The locker room still smelled of victory. Sweat, tape, and joy.
Seirin had just survived Nakamiya South – a bruising, fast-paced 83–77 slugfest that tested their stamina more than their strategy.
Every player was spent but glowing; even Riko allowed herself a small smile as Kagami stretched his arms behind his head, Hyūga leaned against the bench grinning, and Kuroko quietly patted Teppei's shoulder.
They'd done it. Another step forward. Another wall climbed.
But the celebration didn't last long.
Alexandra Garcia, draped in her UCLA hoodie, had joined them from the stands, leaning on the doorway with her usual casual smirk. "Nice work out there," she said. "But if you guys aren't too dead, there's another game you might want to see."
Kagami looked up, towel slung over his neck. "Whose?"
"Yōsen. Tatsuya's team."
That got Kagami's attention immediately.
"Tatsuya's playing?"
"Yeah," she nodded. "Their game's about to start."
Riko glanced at her clipboard. "Wait… if Yōsen's playing right now, that means–" she looked up, eyes widening– "they're against the Onitsuka Tigers."
The room quieted. Even Kagami paused.
"The foreign team?"
Riko nodded, serious now.
"And the winner of that match… faces us in the quarterfinals."
"Then we're watching." Kagami straightened, the fatigue gone.
The arena was alive when Seirin arrived – packed seats, flashing cameras, the kind of tension that only comes before a clash of titans.
On one side, the familiar purple of Yōsen. On the other, black-and-crimson uniforms: Onitsuka Tigers. Their warm-ups weren't flashy – just tight, clean, mechanical. Not a single wasted movement.
"They move like pros." Hyūga whistled softly.
Then Alex went still. Her eyes narrowed. She leaned forward, squinting at the bench.
"…No way," she muttered.
"What's wrong?" Kagami caught it immediately.
Alex didn't answer – not at first. Her eyes locked on a tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark polo near the scorer's table, speaking quietly to an official. His posture alone was enough to dominate the space – calm, deliberate, confident.
"That can't be him…" She exhaled slowly.
"Who?" Riko glanced over.
"Erik Kuhlmann." The name came out almost like a warning.
Seirin blinked – they knew the name by now, from Shūtoku's earlier explanations. But the tone in Alex's voice was new – something between disbelief and dread.
Kiyoshi frowned.
"We already know he's good–"
"No," Alex cut in sharply. "You don't understand."
For once, the confident smile was gone. She was all seriousness now.
"The difference between him and every other coach in this gym," she said quietly, "is like comparing a middle-school kid to an NBA All-Star. You can't even measure it."
"Why?" Izuki asked. "What makes them that much better?"
Alex crossed her arms, eyes still locked on the court.
"Because D1 coaches are a different breed. Most of them were pros. They lived the game. And after that, they studied it. At D1, every inch of your system, every play, every matchup is studied, broken down, rebuilt – like a science. After that, most of them move up to the NBA. That's the pipeline. That's the level we're talking about."
"So he's… that high up?" Riko went pale.
"Yeah. He shouldn't even be here." Alex nodded slowly.
Then her expression froze again. Her eyes shifted slightly – toward a figure standing beside Kuhlmann, clipboard under one arm, talking casually with a few players. He was tall, lean, and blond.
"…Oh my God," Alex whispered. "That's Daniel Weiss."
"We heard about him too. Is he that cool too?" Kagami looked at her.
Her expression turned almost nostalgic.
"He was Kuhlmann's best player back in Pasadena. Six-nine, all-around monster. I saw him play in March Madness – he could shoot, post, pass, everything. He would've gone first round in the NBA if not for the injury. He's not just some coach – he's one of the most complete college players of his era. And now he's here. Coaching high-schoolers."
The realization settled over Seirin like cold water.
"So," Hyūga said, half-joking, half-scared, "you're saying we're not facing just another strong team…"
"No. I'm afraid you are not…" Alex sighed.
Down on the court, Onitsuka finished warm-ups. Their players jogged to the bench, fluid and composed. Across from them, Yōsen's wall of muscle and height looked more serious than ever – even Murasakibara was stretching for once.
Alex folded her arms, her voice low.
"Get ready," she murmured. "If Kuhlmann and Weiss are both here, this isn't going to be basketball as you know it."
