The tunnel was colder than it should've been.
Even with the overhead lights humming and the rubber soles squeaking faintly on concrete, the air felt still—unnaturally still.
Dirga bounced the ball once.
The echo didn't come back right.
He frowned.
Ahead, the court waited, a bright rectangle under artificial sun. But something about it felt distant. Like it wasn't inviting them in.
Like it was watching.
Aizawa stood beside him, stretching out his shoulders. Calm. Measured.
But he hadn't spoken in three minutes.
No one had.
Coach Tsugawa walked past them toward the bench. He didn't give a speech.
He didn't need to.
They knew what this was.
Not a shootout.
Not a statement game.
A survival test.
The announcer's voice crackled through the speaker system above.
"Now taking the court—Nagano Kurotsuki High and Toyonaka Horizon!"
The crowd clapped—politely.
No roar. No thunder.
Just a murmur, like someone dragging their fingers across sand.
Dirga stepped forward.
