67.
In just two minutes, Kise closed the gap to within four points—All thanks to copying Midorima's insane long-range shooting.
BEEP!
Youth Team calls a timeout.
Kise grinned, bumped fists with Kota, then walked off the court with his hands behind his head, humming a tune.
Kota watched his smug strut and couldn't help but praise him:
"As expected from you, genius. Two minutes and they're already calling timeout."
Kise practically puffed his chest out. Praise from Kota was like candy to him.
"Guess I've been underestimating myself! Maybe I'll still have stamina left after tying the score!"
Before Kota could reply, Kasamatsu's hand chop smacked Kise right in the ribs.
"Don't get cocky. That team's no joke—they're not the kind of opponents you can just breeze through."
Kasamatsu lectured him, but inside, he blamed himself. He was the upperclassman… and here he was, relying on his junior to bail them out.
Kota saw through Kasamatsu's guilt, but said nothing. Sometimes, pretending not to notice is the best comfort you can give someone with pride.
He turned his gaze to the Youth Team's bench — Which was currently in full chaos.
"No way. No way. NO FREAKING WAY! What even is that?!"
Number 1 was stunned. He'd been standing right next to Kota — half-listening to his trash talk — when Kise nailed three full-court threes right in front of him.
Another teammate pinched the inside of his thigh—hard.
"…Ow. Okay, not dreaming."
"That guy's gotta have superpowers or something. No human can do that."
"Maybe the ball's rigged? Like, there's a magnet inside pulling it toward the hoop?"
The Youth Team captain buried his face in his hands. Between the shock and his teammates' wild conspiracy theories, his brain was about to explode.
"ENOUGH!!"
His sudden roar silenced the bench. Even Yuki, who was just enjoying the show, flinched from the volume.
"Jeez, what's with the yelling…"
Yuki clenched his tiny fist in secret frustration. He wouldn't dare say that out loud, of course.
"No matter what, we can't let him keep shooting!"
The captain sounded exhausted. That ridiculous shot had shaken his entire worldview. Still, it wasn't impossible to stop.
"I watched him carefully. That… let's call it a 'three' for now—it takes him a while to set up. If we switch to man-to-man defense, we should be able to shut it down."
The captain's word carried weight. The team, initially rattled, slowly started to settle down.
Full-court threes? Psh. Seen it once, seen it all. Just shut it down.
Timeout over.
The Youth Team adjusted immediately, switching to tight man-to-man. Kise never got another chance to launch a full-court bomb.
He frowned, slightly annoyed — but not worried. Even without those threes, he still had insane all-around ability.
He started copying Akashi's Emperor Eye, becoming the team's ultimate playmaker.
Unfortunately, the results weren't great.
Even though Kise could instantly spot open teammates and deliver pinpoint passes…The skill gap was just too wide.
Kaijo's offense remained sluggish.The only basket came from Kota—who nailed a deep three from just a step behind the arc.
Kota wasn't surprised.If passing alone could fix their offense, he wouldn't have had to build entire plays from scratch before.
As for that long-range three from Kota…The Youth Team didn't even blink.
"A long three? Please. At least cross half-court first."
When the lead stretched back to ten points, Kise realized: He'd have to take over himself.
He sighed. Kota had said he didn't need to save stamina for the fourth…But he really had hoped to wait.
Guess I've got no choice. I'll leave the fourth to you, Kota.
Kise took a deep breath.His golden eyes flared.
Perfect Copy—activated.
Up top, Number 1 was dribbling, trying to think of a way past Kota.
Suddenly—whoosh!
"Eh? What was that?"
Before he could process what just zipped past him, a teammate shouted,
"Stop him!!"
He spun around—His ball was gone.
Kise had stolen it.
The Youth Team captain, always alert, was the first to react.He rushed back to delay Kise while waiting for help to arrive and form a trap.
Kise stared at the captain—tall, long arms, covering a huge area.
Getting past him for a layup might be tough…
Sensing someone closing in from behind, Kise didn't hesitate.
Fadeaway.
The captain's eyes narrowed.He leaped to block. With his incredible physical tools, he was confident he could swat the shot.
"…You jump high."
Kise said quietly in midair, watching the giant hand approach.
"But it won't help."
His eyes flashed.
Perfect Copy — Aomine..
He held the ball in front of him — But didn't shoot.
His body kept falling back… and back…Until he was parallel to the floor.
Then, just as the captain's eyes widened in shock — Kise flicked the ball.
He crashed to the court, but cushioned the fall with both hands.No injury.
Physically, Kise was fine. But the Youth Team captain?
Devastated.
He watched, frozen, as the ball dropped through the net—nothing but strings.
Expressionless, he called another timeout.
"…We need to talk."