Tokyo Gymnasium.
The atmosphere at the Kanagawa vs Akita match was thick and still.
The two teams stood across from each other on the court, backs straight like blades. Their eyes glinted with cold intensity. Even their breathing seemed frosted, as if the air itself might explode into a storm at any second.
"Aha..."
Aoi Kunisaku clearly wasn't interested in this silent standoff.
He yawned, looking utterly bored and lazy. His steps were slow and casual as he strolled toward the bench. The sound of his sneakers scraping the floor echoed in the silence, like a spectator who wandered into the battlefield by mistake. The easygoing vibe around him clashed sharply with the tense air between the teams.
This unexpected interruption was like a pebble tossed into a still lake, instantly rippling through the taut mood.
The players from Akita turned their eyes toward Aoi Kunisaku.
That relaxed figure walking across the court stood out sharply against the battlefield-like tension in the arena.
Some raised their brows, some pressed their lips together. Their eyes flashed with surprise, confusion, and even a brief moment of daze. Emotions churned in their stares like a swirl of conflicting ripples.
But that stiffness lasted only a few breaths.
The next moment, both teams seemed to hit a reset switch. They pulled their gazes back and steadily walked toward the benches, as if nothing had just happened.
Takato Riki, Taoka Moichi, and Anzai Mitsuyoshi were already seated calmly on the bench.
As the players approached, Taoka Moichi turned to Takato Riki and asked, "Have you finalized the lineup?"
Takato Riki nodded and opened his folding fan with a crisp snap. He answered with a steady tone, "I've made my decision."
Taoka Moichi raised his brows slightly and said, "I've got an idea too. Want to hear it?"
Takato Riki looked over, surprised. "Go on."
Taoka Moichi straightened his back, a trace of pride showing on his face. He shared his ideal lineup. "I think we should use the full Shohoku lineup."
"What?" Takato Riki blinked, surprised. "All of Shohoku's players?"
He hadn't expected that answer at all.
"Why?" he asked, frowning in doubt.
The suggestion puzzled him. It didn't make sense why Taoka Moichi would bring that up.
After all, aside from Aoi Kunisaku being a monster, the rest of Shohoku's players couldn't match the individual strength of Maki Shinichi or Sendoh Akira. Even Rukawa Kaede, despite his recent rise, was still a half-step behind those two.
Taoka Moichi folded his arms and explained smoothly, as if playing out the logic in his head. "I have my reasons. I get that you might favor Maki Shinichi and Sendoh, and that's fine. But think about this—Shohoku is a complete unit. Even if some of their players aren't as individually strong as Maki Shinichi or Sendoh, their chemistry makes up for it. If you drop Maki Shinichi and Sendoh into the Shohoku system, they might not actually play better. To Shohoku, Maki and Sendoh are outsiders. That difference matters—you know it."
When Taoka Moichi finished, Takato Riki fell silent. His gaze drifted off as if lost in thought.
He opened his mouth to counter but ended up saying nothing.
He knew full well that Taoka Moichi was no less capable as a coach.
If he said something, it must have been well considered.
And what he said did make sense. Takato couldn't come up with a strong argument against it.
Still, deep inside, Takato Riki stuck to his own view.
To him, Maki Shinichi and Sendoh only added to the team's strength.
In basketball, strength is everything.
No matter how flawless Shohoku's teamwork might be, how deep their chemistry ran, against a powerful opponent, those skill gaps would show.
Maki and Sendoh were the pieces that filled that gap. They made Shohoku more competitive on the court.
As the two men went back and forth, Anzai Mitsuyoshi sat to the side, sipping tea calmly. The tea swirled gently in his porcelain cup.
He blew on it softly and took a slow sip. He had no intention of joining the debate from start to finish.
No matter which way this discussion went or what decision was made, he didn't plan to butt in.
He'd been coaching for decades, had seen it all—ups, downs, and everything between. He knew how to read people and situations like a pro.
And he truly respected the coaching ability of both Takato Riki and Taoka Moichi.
Both had led strong teams and developed distinct tactics.
So why interfere over something so specific?
Through the drifting aroma of tea, Anzai Mitsuyoshi watched the two argue, fingers gently tracing the rim of his cup.
To him, a clash of coaching minds was a good thing. He preferred to remain the quiet observer.
He trusted their judgment—and he enjoyed watching from the sidelines.
And then there was Aoi Kunisaku.
In Anzai Mitsuyoshi's eyes, there wasn't a single player in high school basketball who could stand shoulder to shoulder with Aoi Kunisaku.
