A strange silence suddenly fell over the stadium. Even the scattered murmurs from the audience disappeared.
All eyes were fixed on the electronic scoreboard.
The bright red 13–0 glared back, as if it possessed some magic, making it impossible to look away.
No one could believe what they were seeing.
That was Shoyo! A team that consistently held second place in Kanagawa, capable of going toe-to-toe with Kainan… and yet, they were down thirteen points against Ryonan.
Even more unbelievably, Shoyo still hadn't scored a single point.
In the stands, Kainan's players were wide-eyed, stunned.
"You've got to be kidding me!" Kiyota Nobunaga rubbed his eyes. "Shoyo hasn't made a single shot?"
It was well-known that even Kainan struggled against Shoyo. Their previous victory had been hard-fought until the last minutes. This… was nothing like that. Shoyo wasn't failing because of lack of effort—they were making moves, but Ryonan was simply one step ahead.
Shinichi Maki's brows had long since furrowed into a deep, serious line. With his sturdy build and calm, mature face, few would call him cerebral—but his mind was sharper than anyone on the team, even sharper than many coaches.
The anomaly Fujima Kenji noticed, Maki saw clearly too.
Akashi wasn't flashy. He wasn't performing frantic steals or spectacular moves. But every moment, he controlled the rhythm.
Superficially, he reacted to Shoyo's offense. But Ryonan always blocked their plays precisely and counterattacked through gaps in their tactics. This was far more than reacting—it was absolute control.
"This guy…" Maki muttered, eyes fixed on Akashi, heavy with gravity.
Shohoku's players watched the scoreboard, stunned into silence. Kogure Kiminobu pushed up his glasses, wide-eyed. "I… this score… it's real?"
Mitsui Hisashi's expression hardened. "I didn't expect Shoyo to be suppressed this way. Not a single point."
Miyagi Ryota, standing nearby, quickly collected himself. "No matter what, this is good for us."
The Shohoku team turned to look at him, startled.
"What kind of good thing is this?" Ayako asked, raising an eyebrow.
"If Shoyo wins, Shohoku is eliminated," Miyagi said, spreading his hands. "We've already lost two games. If Shoyo wins, it's over for us. But if Ryonan wins… we still have a chance."
His words struck like a bucket of cold water, awakening the stunned crowd. Shoyo's current disadvantage gave Shohoku hope. If Ryonan could dominate Shoyo, Shohoku's probability of victory over Shoyo increased.
The team considered it, slowly nodding. Using others' struggles to bolster their courage? Perhaps. But it was effective—the fear of Shoyo quietly diminished.
On Shoyo's bench, the atmosphere was heavy, almost suffocating. Players hung their heads or gripped their towels in silence. The thirteen-point deficit felt like a bucket of ice water, chilling their pre-game confidence.
Fujima Kenji approached. He didn't immediately give tactical adjustments. Instead, he offered a gentle smile, breaking the silence. "What's wrong, everyone? Look up."
Takano Shoichi was first to meet his gaze. Guilt surged. "Captain… I'm sorry. I… I couldn't defend against them…"
"It's not your fault," Fujima interrupted, calm. "Akashi's passes were tricky. There wasn't enough time to react. Anyone could have made a mistake."
Mitsuru Nagano's lips trembled, as if to speak, but no words came. Fujima stepped in, gently patting his shoulder. "You defended Sendoh very well. He tried to break through your side multiple times, but you blocked him. Don't let one mistake erase your efforts."
Nagano's Adam's apple bobbed. "But we're already down by thirteen points…"
"Is thirteen points a lot?" Fujima's voice rose, sweeping over the team. "When we played Kainan, we were behind too. And yet, we came back. The game has just begun. Are we already thinking of giving up?"
His words struck like a hammer, dispersing their earlier frustration and confusion.
Seeing their eyes shift, Fujima continued, voice gaining power: "Akashi is strong—no doubt about that. But he isn't a god. If he anticipates our passes, we'll change our routes. If he uses our tactics against us, we'll devise new ones. Time is on our side. As long as we persevere, we'll catch up."
The players listened intently, their confusion slowly replaced by determination.
Fujima reached out, pulling each player close. Their shoulders pressed together, feeling each other's warmth, their shared strength.
"Remember…" He looked into every pair of eyes. "We are Shoyo."
The words felt magical, tapping at each player's heart.
"We are one of Kanagawa's top teams. Will we bow our heads and admit defeat because of a temporary setback?"
"Never surrender!" the team shouted in unison, voices powerful, no longer despondent.
"That's right," Fujima said, voice firm. "Next, we'll slow down the pace. No need to rush. Play steadily, take good shots. Let everyone see—Shoyo is the strongest."
"Strongest!" The shout echoed across the bench, unified, loud, and unwavering.
The slump that had enveloped Shoyo vanished. Determination now burned in every player's eyes.