The arena was a wall of sound. Bornok sprinted to the baseline, grabbed the ball, and fired a laser pass to Riki at mid-court.
Riki turned. There was no time to think. Only to feel.
He saw a seam. He took one desperate dribble and launched himself toward the rim. Murasakibara was there, his massive form eclipsing the hoop. It was impossible.
But as Riki left the ground, Murasakibara's hand swatted down, not on the ball, but on Riki's arm. The foul was clear. And as the whistle blew, Riki, with sheer will, still managed to flip the ball toward the backboard.
It kissed the glass and fell through the net.
The buzzer sounded.
Silence. Then, the referee's signal: basket good, goaltending. The foul stood.
Riki stepped to the line, the arena holding its breath. He sank the free throw.
Final Score: Flowstate 67, Teikō 65.
They had done it. They stood together at center court, not cheering, just breathing, trying to understand what they had just overcome. Across the court, Akashi looked at them, his analytical gaze now holding a faint, newfound respect.
The machine had been beaten. But as the team looked up at the giant bracket now displaying their next opponent—Shohoku—they knew this was only the beginning.