Inside the Ryonan vs. Miuradai arena.
"Look… over there."
"It's Fujima from Shoyo, and Hanagata."
"I can't believe they came to watch this game too."
At that moment, Fujima Kenji and Hanagata Toru, dressed in their green Shoyo High School basketball uniforms, emerged from the second-floor passage.
They walked side by side with steady steps and calm expressions. Fujima Kenji's hands were tucked into his pockets as his gaze casually swept across the court, while Hanagata slightly lowered his head, his expression reserved.
Under the eyes of countless spectators, coaches, and players from other schools, they moved unhurriedly through the crowd and finally settled into empty seats near the railing.
There was no ostentation, no small talk—but even so, their striking green uniforms and the natural aura they carried drew quiet, repeated glances from those around them.
At the same time, a group of people in Shohoku High School uniforms appeared on the opposite second-floor passage.
"Look, look… it's the Shohoku guys!"
Someone recognized them first and whispered, excitement lacing their voice.
"That tall guy must be Takenori Akagi!"
"Which one is Rukawa Kaede?"
"Who's that redhead?"
Ayako rested her hands on the railing, watching the Ryonan and Miuradai players warm up below. She tilted her head slightly and said softly, "It looks like the game hasn't started yet."
Beside her, Kogure Kiminobu's gaze sharpened as he noticed the other spectators. "It's Fujima and Hanagata from Shoyo… I can't believe they came too," he murmured.
Satoru Kakuta followed his gaze and frowned. "Strange… shouldn't they be watching Kainan's game instead?"
"It's probably because they've already confirmed that Kainan will win," Ayako replied calmly, as if stating an obvious fact. "After all, no one thinks an unknown team could beat Kainan, right?"
Satoru blinked, then scratched his head. "You're right…"
Meanwhile, Takenori Akagi had already spotted an empty row and guided the team to their seats.
On the court, the Ryonan and Miuradai players had begun their warm-ups.
The thump of basketballs hitting the floor echoed through the arena, mingling with the sharp squeak of sneakers.
Miuradai's players moved with intensity—passing, shooting, shouting:
"Go!"
"One more time!"
"Keep going!"
Their energy radiated outward.
Ryonan, however, was an entirely different scene.
Their warm-up was silent, controlled. No shouting, no encouragement—just precise stretches, dribbles, and shuttle runs. Communication came only in occasional nods or brief eye contact.
The contrast between the teams was striking, creating a peculiar tension in the air—like fire and ice side by side.
Akashi Seijuro did not join the warm-up.
He stood on the sidelines, a white jacket draped over his shoulders, collar slightly raised, arms crossed—a silent, dignified statue. His gaze swept over Miuradai, then returned to Ryonan.
In the stands, Hanagata squinted at the red figure on the sidelines. "Is that Ryonan's first-year captain?" he muttered.
Fujima followed his gaze, brow furrowing slightly as he rubbed the armrest, eyes darkening with an almost imperceptible tension.
Akashi's presence was unlike any ordinary player. It wasn't overt intimidation, nor simple authority—it was a quiet, instinctive sense of threat.
Like the first time Fujima had faced Shinichi Maki in the Kanagawa tournament, the sensation of being overshadowed returned—but this was heavier, more pressing.
Yet… how could it be? Akashi was just a first-year.
"Fujima… what's wrong?" Hanagata asked, concern threading his voice.
Fujima shook his head, exhaling slowly. "Nothing. I just… that Ryonan first-year captain is unusual," he admitted.
Hanagata's gaze drifted again to the red figure. "That first-year kid—Akashi—is his hair color the same as Sakuragi's?"
Mitsui, leaning lazily against the back of his seat, smirked. "Heh… look at the redhead. Hair's the same, right?"
Sakuragi stiffened instantly, snapping, "Damn it, Mitsui! My hair's not the same color as his!"
Mitsui's eyebrow twitched. "Don't call me Mitsui… you idiot first-year, don't you know how to respect your seniors?"
Miyagi Ryota, hands behind his head, eyed Akashi critically. "He's only about 180-something… maybe a little taller. Nothing special. You all acting like you're scared of him?"
Who's scared of him?!
Takenori Akagi, Kogure, Kakuta, and the others all fell silent, a tense heaviness settling over them.
Ayako broke the quiet. "Stop arguing. The game is about to begin."
The Shohoku members' attention shifted to the court.
Ryonan and Miuradai lined up at the center circle.
Ryonan's starting lineup:
Center: Uozumi Jun, #5, 3rd year
Small Forward: Sendo, #7, 2nd year
Power Forward: Ikegami Ryoji, #6, 2nd year
Shooting Guard: Koshino Hiroaki, #8, 2nd year
Point Guard: Uekusa Tomoyuki, #9, 2nd year
Miuradai's starting lineup:
Center: Kawasaki Akio, #8, 3rd year
Small Forward: Murasame Kengo, #4, 3rd year (Captain)
Power Forward: Miyamoto Kazunari, #6, 3rd year
Point Guard: Araki Kazuo, #5, 3rd year
Shooting Guard: Takatsu Hiroshi, #7, 3rd year
Murasame sneered at Uozumi. "Heh… I heard your captain spot was stolen by a first-year kid," he taunted slowly, savoring each word.
He exaggerated a pitiful sigh. "The mighty Uozumi… couldn't even control a first-year. Pathetic."
Glancing at the others, he added, "Where's your first-year captain? Afraid to play? Or… scared? Better run home and cry to your mom. Basketball isn't a game for playing house."
Uozumi and his teammates stared, speechless. Instead of anger, an odd sense of sympathy stirred within them.
Their eyes instinctively shifted to the bench—Akashi remained seated, expressionless, arms crossed, eyes as still as an ancient well. His calmness only deepened the unease surrounding him.
Uozumi finally grunted. "I hope you're still smiling like this after the game."
A sharp whistle cut through the tension—the game had officially begun.
The referee tossed the ball high.
Thump… thump…
Uozumi and Murasame jumped simultaneously. The sound of their sneakers against the floor rang crisp and clear.
Both extended their arms, reaching for the ball. But the 186 cm Murasame could not match the over-2-meter Uozumi.
Before Murasame's fingers grazed the ball, Uozumi had already tipped it, sending it tracing a perfect diagonal line to Uekusa on the left backcourt.
Without hesitation, Uekusa caught it, planted his feet, and began orchestrating Ryonan's first attack.