The buzzer echoed through Neo Tokyo Arena, and the ball swished through the net like a whisper in the storm.
Sakura High 63 – Kensai Titan 60.
The crowd exploded. Cheers, screams, and banners lifted high.
Toma stood at the arc, his breathing heavy, sweat glistening on his forehead. His arms slowly lowered from the follow-through as the weight of the game lifted off his shoulders. His teammates rushed to him—Riku first, then Kei and Daichi. But before any words, someone else reached him.
"Asahi…" Toma muttered, eyes softening.
Without hesitation, she leapt into his arms, hugging him tightly.
"I couldn't breathe during that last shot…" Asahi whispered, her voice trembling against his chest. "I thought my heart would stop."
Toma chuckled softly, wrapping his arms around her with tired strength. "Mine almost did."
A few steps away, Mei clapped loudly, beaming. She turned to Riku, her eyes filled with admiration.
"You're a genius again, Riku," she said, punching his shoulder lightly.
Riku simply smirked, his arms crossed as he watched his team celebrate.
"Phase six…" he muttered under his breath, eyes glinting with quiet satisfaction. "Victory begins."
The night lights of the arena shimmered above them, and the cherry blossoms beyond the glass dome began to fall—just like they always did when something beautiful started.
Neo Tokyo Arena – Day 2, Block B First Match
Shibuya Strikers vs. Mystic Five
The crowd buzzed with excitement. If Sakura High was the people's underdog, Shibuya Strikers were the darlings of the sport—stylish, fun, and dominant. Kids wore Rei Shindo's jersey. Leo had a trending dance on social media. Coach Aya was already offered a commercial deal during warmups.
But across the court, the Mystic Five stood like ghosts.
Black masks. No emblems.
Not a word spoken.
Not a single pre-game interview.
No record, no highlight reels.
Just silence… and presence.
Tip-off.
Naoto leapt, but Mystic C's towering arm barely moved—it was as if gravity didn't apply. Mystic Five got possession.
Within seconds, the masked PG dribbled once, made a no-look pass behind his back—
Swish. Three points.
The masked SG didn't even hesitate.
Clean shot. Silent return.
Shibuya tried to keep pace.
Rei Shindo drove in, pulling a spin-step-back jumper. "Let's give 'em a show," he called.
Buckets. 3–3.
But every move they made—Mystic answered before it happened.
Mystic PF, somehow always in the passing lane.
Mystic SF, jumping higher than anyone had seen—poster dunk on Saku.
Coach Aya shouted plays—but Mystic Five played like they heard them before she spoke.
At halftime, the score stood:
Shibuya Strikers – 28 | Mystic Five – 44
"Are they reading our minds?" Kira muttered. "This isn't normal."
"No," Rei wiped sweat off his chin, "it's like… they know basketball on another level. Beyond data. Beyond instinct."
In the second half, Shibuya tried flashier plays—Leo dribbled through three defenders, passed off the backboard, and Rei slammed it home.
The arena lit up. For a moment, the Strikers were flying.
But then—Mystic PG walked up, looked Leo in the eyes, and stole the ball mid-dribble.
A laser pass.
Three.
Rei called for timeout, panting. "We're fighting shadows."
Final score:
Mystic Five – 81 | Shibuya Strikers – 66
The Strikers collapsed in exhaustion.
Mystic Five lined up in silence, bowed once, and left—without a word.
Coach Aya blinked, watching their black uniforms disappear.
From the stands, Asahi whispered to Mei, "Those guys… gave me chills."
And Riku, eyes narrowed, murmured,
"They're not normal. They don't just play the game…
They are the game."
Block A – Second Match
Fukuoka Wolves vs. Hakodate Blizzards
Neo Tokyo Arena – Afternoon Match
The Wolves came in warm and light-footed, bouncing on their toes with Reika's clipboard clicks keeping rhythm.
Across the court, the Blizzards didn't blink. Ice-blue jerseys. No small talk. No warm smiles. Only precision stretches. Coach Saito stood still, like frost on steel.
Tip-off.
Rikuya hit the first three.
Makoto weaved through traffic like he was made of wind.
10–2. Wolves lead.
"Keep pushing pace!" Reika called. "Fastball game."
But Hakodate didn't flinch.
Kaito locked eyes with Makoto. A pass later, Koji stole the ball cleanly and flew to the rim.
Slam. 10–4.
Then it happened—Ryo started swatting every shot.
Tomae jumped. Blocked.
Jin drove. Blocked.
Even floaters? Blocked.
Blizzards slowed the pace, forced half-court play.
Koji and Kaito moved like they knew where every Wolf would run.
By halftime:
Wolves – 27 | Blizzards – 30
"It's like playing chess blindfolded," Jin muttered.
Second half, Wolves switched to full-court press. Makoto exploded again—between-the-legs dish to Rikuya.
Splash. Tie game.
But Saito whispered three words: "Switch to Frost Lock."
