Stands.
"My god… what was that? Was that really a shot?"
"That's the so-called Formless Shot? That's insane!"
"That couldn't have been planned, right? How can a shot like that even exist?"
"Can a human really pull that off? Using the defender's arm to score… that's just unbelievable."
"So this is what they call the 'strongest high schooler' now."
…
Akagi Haruko and Sakuragi's Gang were completely stunned by what they'd just witnessed.
They had seen plenty of wild shots from Aoi Kunisaku before, but this one still left them shocked.
Akagi Haruko clutched her hands tightly over her mouth. Her eyes sparkled brighter than the spotlights, as if little stars were glittering inside.
"Amazing. Aoi Kunisaku is really amazing. That shot was just so cool."
Matsui, with his dead-fish stare, nudged the excited Akagi Haruko with his elbow and said teasingly,
"Don't go catching feelings now. He's already got a childhood friend, you know."
Mito Yohei looked surprised, but not all that shocked.
"Still the same as ever."
Noma Chuichirou clenched his fists, his Adam's apple bobbing. His tone was full of wariness.
"That guy's terrifying."
Even Takamiya Nozomi, usually the first to throw shade, shrank back slightly. His shoulders trembled. For some reason, Aoi Kunisaku always made him feel small.
"Yeah, staying out of that guy's way was the right call."
Ohkusu Yuji glanced down from the stands toward Shohoku's bench. His eyes landed on the restless Sakuragi Hanamichi. He sighed a little.
"Doesn't look like Sakuragi's getting any time today."
Hearing that, Mito Yohei and the others also looked over toward Sakuragi Hanamichi on the bench and nodded in silent agreement.
…
Right then, Sakuragi Hanamichi was sitting stiffly, clenching his jaw. If he hadn't had a sliver of reason left, he probably would've stormed onto the court already.
Court.
The floor still carried the heat from the last fierce clash.
Sawakita Eiji, like a beast lying in wait, sprang forward again. His eyes locked on Aoi Kunisaku.
Every move he made was sharp and aggressive. The pressure rolling off him came in waves, like a rising tide crashing over Aoi.
Aoi Kunisaku stood with his arms hanging loose by his sides, that faint smile still playing at his lips, like he wasn't fazed at all.
But for those who could see clearly, it was obvious—Aoi's movement had been affected. He was slightly unstable.
You could tell from his last move.
The tension on the court was thick. Fukatsu Kazunari stood beyond the three-point line, scanning the situation like a hawk.
When he saw how tightly wound Sawakita Eiji was, his eyes narrowed slightly. He gave him a subtle glance.
Their gazes met in midair. Fukatsu raised his brow slightly in a silent question.
It meant something like, Need help?
Sawakita Eiji's lips moved a bit. Then he gave a small shake of his head.
He knew that even if another teammate came to help double-team Aoi, it would be useless. It'd just weaken their overall defense.
Bringing in another man might look like support, but in reality, it would only throw off his rhythm.
He had activated "Wild Instinct" from the start to lock Aoi down as tightly as possible.
Even if he couldn't shut him down completely, he needed to suppress Aoi's speed and agility as much as he could.
That way, the team would at least have a better shot.
Seeing the firm shake of Sawakita's head, Fukatsu Kazunari nodded slightly and didn't hesitate further.
Next moment.
As his dribble rhythm picked up, the sharp squeal of sneakers slicing across the court rang out.
He took the first step. His body shot forward like an arrow, driving hard toward Kanagawa's basket.
The rest of Akita fanned out smoothly. Their steps synchronized. Their breath formed a drumbeat rhythm in the air.
Fukatsu Kazunari's eyes burned. He scanned for gaps in the defense as he moved, pulling the whole team behind him like a white tidal wave crashing into enemy lines.
Aoi Kunisaku started cutting across the court.
Sawakita Eiji followed immediately, nearly sticking to Aoi's side with every step. His focus was wound as tight as a drawn bow.
Their shadows overlapped on the court. Their breathing wove together like taut strings, ready to snap at the first hint of weakness.
Compared to the battle between the other 8 players, the clash between Aoi and Sawakita felt like something separate.
The light flickered across the court. Aoi Kunisaku and Sawakita Eiji moved like lone wolves, circling each other along the baseline and sideline.
