The ball hit the court with a heavy thud, and in that instant, something inside Daiki Aomine snapped into perfect alignment. The noise faded, the crowd blurred, and all that remained was the game – his game.
Every motion from him was liquid, unbroken. He didn't move fast – he moved first. One heartbeat ahead of everyone else.
Aomine caught the inbound and shot down the court like lightning, twisting through two defenders before anyone even reacted. One spin, one gather – and the ball dropped in with a clean swish.
Meisei barely crossed half court before Aomine stole the ball again – his body reading every angle, every dribble. He dashed under the rim, switched hands midair, and finished through contact.
The crowd erupted.
"He's in..." Momoi stood from her seat, eyes wide.
"Finally." Imayoshi's voice came steady from the bench.
For the next several minutes, it was a one-man show.
Aomine flowed from end to end, an unstoppable force of speed and instinct. He split double teams like they weren't there, leaping between defenders and releasing shots so fast the human eye couldn't follow. The net snapped again and again, the sound echoing through the gym like gunfire.
Every rebound, every deflection – he was there. Every fast break – he led it. Every hesitation, every feint – perfect.
He didn't think. He didn't plan. He simply knew.
But on the other side of the court, Rui Hachimura remained perfectly still. While Aomine burned like a wildfire, Rui looked on with quiet amusement – calm, unbothered, almost entertained.
Every time Aomine scored, Rui's eyes followed the motion like someone watching an animal behind glass. A faint smirk tugged at his mouth.
To him, Aomine's brilliance was not a revelation. It was a curiosity. A reminder of past, more naive days.
When Aomine drove again, Rui met him in the air – not straining, not reaching – just there. Their collision sent shockwaves through the crowd, but the ball somehow still rolled in.
Rui landed quietly, brushing his hands on his shorts, smirk deepening. Aomine glared back, veins flowing with pure fire.
The pace became inhuman.
Aomine was everywhere – cutting through Meisei's defense, pulling up from impossible angles, even spinning backward for midair layups. He scored 18 points in the first five minutes alone.
But Rui refused to fade. He answered with steady precision – jumpers from the elbow, dunks through Wakamatsu, soft finishes off Allen's dishes. No emotion, no strain.
~~~~~
Up in the stands, Seirin's entire bench was on their feet, jaws open.
"Holy crap," Kagami muttered, eyes wide. "So that's the Zone."
"His body is reacting before his mind can process. That's complete synchronization." Riko nodded slowly, gripping her clipboard tight.
"That's his true form." Kuroko's gaze didn't waver.
"I need that. I have to reach that. It's our final weapon." Kagami clenched his fists.
Riko turned to him, recognizing the hunger in his tone, the same fire burning behind Aomine's eyes. But she said nothing. Across the arena, the other schools were equally silent – all watching.
At Kaijō's section, Kise leaned forward, hands gripping his knees. "Man… he's unbelievable."
Kasamatsu didn't take his eyes off the court. "You think you can copy that?"
Kise smirked faintly, but there was tension behind it. "I'll try. But that… that's something else. I don't even know how to copy that."
His golden eyes shimmered with determination. "But I'll find a way."
At Shūtoku's seats, Midorima watched silently, elbows on his knees. Takao leaned in, whispering, "Man, our Shooter-kun is gonna be thinking about this for the whole week, huh?"
Midorima didn't answer, eyes fixed on the floor.
Even Murasakibara, from Yōsen, paused mid-bite, crunching a chip slowly. "Mine-chin is serious now," he muttered, almost intrigued. "Kinda wanna play too."
And up in Rakuzan's section, Akashi Seijūrō sat calmly, hands folded. Reo and Nebuya whispered excitedly beside him, but Akashi didn't move.
"This is impressive," Reo said. "He is like a different species!"
Akashi's tone was quiet but absolute. "He has simply achieved focus. The Zone is powerful… but it is limited. It is an awakening – not enlightenment."
He leaned back in his chair, heterochromic eyes glinting. "Still, it's pleasant to see the others growing."
He didn't envy them. He could enter it whenever he wished. To him, it was not magic – it was breathing.
~~~~~
Back on the court, the intensity didn't drop.
Rui blocked Aomine twice – monstrous rejections that sent shockwaves through the gym – but Aomine's flow didn't break. He adjusted, contorted, found ways around him.