That guy's dominance on the court was like a mountain that couldn't be moved. Anyone wanting to challenge it had to first ask themselves if they were even qualified.
He knew clearly—no matter who Kanagawa or Shohoku faced—if they wanted to topple this team, the first hurdle was Aoi Kunisaku.
If you couldn't clear that, all other strategies were useless.
Honestly, he wouldn't hesitate to say—if Aoi Kunisaku was on the court, victory was practically already in their hands.
And on top of that, there was the team's freakishly talented manager, Shimizu Kanon.
Her court vision and in-the-moment judgment impressed even a veteran coach like him.
If a combo like this could still lose, Anzai Mitsuyoshi might have to start believing that Japanese basketball was heading for a full-blown revolution.
Then, Takato Riki started announcing the starting lineup.
"Center, Akagi.
Point Guard, Maki.
Shooting Guard, Sendoh.
Small Forward, Rukawa Kaede.
Power Forward, Aoi Kunisaku."
After reading the starters, he paused briefly, his voice solemn but tinged with deep hope.
"Alright. This may be the strongest lineup Kanagawa has right now. Go win back the championship that belongs to you!"
"Yes!" the team replied in unison.
…
On Akita's bench.
Domoto Goro stood straight in front of his players, his brows furrowed tight. He said seriously, "This is our final match. What kind of result we get depends entirely on how hard we fight now."
As soon as he finished, Fukatsu Kazunari stepped forward and spoke with steady tone, "No matter what happens, we're going to give it everything. Win or lose, there'll be no regrets."
"Exactly." Sawakita Eiji suddenly grinned. His eyes burned with fierce resolve.
"We lost to them last time. Doesn't mean we'll lose again. Leave Aoi Kunisaku to me. This time, I'll lock him down, no matter what. You guys handle the scoring."
Everyone froze for a second.
Sawakita Eiji was their main scorer.
Now he was willingly giving that up to focus entirely on defense, just to shut down one player.
If it were any other team, any other situation, anyone hearing this would probably call it nuts—like something straight out of a fairy tale. They might even think he'd lost his mind.
But his teammates knew better.
They knew exactly how terrifying the opponent was.
They knew what kind of crisis they were facing right now better than anyone.
And besides, only Sawakita Eiji had the right to say something like that.
All eyes turned toward Sawakita Eiji with nothing but admiration.
Kawata Masashi's lips curled into a slight grin. His gaze swept over the team before he laughed loudly.
"If you're saying that, then we've got no excuse not to fight with everything we've got. Just do your part—leave the scoring to us!"
Domoto Goro stood nearby, silently taking in the fire now burning again in their eyes.
He looked at Kawata Masashi's heated expression, glanced at the rest of the team glowing with renewed energy, and a deep, satisfied smile slowly formed on his face.
As long as their confidence wasn't crushed…
As long as that unwilling-to-lose fire was still alive…
Then there was still a chance.
What seemed impossible might just bloom into reality right here on this court.
Very soon, both starting lineups stepped onto the court.
Kanagawa starting lineup:
Center: Akagi Takenori, 3rd year (Shohoku)
Small Forward: Rukawa Kaede, 1st year (Shohoku)
Power Forward: Aoi Kunisaku, 1st year (Shohoku)
Shooting Guard: Sendoh Akira, 2nd year (Ryonan)
Point Guard: Maki Shinichi, 3rd year (Kainan)
Akita starting lineup:
Center: Kawata Masashi, 3rd year (Sannoh Kogyo)
Small Forward: Sawakita Eiji, 2nd year (Sannoh Kogyo)
Power Forward: Nobe Masahiro, 3rd year (Sannoh Kogyo)
Shooting Guard: Matsumoto Minoru, 3rd year (Sannoh Kogyo)
Point Guard: Fukatsu Kazunari, 3rd year (Sannoh Kogyo)
The players stood aligned on either side of the center line. Ten pairs of eyes clashed like unsheathed blades. Even their brows carried a trace of murderous edge.
In an instant, the atmosphere on the court dropped like it had been thrown into a freezer. The pressure sank invisibly but heavily.
This tension began spreading outward from center court. Even the shouts and cheers from the stands seemed muffled.
Tweet—
The referee's whistle split the frozen air like a blade, cutting through the final moment of silence before war.
Whoosh—
At the exact moment the whistle blew, an orange basketball soared into the air between the teams with a sharp hiss.
Kanagawa vs Akita—
The match had officially begun.
The Autumn National Athletic Meet Finals—
had now kicked off.