Ippon Nari's coach still clutched the tactical board, his eyes locked onto the court.
He could never have imagined that the strategy he had rehearsed countless times—carefully laid out during the timeout—would be completely dismantled before it even had the chance to unfold.
The moment the game resumed—
Ippon Nari moved exactly as instructed.
Silent cuts.
Planned routes.
Precise spacing.
But the instant they began, it was as if an invisible hand seized control of the court.
Ryonan's defense had already opened its jaws.
Every gap was sealed in advance.
The baseline cut was blocked.
The high-post relay point was smothered.
Even the weak-side backdoor—meant to be hidden—was intercepted by a shadow that had moved early.
"This… how is this possible…?"
Ippon Nari's players froze.
Ball in hand, eyes darting, they suddenly realized something terrifying—
There was nowhere to pass.
It felt as if the ground beneath their feet had vanished.
On the Sideline
Ippon Nari's coach half-stood, gripping the tactical board so tightly his knuckles turned white.
His eyes widened, veins throbbing at his temples.
Impossible.
This made no sense.
Even if Ryonan had noticed their intent, adjustments should have come after execution.
But now—
They knew where Ippon Nari would move before they moved.
Unless—
No.
That was absurd.
He turned sharply toward Ryonan's bench.
Coach Taoka Moichi leaned back calmly, arms crossed, gaze relaxed—almost bored.
A chill crept up Ippon Nari's coach's spine.
Could he… really have seen through everything?
No—this wasn't just "seeing through."
This was prediction.
Kenbunshoku no Haki.
(HAHA)
His gaze shifted—
and suddenly stopped.
A crimson figure sat quietly at the edge of the bench.
Akashi.
Back straight. Arms crossed.
Eyes as still as a bottomless pool.
At that exact moment, Akashi turned his head.
Their eyes met.
No expression.
No emotion.
Yet—
Thud.
It felt as if a heavy hammer slammed into Ippon Nari's coach's chest, stealing his breath.
A thought—ridiculous, absurd—burst into his mind.
Could it be… this first-year predicted my tactics?
"No… impossible."
He shook his head violently.
That was a freshman.
No matter how gifted, no matter how mature—
This wasn't basketball IQ.
This was mind reading.
He searched Akashi's face for flaws.
There were none.
Collapse
While the coach stood frozen in disbelief—
The court had already turned into a suffocating prison.
Ryonan's defense tightened like a perfectly woven net.
Sasaki Shouta fought to establish position, forcing his way into the paint.
But Uozumi—fully awakened—pressed down with his entire body, feet rooted like iron stakes.
Every push met immovable resistance.
Every breath felt like wrestling a mountain.
On the perimeter, it was worse.
Nagumo and Kazama were shadowed the moment they crossed half-court.
Hands waved constantly.
Pressure came before possession.
Kazama attempted a bounce pass—
Uekusa slid in early, disrupting it instantly.
Nagumo tried to use a screen—
Koshino stepped in front, arm across his chest, forcing a retreat.
And because of that—
Aoi Tsuyoshi and Miyazawa Hideaki ran in vain.
Cut.
Signal.
Wait.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
Hope rose—
and died.
Again and again.
Like being trapped in a silent loop, stamina drained away, and confidence collapsed without a sound.
Halftime
Toot—!
The whistle pierced the stadium.
The scoreboard glared mercilessly:
Ryonan 57 — 27 Ippon Nari
Thirty points.
After the timeout, Ippon Nari hadn't scored even once.
Coach Taoka praised the team—but his eyes lingered on Akashi.
That level of prediction…
It wasn't human.
For the first time in years, a thought crossed his mind—
Maybe… I could already retire.
Akashi did not relax.
He substituted players—not to rest—but to increase pressure.
His voice was calm, icy.
"They will fight desperately."
"Multiple scoring threats. Fast shots. Forced threes."
His gaze swept over them.
"Do not defend."
"Extinguish them."
The air froze.
Even Taoka said nothing.
Because Akashi was right.
On the court—
there was no mercy.
Desperation
Ippon Nari abandoned tactics entirely.
Kazama drove recklessly.
Aoi and Miyazawa fired the moment they touched the ball.
Hojo pulled up from deep without hesitation.
Hope—
reckless, fragile—
burned itself out.
But Akashi had already seen this ending.
Ryonan pressed relentlessly.
Basket after basket.
Until—
Five seconds left.
Uozumi bulldozed through the paint, turned, and slammed the ball home.
BOOM.
Toot—!
The stadium erupted.
The scoreboard froze.
Ryonan 148 — 47 Ippon Nari
A 101-point difference.
Once again.
Silence followed—
then awe.
Because everyone understood now.
This wasn't just victory.
This was execution.