Blizzards tightened. No open lanes. No clean threes.
In the final minute, Koji stripped the ball from Jin and passed to Soma—layup.
Final: Blizzards – 52 | Wolves – 47
Reika clenched her clipboard. "That wasn't basketball. That was war strategy."
Commentators:
"What a defensive masterclass by the Blizzards. They made the Wolves look like kids in a snowstorm."
Block B – Second Match
Nagoya Phoenix vs. Osaka Vipers
Neo Tokyo Arena – Night Match
Ayumu led his team with the quiet grace of a storm waiting to break. Minato adjusted his glasses. Genji grunted and set his sneakers.
The Vipers rolled in late. Coach Kagemura adjusted his sunglasses indoors, smiling like he knew the score already.
"Let's give 'em a magic show," Shiro winked.
Tip-off.
Phoenix ran clean plays. Taku picked. Kazuki pulled up.
6–0 lead.
But Osaka was never in a rush.
Shiro faked a pass, spun, kicked out—Yami pump faked Ayumu out of his shoes. Three.
Genji tried to set a screen—Ichi "tripped," accidentally made space for Gaku to sneak in.
The crowd roared—confused and amazed.
It wasn't dirty. It was pure misdirection.
Minato adjusted. "They're not wild. They're unpredictable on purpose."
Second half started 38–38.
Phoenix came out strong—Ayumu faked backdoor, passed to Taku. Slam.
Kazuki got hot—drained two clutch shots.
But then Shiro smirked.
He whispered to Yami. Yami cut, drew three defenders, dished to Ichi—bank shot.
Final 30 seconds, score: 61–60, Vipers lead.
Ayumu made his move—fadeaway jumper—miss.
Final: Osaka Vipers – 61 | Nagoya Phoenix – 60
Commentators:
"The Osaka Vipers… are magicians in sneakers. That wasn't a game, that was a heist."
Neo Tokyo Arena – Back Hallway Lounge
Night after the matches
The arena lights dimmed, but the electricity in the air hadn't faded.
Toma leaned against the vending machine, sipping from a cold bottle of water. His shirt clung to him from earlier practice, and his eyes were glued to the massive screen overhead, still showing replays of the Vipers vs. Phoenix match.
"That final fake… how did they even pull that off?" he muttered.
Riku approached, hoodie up, earphones dangling from his neck. He was silent, but his eyes flickered with calculation.
"Riku?" Toma asked.
"Osaka Vipers… They're a storm pretending to be wind." Riku finally said. "That Ichi guy? He faked being clumsy so well he baited everyone."
"Yeah," Toma agreed. "And Blizzards earlier? That Koji guy had zero emotion. I'd swear he's part machine."
Asahi burst through the hallway, nearly slipping in excitement. "Did you see that no-look pass from Kaito?! And Koji just—swoosh—ripped the ball from Takeda like he owned it!"
Toma blinked as she ran up and hugged him, arms tight around his waist. "That last layup they made? I couldn't breathe…"
He smirked and ruffled her hair. "It's not our match yet. Don't waste your breath."
Mei came up right behind, shaking her head, arms crossed. "Riku… again, you predicted both outcomes. You're seriously built different."
Riku offered only a sly grin.
"Phase 6. Victory begins now."
Team rooms
Sakura High's Coach Yamada crossed his arms and muttered to himself:
"Blizzards fight with structure. Vipers fight with deception. We need to prepare for both. One mistake... and you're out."
Mystic Five sat silently in the upper shadows. Even their masks reflected no light. The captain, still nameless, merely nodded once, like confirming data.
Shibuya Strikers' Rei Shindo leaned back on his seat, arms around the backrest.
"Guess we're not the only ones with style anymore. That Shiro kid? He's got charisma. But next time… I'll outshine him."
Leo, with a cocky grin: "He copied my moves and made it cooler. I hate him already."
Locker Room – Nagoya Phoenix
Ayumu sat quietly, towel over his head, sweat dripping to the floor.
Minato patted his shoulder. "We lost by one… but we read their book. If we face them again, we'll rip the pages."
Kazuki punched the locker once. "Next time… I won't just play. I'll dominate."
Locker Room – Osaka Vipers
Coach Kagemura polished his sunglasses. "Boys… the crowd thinks we're a joke team. Keep it that way."
Shiro chuckled. "Let them sleep. We'll wake them in the semis."
Yami leaned back, eyes glowing under the lights. "And if we meet Sakura High… I wanna see that Riku guy handle this chaos."
Night Sky – Arena Rooftop
Riku stood alone on the edge of the rooftop, the city lights reflecting in his eyes.
He held his phone. A message glowed on the screen:
"From: Unknown
Watch the Blizzards carefully.
They're hiding something beneath that ice."
He tucked it away. The wind blew softly. Below him, the Neo Tokyo Cup roared on.
Riku whispered to the night and said.
"Let's see who survives this storm."