The game rolled into its second quarter beneath a low roar of noise – sneakers sliding, the ball thumping, cheers swelling and breaking like waves. Shūtoku and Seirin were trading baskets now, the rhythm of the game tight and fierce.
Up in the stands, Kise Ryōta leaned so far forward he nearly fell over the railing. Beside him, Momoi Satsuki giggled behind her hand over his antics.
Kise rested his chin on one hand, eyes flicking from player to player. "Aominecchi really didn't come," he said finally, voice half-resigned, half-sad.
Momoi exhaled, a small smile touching her lips. "He said he'd watch the replay later." She shrugged, as if used to it. "But he should've been here. Kuroko-kun's different now – he's improving again."
Down below, Kuroko received a pass at half court, and for a heartbeat he vanished. Takao's head jerked the wrong way – too slow. A flicker of blue reappeared under the rim, Kagami soared for another slam.
The crowd roared.
Momoi's fingers tightened around her notebook. "He finished it," she whispered. "The Vanishing Drive… he actually did it."
Kise tilted his head, impressed. "He's always quiet, but he never stops coming up with something new, huh?"
Then he smiled faintly. "Seirin's scary when they start believing like that."
Momoi nodded. "That's what makes them dangerous. Kuroko doesn't just play – he connects people. It's his biggest strength… and his biggest weakness."
Her eyes lingered on the pale blue shadow weaving through orange jerseys. "He gives everything to his team. I just hope he doesn't disappear in the process."
Down below, the scoreboard flickered – Shūtoku answered back. Ōtsubo stretched out beyond the arc, drawing Kiyoshi with him. Midorima received the ball at the top, calm and still. One jab, one lean, a sudden pull-up from mid-range – clean release.
Next possession, Takao slipped a pass inside, Miyaji cutting through the lane for an easy finish. The rhythm felt effortless.
Kise leaned forward. "Midorimacchi looks… different. Like, lighter?"
Momoi smiled softly. "He changed so much after Okinawa..."
She watched as Midorima dribbled, stepped back, drew contact – whistle, and one. "See that? Before, he never would've tried that. Too risky for him."
Kise blinked, thinking. "I wonder what they told him to change so much, huh? Back in middle school, he was the most insufferable one."
For several minutes they spoke little, letting the sound of the game fill the space between them. Kuroko darted again, a whisper of motion; Midorima answered from deep. Seirin fought hard, but Shūtoku kept them at arm's length. Every time Kagami scored, Takao slipped free for a floater. Every time Kuroko created space, Midorima closed it with another quiet, perfect release.
By the end of the second quarter, the scoreboard glowed: Shūtoku 61 – Seirin 49.
Kise leaned back, sighing. "Twelve points… That's not a big gap, but it feels heavy."
He looked thoughtful for once, the easy grin fading. "You know, Momoi-cchi… the way Midorimacchi's playing right now – all calm and free like that – I'm not sure I could stop him. Not even with my copying."
Momoi glanced sideways at him. "You'll find a way. You always do."
"Maybe," Kise said with a quiet laugh. "But this version of him… that's something alien. Feels like even if I copied it, I wouldn't really get it."
They both turned their eyes back to the court, where Midorima stood among his teammates – breathing steady, gaze clear – and Kuroko, small and pale, wiped the sweat from his forehead before jogging back to the bench.
The halftime buzzer sounded. The crowd cheered. Neither Momoi nor Kise spoke for a while.
~~~~~
The air inside Seirin's locker room was heavy with sweat and silence.
Kagami sat slumped on the bench, head down, towel over his shoulders. Hyūga rubbed his temples. Even Izuki looked serious for once. The faint sound of sneakers from the other locker rooms echoed through the walls.
Riko stood in front of them, clipboard in hand. She didn't shout – not yet. Her tone was measured, sharp.
"Alright," she said, "listen up. We're not in trouble yet, but if we don't change how we're thinking, we will be."
She flipped her clipboard around, revealing a rough diagram of Shūtoku's formation.
"Right now, Midorima's pulling us apart. Every time Kagami jumps, he draws a foul. Every time we help, they punish us with a corner three. They completely control the perimeter."
Teppei leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "So… what do we do, Coach?"
Riko tapped her pen against the board. "We simplify."
Hyūga blinked. "Simplify?"
"Yes. No unnecessary switches. Kagami stays on Midorima. Teppei stays with Ōtsubo."
Kagami frowned. "But what about the drives? If I stay on him–"
"Let them drive," Riko cut in firmly. "Kimura, Miyaji – if they want to get into the paint, fine. Those are twos. Twos don't hurt as much as threes, and definitely not as much as those foul-and-one four point plays."
The room fell quiet for a moment as the logic sank in.
Izuki was the first to nod. "So basically, we stay focused. Keep them off the line and off the arc."
"That's the move." Riko looked at Kagami. "Your job is to contest, not block. Hands up, feet steady. If he shoots over you, let him. He won't hit everything. What kills us is giving him extra points."
Kagami gritted his teeth but nodded. "Got it."
Riko turned to Hyūga next. "Now, offense. We can't outmuscle them – they're too spread out. So we use what we have." She smiled faintly. "Your shot."
Hyūga blinked. "Mine?"
"Yes, Captain Clutch. You're the key now." She drew a few quick lines on her clipboard. "We'll run double screens – Teppei first, then Kagami. You get open looks from the wing or top of the key. No hesitation. Just fire."
Hyūga straightened a little, the fatigue in his eyes replaced by focus. "Heh… about time we trusted the captain again."
"Don't get cocky," Riko said dryly. "We'll have Kuroko help shift the defense – his Vanishing Drive is throwing them off already. Use that to create chaos, then kick out for open shots."
Izuki raised a hand. "What about me?"
"Keep the ball moving. Don't force anything. Kuroko will handle tempo – you just read the floor."
Riko took a step back, letting her words settle. "They're ahead, yeah. But their system depends on suffocating pressure and us losing morale. If we can make them trade twos for our threes – the gap closes fast."
Teppei cracked a grin. "So… we just have to outscore the best shooters in Japan."
Hyūga smirked. "Sounds familiar."
Kuroko spoke quietly from the corner, his tone calm. "We can do it. We've done harder things."
For a second, everyone looked at him – that same steady presence, that quiet confidence that always seemed to appear when they needed it most.
Riko smiled. "Then let's prove it."
She clapped her hands once. "We stick to assignments. We keep our cool. And we shoot like hell."
The room rose in unison, sneakers squeaking on the floor, resolve sharp in their eyes.
Kagami tied his headband tighter. "Twelve points, huh? That's just four plays."
Hyūga loaded his wristbands. "Then let's make them count."
As they filed out toward the court, Riko called after them. "Remember – no panic, no fouls. Discipline wins games!"
The announcer's voice echoed through the hall. The third quarter was about to begin.