Both teams stood at the center of the court, ready for the game to begin.
Ryonan's Starting Lineup:
Center: Uozumi (#5, 3rd Year) – Vice Captain when Ake isn't playing
Power Forward: Ikegami Ryoji (#6, 2nd Year)
Small Forward: Sendoh (#7, 2nd Year)
Shooting Guard: Koshino Hiroaki (#8, 2nd Year)
Point Guard: Uekusa Tomoyuki (#9, 2nd Year)
Kawanobe's Starting Lineup:
Center: Yamamoto Itta (#8, 1st Year)
Power Forward: Aoki Kenta (#7, 2nd Year)
Small Forward: Yuta Watanabe (#6, 2nd Year)
Shooting Guard: Sato Shota (#5, 3rd Year)
Point Guard: Takigawa Mata (#4, 3rd Year, Captain)
Uozumi and Yamamoto faced each other at center court, their gazes locked in a silent clash of pride and tension.
Yamamoto's eyes scanned Ryonan's lineup, but the red-haired figure he'd seen earlier was nowhere to be found.
His brows twitched as his gaze drifted toward the bench.
There he was — Ake, sitting calmly with his arms crossed, silently observing the court.
A smirk spread across Yamamoto's face as he turned back to Uozumi.
"Hey! That guy — he's your first-year captain, right? What, he's not playing?"
Uozumi let out a cold snort. His voice was calm but sharp.
"For opponents like you, our captain doesn't need to dirty his hands."
Yamamoto's grin widened. "Oh? Is that so?"
He raised his voice, loud enough for the entire gym to hear.
"Looks to me like your captain's just scared! Hiding on the bench like a coward!"
"...You…" Uozumi's voice dropped to a low growl, deep and heavy like distant thunder. His eyes darkened, locking onto Yamamoto with deadly calm.
He didn't bother to argue — he'd let his actions speak.
Yamamoto laughed even louder, his arrogance practically begging for punishment.
"Am I wrong? Your so-called captain's a turtle too scared to come out of his shell!"
A vein pulsed on Uozumi's forehead as he clenched his fist. He was seconds away from storming forward.
On Ryonan's bench, the players' faces darkened in unison.
"Who does that idiot think he is?!"
"If Captain Ake were playing, he'd crush him into dust!"
"Kawanobe's nothing! They're not even worth Ake stepping in!"
"Uozumi-senpai, make sure you shut that guy up!"
"Quiet."
Ake's voice wasn't loud, but it sliced through the noise like ice water over fire. The entire bench fell silent at once. Even their breathing softened.
His expression remained calm, almost indifferent — as if Yamamoto's words had never reached his ears at all.
It wasn't arrogance; it was total disregard.
The players froze in place, the earlier agitation melting away. An invisible pressure seemed to hang over them. None dared to move or even speak.
The Kawanobe players exchanged uneasy glances. Even Yamamoto's smirk faltered for a moment.
Just one word — and Ake had silenced his entire team.
Maybe this "first-year captain" wasn't ordinary after all.
The referee stepped forward, whistle in hand, eyes sweeping across both teams.
A sharp tweet echoed through the gym, cutting through the tension.
Tip-off began.
The ball flew into the air, spinning under the lights.
Fueled by Yamamoto's earlier taunt, Uozumi's body tensed like a coiled spring.
When the ball reached its peak, he exploded upward.
Thud!
The sound of his leap shook the court.
Yamamoto jumped too, but his effort was swallowed by the power of Uozumi's takeoff.
The next moment — smack! — Uozumi's massive hand struck the ball, sending it sharply behind him.
Uekusa caught it cleanly and sprinted down the court like lightning.
Kawanobe scrambled back on defense, their captain, Takigawa, cutting him off at the free-throw line.
But Uekusa didn't hesitate. He slammed the ball to the floor — bang! — a perfect bounce pass to Sendoh, who was already streaking down the wing.
Sendoh caught the ball on the move, cutting through the air like an arrow.
Kawanobe's defense couldn't react in time.
One step, two steps — then Sendoh soared.
He rose high, one hand gripping the ball like thunder itself, and hammered it through the rim.
CLANG! The entire hoop rattled with a metallic roar.
Ryonan 2 – 0 Kawanobe.
The game had been going for less than seven seconds.
The entire stadium froze. Even the crowd fell silent.
"So that's Sendoh…" Takigawa muttered, his tone shifting from casual to grim. "He's stronger than I thought."
Yuta Watanabe stood still, sweat forming on his brow. He replayed the scene in his head — Sendoh's acceleration, his balance, his air control.
When he compared their speeds, his heart sank.
Kawanobe's possession.
Takigawa steadied his breathing, his voice calm. "Don't rush. We'll get one back."
His tone steadied the team — emotion meant nothing if they lost control of the rhythm.
But just as they began to settle, it happened.
Uekusa appeared like a shadow out of nowhere, darting in from the side — SLAP!
A clean steal.
Takigawa's eyes widened. What—?!
Before he could react, Uekusa had already whipped the ball down the court — a fast, flat pass cutting through the air like a bullet.
Koshino caught it in stride, took three quick steps, rose at the arc, and fired.
Swish.
Ryonan 5 – 0 Kawanobe.
Sato clenched his fists, cursing under his breath. He'd left Koshino open while reacting to the turnover.
"Damn it… careless!"
On the next possession, Kawanobe slowed down, trying to reset.
Takigawa dribbled past half-court, scanning the floor.
"Captain, here!" Yamamoto suddenly broke free on a back cut, calling for the ball.
Takigawa wasted no time, zipping the pass to him.
Yamamoto caught it and backed into his defender, a fierce grin stretching across his face.
"Ryonan, huh? Watch me dunk on you!"
He turned and launched himself toward the rim, ready to unleash his signature slam— but the world went dark.
A shadow loomed over him.
Then — SLAP!
A massive hand came down like thunder from the heavens, swatting the ball out of his grasp and sending it flying toward the sideline.
Yamamoto landed hard, his arms numb, his eyes wide in disbelief.
"That… that can't be…" he stammered.
Uozumi slowly lowered his arm, palm open, expression unreadable.
Then, with a cold smirk, he said, "You're too weak."
Yamamoto's body trembled. "You bastard!"
Uozumi snorted, his breath colder than ice.
"I haven't even used my full strength yet."
He turned away, walking back toward his position like a mountain returning to rest.
The earlier block might as well have been a warm-up.
Yamamoto's anger boiled, but there was nothing he could do. His strength, his pride — both shattered.
As the game went on, Ryonan completely crushed Kawanobe.
Their offense, their defense — everything was airtight.
Kawanobe couldn't even bring the ball past half-court without getting trapped.
Every pass was intercepted, every shot contested. Uozumi dominated the paint like an immovable wall, Sendoh cut off the lanes, and Uekusa's defense was relentless.
Ten minutes in — the scoreboard read 43–0.
The Kawanobe players were gasping for air, hands on their knees, sweat dripping onto the hardwood.
Their earlier arrogance was gone, replaced by exhaustion and dread.
Even Yamamoto stood motionless, his chest heaving as he stared at the floor.
Every one of his shots had been blocked or deflected.
Each miss echoed like a slap against his pride.
His earlier taunts replayed in his mind like a curse.
He couldn't win in power.
He couldn't win in skill.
He couldn't win in will.
Ryonan's defense was suffocating.
Every passing lane closed, every gap sealed.
For the first time, Kawanobe understood what it truly meant to face one of Kanagawa's top four teams.
They had come to challenge Ryonan.
But now, it felt more like they were trapped in a nightmare of their own arrogance.