Rakuzan High Gym — Evening Practice
"Everyone's heard the news, right?"
Akashi stood alone at center court. The setting sun bled crimson through the high windows, bathing the wooden floor in gold and scarlet light. The glow framed Akashi's figure like a painting — calm, sharp, and commanding.
From the far end of the court, where shadows stretched long, came the sound of footsteps. A tall figure emerged — Aomine.
The twilight caught his face, revealing a scowl darker than usual. There was a raw, predatory tension to him tonight.
"When did you start liking speeches, Akashi?" he said, cracking his neck with a sharp click-click. "We're all here. Of course we've heard."
The air around him thickened — a pressure that could make a child burst into tears.Aomine stood like a starving leopard — fierce, restless, ready to pounce.
"They showed up at our doorstep, mocked us to our faces…" he muttered, his eyes narrowing. "You expect me to just swallow that?"
A playful voice cut in.
"Well, well. Looks like the gang's fired up again."
Kise strolled out of the shadows, hands on his hips, a grin on his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes.
He joined Akashi and Aomine under the fading light.
Then came a familiar, oddly mystical voice.
"Gemini will face a great trial this week," Midorima intoned solemnly, pushing his glasses up so they flashed. "But in the end, he will ride the winds of fate to taste victory."
"Yeah, yeah…" Kise groaned. "Here we go again with the horoscope speeches."
But no one looked surprised — they'd long gotten used to Midorima's ritual weirdness.
Finally, the last of the "Generation of Miracles" stepped forward — a huge figure munching loudly on a granola bar.
"Ahh… that big guy said if we win, he'll give me a bunch of money," Murasakibara mumbled, still chewing. "Like, enough to fill my whole house with snacks…"
The others all fell silent.
"Seriously?!" Kise threw his arms up. "That's what you're thinking about? Not the match? That old guy said if we lose, he'll— he'll literally commit seppuku!"
Just days ago, during the Jabberwock' Japan Exhibition Match, Nash and his team had humiliated their Japanese opponents.
Even after crushing them by a wide margin, Nash refused to shake hands. When Kasamatsu reached out to congratulate him, Nash spat right on his hand.
Then, with a smirk, he looked around the court and said—
"You yellow monkeys don't deserve to play basketball."
That sentence ignited something inside Kagetora.
"One week from now!" Kagetora roared at Nash in front of everyone.
"We'll play again — and if we win, you'll apologize to every Japanese player you just insulted!"
But Nash only sneered.
"Why should I waste time on another match? Unless, of course, there's money involved. You pay like today — I'll think about it."
Kagetora couldn't possibly afford Nash's outrageous fee. But money wasn't what mattered anymore.
"If we lose," Kagetora said, his voice steady, "I'll commit seppuku on the court."
The crowd froze. Even Nash blinked.
In Japan, seppuku isn't just a word — it's a vow. A symbol of ultimate resolve.
Nash studied him for a moment, then smiled cruelly.
"Fine. You've got guts, old man. I respect that. We'll play again next week. And I'll be there to see your blood spill."
That was how the challenge began — an unofficial, unsanctioned revenge match, arranged solely by Kagetora himself.
And with no Basketball Association backing him, he had only one place to turn — to the strongest lineup Japan had ever produced.
The Generation of Miracles.
Kise clicked his tongue, remembering the footage. He'd watched every second of that exhibition game — including the moment Nash spat on Kasamatsu's hand.
"Man… I hate to admit it," he said bitterly, "but those guys really are monsters. No class, no respect, but the skill to back it up."
Aomine chuckled coldly.
"So what? You think that scares me? They came to our turf acting all high and mighty — someone's gotta teach them what happens when you mess with Japan."
He cracked his knuckles, grin widening.
"Besides, there's no way I'm letting that old man actually die out there."
Snap. Snap.The sound of Aomine's joints echoed through the empty gym, sharp and electric. His expression turned deadly serious.
Clap!
Akashi brought his hands together, the crisp sound drawing every gaze toward him. His mismatched eyes gleamed — one gold, one red.
"Standing on Japanese soil," he said, voice low but filled with authority, "and daring to call us 'yellow monkeys'... I'll never allow such disgrace to stain our honor."
He looked around the circle, eyes fierce."This is also our chance — to fight together again."
The setting sun flared behind him, gilding the gym in firelight. Aomine's tongue darted across his lips like a predator scenting blood. Kise stretched lazily, though his eyes burned with focus. Midorima adjusted his glasses again, expression razor-sharp. Even Murasakibara, still chewing, looked faintly awake — which for him, meant deadly serious.
Then Midorima glanced around."Akashi… the other two aren't here?"
He didn't name them, but everyone knew exactly who he meant.
"Of course they'll come," Akashi said calmly. "In fact… they should be here right about—"
Bang!
The gym doors swung open. Two silhouettes stood framed in the light — one tall, one short.
The light and shadow of Seirin.
If they wanted any hope of defeating the Dragons, they would need these two.
"Sumimasen, we're late," Kuroko said quietly. "Traffic."
The apology sounded utterly flat in his monotone voice — emotionless to the point of absurdity. Kise snorted a laugh, but Akashi only smiled faintly.
"It's fine," he said. "Though it's a shame that guy isn't in Japan right now… still, with all of us here, we'll manage. And if we actually lose next week…" His smile sharpened."…I can already hear him mocking us when he gets back."
Kise groaned. "Ugh, I can literally hear it."
"Then it's decided," Akashi declared. "If they're the Jabberwock, we'll be the Vorpal Sword."
The name was random — but somehow, it fit perfectly. Everyone nodded in agreement.
And just like that, the New Generation of Miracles — Team Vorpal Sword — was born.
Meanwhile — Across the Sea
National Youth Training Center, China.
The scrimmage between the National Team and the Youth Team was coming to an end.
Kota stood with his hands on his hips, watching the scoreboard flash: 99–92, National Team ahead by seven. Less than thirty seconds remained.
The ball was still in the National Team's hands — the outcome already sealed.
From the second half onward, at Ebi's request, Kota had reined himself in. He'd shifted from being the offensive centerpiece to a pure playmaker, feeding his teammates and creating opportunities for everyone else.
The result? Twelve assists in the second half alone, added to his six from the first. Eighteen total — nearly a record.
But numbers couldn't hide the truth. While his assist count soared, the team's rhythm collapsed.
The sudden shift in playstyle threw the others off balance. Several possessions ended with the ball circling back to Kota after a full rotation — as if no one else knew what to do with it.
To make matters worse, the National Team had completely transformed since halftime.
Same players — but Sun's fiery speech had lit a fire under them.
Zhou Yi, once obsessed with challenging Kota, had finally swallowed his pride and gone back to running plays properly. His natural court sense brought stability to their offense.
Li Wenyu, meanwhile, bulldozed through the Youth Team's interior defense, throwing down one monster dunk after another.
As for Xiao Gao, the Youth Team's center — his box score looked decent at first glance (18 points, 15 rebounds), but most of those came from Kota's setups.
His finishing? A miserable 9-for-25. Barely 36% — unacceptable for a big man.
With the clock ticking down, the National Team stopped attacking altogether, simply dribbling out the clock on their seven-point lead.
When the final buzzer blared, Sun stood up, clipboard in hand, and walked toward the young players.
He glanced down at the list — the names of those who would advance.
"The ones who passed this evaluation are…"