The next day
News of a 100-point blowout in the preliminary match spread through Kanagawa's high school basketball scene like a sudden hurricane.
At first, no one believed it—nor did they want to.
But when photos started circulating, even the most skeptical were forced to accept this absurd reality.
Shohoku High School Gymnasium
A heavy silence hung over the gym.
"A hundred points?"
Yasuharu Yasuda couldn't help blurting out loud.
Kogure Kiminobu adjusted his glasses, brows tightly furrowed. "That can't be true, right? A hundred points? How's that even possible?"
Standing nearby, Ayako's expression was serious, her tone carrying a rare weight. "I already confirmed it. The news is real. And…"
She paused, scanning the tense faces around her before continuing.
"Ryonan's captain didn't even play in either of those two games yesterday."
The air froze instantly.
At the mention of Ryonan, Sakuragi Hanamichi's teeth clenched. His expression twisted in anger.
"Ake Ryu… and that Sendoh guy… damn them! Next time we meet, I'll crush them both!"
Takenori Akagi stood silently off to the side, saying nothing. The basketball in his hand creaked under his tightening grip, his knuckles white. His breathing was heavier than usual.
He looked up at the ceiling—his eyes clouded with complicated emotions: shock, unease, and a pressure he didn't want to admit.
This year's Ryonan was too strong.
Stronger than he had imagined.
Even though this year's preliminaries had three qualifying spots instead of two, for Shohoku, making it through was still a steep uphill battle.
Kainan —Kanagawa's reigning king, led by the unshakable Maki Shinichi—was as steady as a mountain.
Shoyo, led by Fujima Kenji, was a perennial powerhouse with flawless tactics and balanced offense and defense.
Those two were already insurmountable mountains.
And now, Ryonan had appeared, declaring its dominance with a crushing 100-point victory.
If Shohoku had to face them in the elimination round…
Akagi slowly lowered his head, staring at his sweat-soaked palms. His confidence wavered.
When he thought of Ryonan, one face surfaced in his mind—Ake Ryu, the first-year who replaced Uozumi as captain.
For some reason, Akagi felt that Ryonan this year was even more dangerous than Kainan or Shoyo.
Just then, a light yet teasing voice broke the heavy silence.
"Ryonan's captain? You mean that kid who replaced Uozumi?"
Everyone turned toward the voice.
Leaning casually against the basketball hoop was Miyagi Ryota, one hand in his pocket, the other spinning a basketball on his finger.
He wasn't tall—only 168 centimeters—with short black curls and sharp, lively eyes. A fox-like grin tugged at his lips, full of mischief and confidence.
He was Shohoku's starting point guard—a second-year known for his lightning speed, tricky passes, and shadow-like defense.
He had missed the earlier practice match because he'd been hospitalized after a fight, only rejoining the team a week before the preliminaries.
Ayako nodded seriously. "Yes. I've compiled his information."
She opened a thick stack of documents, the pages worn from frequent handling. Her voice was calm and steady as she read.
"Ake Ryu. First-year student at Ryonan High School. On the day he joined the team, he led the first-years to defeat the upperclassmen led by Uozumi and Sendoh. During that match, he faced Sendoh multiple times one-on-one—and completely suppressed him."
The gym fell utterly silent.
Ayako's tone grew heavier as she continued.
"Two days later, Uozumi himself challenged Ake Ryu… and lost. Ake was appointed captain that same day."
She closed the file, her expression grave.
The room went still again.
The three first-years stood there, mouths agape, eyes wide as if they'd just heard some divine revelation.
"No way… what kind of monster is that Ake Ryu?"
Tetsushi Shiozaki's voice cracked, a cold sweat beading on his forehead.
He felt as if that oppressive aura had already reached Shohoku's gym.
The thought of meeting Ryonan later made his stomach twist.
"Hey! What's with those faces?"
A voice suddenly cut in.
A young man with short dark-blue hair and sharp, world-weary eyes stood at the edge of the court, a faint scar on his chin.