Their footwork looked casual, but they perfectly avoided all their teammates' screens and picks.
Like two figures guided by invisible threads, they carved a path all their own across the chaos of the court.
Sweat dripped from Sawakita Eiji's sharp jawline, splashing onto the court in tiny droplets.
Aoi Kunisaku's tense back rose and fell like a drum. With every sharp stop and spin, his jersey snapped loudly in the air.
While the other 8 players fought fiercely in the paint, bodies colliding and whistles echoing non-stop, these two maintained a perfect distance.
Neither joined in the screens nor intercepted passes. It was like they existed in a space separate from the match.
Aoi Kunisaku suddenly accelerated toward the three-point line. Sawakita Eiji shadowed him instantly. But just as their teammate prepared to pass the ball, they both split apart with synchronized ease.
The atmosphere on the court grew stranger.
The uproar sparked by Aoi's earlier unbelievable shot had gradually faded, replaced by a suffocating tension.
Even the crowd had quieted. Everyone held their breath, staring at the two figures orbiting outside the main action, waiting for a storm to shatter the balance.
The score had been shifting constantly since the match began.
29 to 27.
35 to 33.
44 to 42.
…
The scoreboard glowed red. Only 3 minutes left until halftime.
The audience unconsciously sat up straight. All eyes fixed on the tense battlefield.
The scoreboard read 48 to 46 in Kanagawa's favor.
Kanagawa held a narrow 2-point lead the entire time.
Both sides kept up intense back-and-forths. The offensive and defensive switches were lightning-fast. No one managed to pull ahead. It was the very definition of evenly matched.
But despite that, Akita's bench looked more and more grim.
Their eyes revealed unease. They kept glancing toward the bench, their expressions complicated and tense.
The reason was clear—Sawakita Eiji looked bad.
Sweat poured from his temple. His white jersey was soaked through, clinging to his back and outlining his strained muscles.
His breathing was rough. His chest rose and fell with effort. He looked like a caged beast hauled up from water. Even wiping his sweat seemed shaky and exhausted.
Meanwhile, the man he was guarding—Aoi Kunisaku—though also sweating, still breathed steadily.
Aoi lifted his chin slightly. His eyes were sharp as blades. His lips still curled into that faint, unreadable smile. Not the slightest sign of fatigue. Still calm, still composed.
Akita bench.
Domoto Goro's brows furrowed into a deep line.
His eyes were glued to the gasping figure on the court. A wave of unease stirred in his chest.
As a coach, he understood well how much stamina it would take to stick to Aoi Kunisaku the entire half.
But the sight before him was worse than expected.
Sweat dripped steadily from Sawakita Eiji's chin. His fingers trembled from overexertion. Even his usually straight back sagged slightly from fatigue.
This wasn't just stamina drain. Something was off.
He raised his hand, ready to call a timeout. But then his eyes fell on the game clock and he froze.
His gaze stayed on the countdown for a few seconds. Then he slowly lowered his hand.
What was the point of a timeout now?
The red countdown numbers flashed like warning lights. There wasn't even enough time to set up a proper play.
Rather than force a break in rhythm with just seconds left, it was better to adjust during halftime.
Domoto Goro let out a long breath and looked back up at the score.
46 to 48. That 2-point gap eased his nerves just a little.
It was still manageable.
As long as the second half...
He had expected Aoi Kunisaku to stretch the gap wide with his presence on the court.
But to his surprise, Aoi only took 2 shots the entire first half.
Yet those 2 shots were like blades carving through the balance.
Thanks to them, Kanagawa pulled ahead by 4 points.
4 points wasn't much. At the end of a half, it might as well be nothing.
But to Domoto Goro, those 4 points felt heavy. Like a boulder pressing on his chest.
What unsettled him wasn't the 4-point gap itself, but what it implied.
Aoi Kunisaku was like a hidden assassin. Just 2 shots, and the game tilted in his favor.
Those 4 points weren't the end. They were a message. A warning.
A signal to Akita that the lead could change at his whim.
That chilling realization hit harder than any physical clash.
Domoto Goro stared at Aoi Kunisaku's unshaken expression and suddenly felt like the calm of the first half was just the silence before the storm.
The real battle hadn't even begun.