At the final minute of the half, the court turned into pure chaos – both players flying coast to coast, trading baskets faster than the crowd could react. Aomine stole another pass, sped past Allen, spun midair, and hit an off-balance floater off the glass.
60–54.
The buzzer blared.
Aomine stood in the center of the court, chest rising and falling like a war drum, eyes blazing with pure satisfaction. Rui exhaled slowly, wiping sweat from his chin, that faint, mocking smile still there.
Aomine was alive again. And Rui was waiting to see how long the fire would last.
As the players walked to their benches, the crowd couldn't stop buzzing. They had just witnessed a glimpse of something divine – the kind of basketball that burns itself into memory.
The Zone had arrived.
~~~~~
Up in the upper rows, the Onitsuka Tigers sat like a detached island. They weren't watching like fans. They were watching like hunters studying prey.
On the court below, Daiki Aomine was tearing through Meisei in the Zone – moving faster than sight, stealing passes before they even left hands, scoring with acrobatic madness. The crowd screamed with every shot.
Daniel leaned back, arms folded, expression calm. "Oh, he entered the Zone," he said. "Well, that was expected."
"The Zone? Ain't that only for pros, coach?" Tyrone raised an eyebrow.
Jesus, lounging two seats over, grinned and said, "Pros? So the guy's strong, huh? Guess we judged him wrong, ese."
Daniel shook his head. "No. Strength has nothing to do with it. The Zone's not physical – it's psychological. In theory, anyone can enter it. But there's a prerequisite."
"And what's that?" Grigori leaned forward, hands clasped.
"You have to believe – truly believe – that you're the best. That no one can touch you. Your brain signals that you've reached the end of your path. That you're at your peak. It lets you use every ounce of what you have. One hundred percent of yourself." Daniel's tone stayed even.
"So what's wrong with that? Isn't it good to stand at your peak?" Ector tilted his head, curious.
"No. It means you have reached your ceiling. But the worst… one day, you'll meet someone whose ten percent is stronger than your hundred. And when that happens… the Zone becomes a curse." Daniel smiled faintly.
The group went quiet for a moment. Even Jesus stopped smiling. From the front row, the manager girls turned toward them, curious.
"What do you mean?" asked Aisha.
Daniel exhaled, then glanced toward Kuhlmann – who answered instead, his tone precise.
"All NBA players – even the last bench-warmer – were gods once," Kuhlmann said. "In high school, every single one of them dominated. They lived in the Zone without even realizing it. As an example… You know Austin Rivers?"
"Oh, sí. I remember, man – his mixtape was loco. Dude was cooking everybody." Jesus grinned instantly.
"Yeah," said Tyrone, "but he ain't much now."
Daniel pointed a finger at him. "That's my point. Put high school Austin Rivers into this tournament, and his team would be champions. They'd torch everyone here – you guys included. But once he reached tougher stages, he couldn't dominate anymore. That realization – that shock – broke something inside him."
He leaned forward, voice lowering. "People clown him now, say he's only in the league because his dad is a head coach. But they forget he used to be that guy… The Zone is like meth. It gives you the best high of your life. But when you lose it – when you realize you'll never feel it again – it wrecks your brain."
Aisha's eyes widened. "So… if someone is shut down while in that state?"
"Then they'll never reach it again. Once you're beaten while in the Zone by someone who isn't, your brain locks it away. The only way back is through rebuilding yourself – piece by piece. And that can take years." Kuhlmann's voice carried a sharp edge.
No one spoke for a while. The noise of the game below filled the silence – sneakers screeching, the crowd howling.
Then Marcus said quietly, "That's why there's a difference between these kids and pros. Brady, Jordan, Bryant, James, Duncan, Woods, Ronaldo, Messi – they don't enter it because they 'believe' they're the best. They have already proved it, and continue to do it every damn day. They've climbed past this illusion."
He looked back toward the court. "These kids? They think they are sharks in a pond, but the water is too shallow for them to see the ocean yet"
Down below, Aomine drove into the lane again – twisting past defenders, soaring like he owned gravity – before Rui swatted his shot clean off the glass.
Rui smiled faintly. Daniel smiled too.
"See that?" he said quietly. "The boy in black thinks he's at his peak. The one in white is about to show him what comes next."
The others followed his gaze. On the court, the fire of the Zone burned bright – but in Rui's calm eyes, it was already starting to fade.