It was Mitsui Hisashi, Shohoku's starting shooting guard—finally back after missing the Ryonan match for personal reasons.
"You guys aren't scared stiff of that Ake kid already, are you?" he asked, half-mocking.
Kogure warned him quickly.
"Mitsui, don't underestimate them. This year's Ryonan is the real deal—especially that Ake Ryu. He's a monster."
Mitsui snorted coldly, lips curling into a disdainful smirk.
"Hmph."
Before he could say more—
"Enough."
Akagi's deep voice rang through the gym, heavy as steel.
"It's too early to talk about Ryonan. Our focus right now should be on our next opponent."
Shoyo High School Gymnasium
The setting sun poured through the tall windows, bathing the polished floor in golden light.
The rhythmic bounce of basketballs echoed as Shoyo's players wrapped up practice. Their jerseys were drenched, but no one was in a hurry to leave.
Fujima Kenji stood courtside, flipping through the match report his scout had just handed him.
"Ryonan, 140 to 40… against Shichikubo High."
He muttered quietly, "A hundred points, huh? Ryonan…"
His voice wasn't loud, but it made Hanagata Toru, who was stretching nearby, pause and look over.
Hanagata stood, a confident smirk tugging at his lips.
"If it were us, we'd win by 200."
His tone was dripping with pride, even disdain.
Fujima just smiled faintly, neither agreeing nor denying.
He looked across the gym—the slightly swaying basketball nets, the faint skid marks on the floor, the framed photo from last year's prefectural tournament.
"Those numbers don't matter," he said softly, his voice calm but firm. "Crushing weak teams means nothing. A real powerhouse isn't judged by the score—it's judged by who it can suppress."
His gaze sharpened, like he could already see the inevitable showdown ahead.
"If Ryonan truly has that kind of strength…"
He closed his tactical board with a click.
"Then we'll meet them on the court—sooner or later."
Kainan University Affiliated High School Gymnasium
The bright lights glared down on the polished court. Sweat still glistened on the floor.
The smell of rubber and effort lingered in the air.
A match had just ended—a one-sided massacre.
The scoreboard flashed its verdict: 117 to 44.
Kainan had crushed their opponent again, their teamwork smooth and pace unrelenting.
Their defense was a wall of iron. Their offense, a constant tide.
In the backcourt, Maki Shinichi orchestrated like a general moving chess pieces—each pass precise, every attack flowing in rhythm.
From beyond the arc, Jin Soichiro shot like a sniper, draining four of five three-pointers, forcing the opponent to collapse their defense before halftime.
When the final whistle blew, Kainan's players walked off calmly—no celebration, no fatigue, just quiet composure.
Coach Takato leaned back, clasping his hands over his knees, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips.
Winning was expected. What mattered was stability—consistency. Preparation.
A tall first-year strode over, sneakers squeaking sharply against the floor. His aura was fiery, his grin rebellious.
It was Kiyota Nobunaga, Kainan's new, cocky rookie.
"Hey, Captain Maki…" Kiyota called, his tone bold. "I heard Ryonan's crazy strong this year—they apparently beat a team by a hundred points!"
His eyes gleamed with curiosity and a spark of excitement, like he couldn't wait to challenge them himself.
"Is that so?"
Maki Shinichi's voice was calm, almost disinterested. He didn't even look up as he untied his wristband.
The light glinted across his composed face—sharp brows, mature calm, eyes like blades.
Kiyota blinked, puzzled.
"Captain Maki, aren't you even curious?"
Finally, Maki lifted his head, his gaze slicing through the air like lightning.
Kiyota froze, back straight, as if pinned in place.
"Since you've got so much energy," Maki said coolly, "do 500 sprints and 200 free throws before you leave."
"Wha—?!" Kiyota's face drained of color.
"No way! Captain, I was kidding!"
He clutched his head in despair, collapsing dramatically like a condemned man.
Maki just smirked faintly as he packed up his gear—his way of saying: Talk less. Train more.