~~~~~
Kenichi Okamura of Yosen looked across the court at Onitsuka's bench – and out of nowhere, he started crying. Actual tears.
"Kenichi?" Coach Masako Araki frowned. "What the hell's wrong with you? Are you afraid of them?"
Okamura sniffed, voice trembling like his heart had been broken. "No, coach… just–just look at their bench! Why–why do they have not one, not even two… but FIVE beautiful female managers?!"
He pointed as if the universe had betrayed him. "Why does God give some people everything, and others nothing?!"
Kensuke Fukui turned to him, deadpan. "What's wrong with Emi? I think we have a nice manager."
Okamura stared at him, face full of disgust. "Bro… don't tell me you're blind. How the hell can you be a point guard… Emi… is a dude."
"Yeah," Fukui shrugged. "What's wrong with that?"
Okamura's soul visibly left his body. He opened his mouth to scream again, but before he could—
WHACK!
Coach Araki's wooden practice sword came down on his head with a crack that echoed across the gym.
"FUCKING IDIOT!" she barked, loud enough for the first five rows to hear. "Next time, it'll be a real sword!"
Okamura fell silent immediately, clutching his skull like a wounded puppy.
Suddenly, the announcers' voices filled the arena, their tone shifting to excitement.
"Next game, ladies and gentlemen, is one of those we've all been waiting for!"
"Indeed! On one side – Yosen High from Akita! Known as The Shield of Aegis, they feature one of the Generation of Miracles at center and the tallest starting five in the entire tournament!"
"But tonight, they'll be facing something different. Their opponents – Onitsuka Tigers, the basketball club of Onitsuka Athletic High – have recruited a large number of international players. Most of them, however, haven't played a single game… until now."
The crowd erupted. Even before introductions, you could feel the tension spike.
"First, Yosen High – The Shield of Aegis!"
PG: Kensuke Fukui – 5'9", 148 lbs
SG: Tatsuya Himuro – 6'0", 154 lbs
SF: Wei Liu – 6'8", 201 lbs
PF: Kenichi Okamura – 6'7", 216 lbs
C: Atsushi Murasakibara – 6'10", 218 lbs
Thunderous applause filled the gym — but it was nothing compared to what came next.
"And now… The Mercenaries on a Mission – Onitsuka Tigers!"
The lights dimmed. The bass dropped.
Smoke machines hissed to life, flames erupted behind the tunnel, and from the speakers came an American-style hype track. The Jumbotron flashed: "Coach Erik Kuhlmann presents…"
Two lines formed – coaches first: Erik Kuhlmann, then Daniel and Marcus. Behind them, the five female managers, all dressed sharp in black blazers. And behind them, the seven Japanese players. Together they created a corridor – a runway of fire and smoke.
From the other end, the players began to emerge one by one.
The camera crew went live, the lens tracking every swaggering step.
PG – Ector Troy, 6'3", 165 lbs, 6'7" wingspan. He came out first – eyes blazing, face carved in focus. No smile. No nonsense. Just a predator's stare straight into the camera.
SG – Jesus Iglesia, 6'4", 170 lbs, 6'6" wingspan. He followed with a slick grin, flashed the goat hand sign, and brushed his eyebrows with it. Smooth. Confident. Zesty as hell.
SF – Tyrone Mason, 6'7", 210 lbs, 7'0" wingspan. He flexed mid-walk, flashing his six-pack, the lights reflecting off his abs as he winked into the camera with a smirk that screamed trouble.
PF – Adrian Carter, 6'6", 215 lbs, 6'8" wingspan. He strode out calm, eyes cold, shoulders squared – the quiet storm.
C – Aliir Deng, 7'1", 230 lbs, 7'7" wingspan. He stepped into the light towering over everyone, palms open, expression unreadable – a living statue of intimidation.
Then came the key bench – Novak Lazarevic (6'5", 200 lbs, 6'9" wingspan), Grigori Nevsky (6'10", 215 lbs, 7'3" wingspan), and Jean-Batiste Biha (7'3", 265 lbs, 8'0" wingspan).
Each one came out to cheers, posing, grinning, pounding chests, and playing to the cameras like seasoned pros.
By the time Biha finished his entrance, the fifteen-man squad – eight foreigners, seven Japanese – formed a massive circle at center court.
Hands raised, fingers locked, Tyrone stepped forward as captain. His voice echoed through the noise:
"Let's fuck up everyone here! THREE–TWO–ONE—!"
"TIGERS!" the entire team roared in unison.
The crowd went insane.
Okamura stared, jaw open.
"Why the hell do they get a Hollywood intro and we don't?!" he cried, half sobbing. "If we had something like that, I swear, I'd finally get myself a girlfriend! Waaaah!"
Even Murasakibara blinked once. "…You're too loud," he muttered.
~~~~~
Seirin had found themselves in a very strange company.
From one side, out of nowhere, sat Momoi, Aomine, and – oddly – Wakamatsu, right beside Kagami and Kuroko. Behind them loomed the full Shūtoku squad, every last member packed into one row like a wall of orange. And in front – Kaijō. The whole damn team.
For a moment, Seirin just froze. The collective pressure of three powerhouse schools surrounding them was enough to make even Kagami shift uncomfortably in his seat.
Hyūga scratched the back of his head. "Okay, Momoi and Aomine showing up? Expected. But… Wakamatsu? Why the hell are you here?"
Wakamatsu folded his arms, face straight. "Because my long-distance girlfriend is on the Onitsuka team."
Before Seirin could react, a voice from behind – Kimura from Shūtoku – leaned forward. "Oh, no way! We should go on a double date sometime. My long-distance girlfriend is also on the Onitsuka team."
Kasamatsu, sitting in front, turned around from Kaijō's row. "Seriously? Then make it a triple date. My long-distance girlfriend's on that team too."
The air went silent for a beat.
Riko blinked. "Don't you guys find that… strange? That all your long-distance girlfriends are on the same team?"
Three voices answered in perfect harmony – calm, confident, and absolutely delusional:
"No. It's not strange. They have five managers."
Riko opened her mouth to say something – but Momoi reached over and gently put a hand on her shoulder.
"Don't," Momoi whispered, eyes pitying. "Let them find out the hard way."
Kuroko looked from one school to another, quietly. "It seems everyone's been… misled."
"Yeah, by hormones." Kagami snorted.
But the talk died down as the arena lights dimmed. Smoke machines hissed. The bass dropped.
Then, the Onitsuka Tigers stepped out to the kind of entrance you'd expect from an NBA Finals, not a high school match – flame jets, smoke, full camera crew, the whole team running through a tunnel of light and managers in blazers.
Ector strode out first, face lit like fire. Jesus followed, slick and grinning, brushing his brows and throwing up a goat hand sign. Tyrone flexed mid-walk, flashing abs into the camera. The crowd went berserk.
And over the thunder of the crowd, one voice stood out above them all:
"YEEEEEEAAAH, SHOW 'EM, BIG GUY!"
Heads turned. There, in the middle of the Seirin section, Alexandra Garcia was standing on her seat, waving her hands, whistling like she was at an NBA dunk contest.
"DAMN! LOOK AT THAT BODY! WOOOOOO!" she yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth.
"What the hell is she doing!?" Hyūga nearly dropped his drink.
"Expressing national pride, maybe." Kuroko stared blankly.
"Yo, she's wild!" Aomine burst out laughing.
Alex kept going, voice cracking through the speakers. "SHAKE THAT, BABY! TIGERS ALL DAY!"
And then, finally, from somewhere between horror and disbelief, Kagami buried his face in his hands and groaned, "Calm down, cougar!"
However, even the Generation of Miracles felt a sting of envy at Onitsuka's entry. Even Aomine leaned forward. "What the fuck am I watching? Is this basketball or a concert?"
From the back, Midorima adjusted his glasses. "That's… incredibly inefficient."
"Yeah, but damn, it's cool." Takao laughed.
Kise, sitting in front, was already recording with his phone, sparkling with envy. "Why do they get smoke machines!? Kaijō should totally do this!"
"Idiot," Kasamatsu muttered, but even he couldn't hide the jealousy.
"Coach, can we get something like that?" Kagami looked at Riko.
Riko crossed her arms. "Sure – as soon as we win a national title and hire a pyrotechnics crew."
"Man… why do they always get all the cool shit." Hyūga sighed dramatically.