At that moment, it felt as if everyone in the gym was pulled by an invisible thread — every gaze locked onto the crimson figure standing on the court.
The air itself seemed to freeze.
Those senior players who had been arrogant and dismissive before the game were now utterly silent.
The contempt that once filled their eyes had vanished, replaced instead with deep reverence and solemn awe.
No one knew exactly when the score had been tied.
But everyone knew one thing — it was this young man who had single-handedly turned the entire game around.
On the sidelines, Coach Taoka Moichi watched Ake closely, his eyes blazing with excitement. His fingers trembled slightly.
"This kid… he's a born point guard. If he's trained properly, he might really be able to stand alongside players like Fujima or Maki."
What he didn't know, however, was that Ake still wasn't using his full strength.
So far, all Ake had done was defend — and pass. Again and again.
Sendoh stood on the sidelines, head slightly lowered, but his sharp eyes gleamed like blades.
He glanced at the scoreboard, frowning unconsciously before looking toward Ake. His voice carried a teasing edge, though there was also a trace of seriousness.
"You're really taking it easy, huh? Letting everyone else handle the scoring."
Ake smiled faintly. His voice was calm, almost indifferent, as though everything happening was completely natural.
"This is already enough, isn't it?"
Sendoh chuckled softly, the corners of his mouth lifting into a helpless smile.
"Heh… typical you."
As he spoke, he rolled his shoulders and tilted his neck side to side, the faint popping sounds echoing through the quiet gym. His gaze sharpened.
"Guess I can't keep holding back anymore."
Their casual exchange was like a spark — instantly igniting the nerves of everyone watching from the sidelines.
It was then that the realization hit.
From the start of the game until now, Ake hadn't really done much.
He hadn't scored a single point.
'All he had done… was steal the ball and pass it.'
'That's it.'
Hiss…
The audience collectively drew in a sharp breath, the sound spreading like a cold gust of wind through the gym.
This was too abnormal.
The seniors' expressions completely changed.
In a normal practice match, Ake's performance would've been considered impressive — but nothing extraordinary.
But today was different.
Because Ake's teammates were just freshmen — inexperienced, uncoordinated, and weak. Their fundamentals were shaky, their teamwork clumsy, and their shots often inaccurate.
Yet somehow, under Ake's command — through his passing, rhythm, and timing — they were scoring over and over again.
It was as if his presence had given them strength.
His control of tempo, his reading of the court, his uncanny sense of his teammates' positions — it was all precise to a terrifying degree.
But Ake seemed completely unaware of the stunned looks around him.
His gaze was locked solely on Sendoh.
And at that moment, Sendoh's eyes finally turned serious.
Ake's lips curved slightly. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a quiet, confident power.
"Come on, Sendoh… let's make this the real start of the game."
The words "the real start" sent chills through the gym.
Every senior player watching stiffened, their faces turning grim.
"What does he mean?"
"Officially begin? You're kidding…"
"Could it be that everything until now had just been a warm-up?"
The game wasn't over yet — but their hearts were already pounding in their chests.
Coach Taoka Moichi slowly rose from the bench, preparing to call a timeout.
Ake's performance so far had been more than enough to leave an impression.
He hadn't shown overwhelming physical talent, but his composure, control, and basketball IQ were beyond expectation.
But just as Taoka was about to signal for a timeout, he heard the exchange between Ake and Sendoh.
He froze. His brows furrowed, a flicker of doubt surfacing in his eyes.
"Wait… could it be that this kid still hasn't shown everything?"
After a moment's hesitation, he slowly sat back down.
On the court.
The game resumed.
Sendoh brought the ball up the court and soon came face to face with Ake.
The two stood still for a moment — eyes locked, neither making the first move.
The air grew heavy and tense, as though time itself had paused.
Thump… thump… thump…
Sendoh dribbled steadily, not rushing in like he usually did.
He knew better than anyone just how dangerous Ake could be.
If he attacked carelessly, Ake would read him — and the ball would be gone before he realized it.
Sendoh had seen Ake's terrifying anticipation firsthand. His steals weren't just good — they were nearly flawless.
"What's going on? Why isn't Sendoh driving?" Koshino muttered under his breath.
Uekusa frowned.
"Could it be… that he's cautious of Ake?"
"No way!" Ikegami cut in immediately. "That's Sendoh we're talking about!"
Aida Hikoichi, eyes gleaming, leaned forward, watching intently.
"I want to see how this match-up plays out…"
Then — Sendoh moved.
Thump…
He dribbled to the side, shifting rhythmically left and right, probing for an opening.
Ake's sharp gaze tracked every motion, adjusting his stance in perfect sync — like a coiled spring, ready to strike.
Sendoh narrowed his eyes, increasing his pace. His movements became more elusive, his footwork sharper.
Thump… thump…
He crossed again, feinting in the opposite direction.
At first, both were testing each other — cautious, calculating.
But gradually, their speed climbed higher and higher.
Until finally, faint afterimages flickered around them.
To the spectators, it was as if two blurs of motion were darting back and forth — a red flash and a shadow.
Sendoh's offense was lightning.
Ake's defense was a mountain.
The clash was fierce, neither giving an inch.
The entire gym fell silent — eyes wide, jaws slack.
Too fast.
Too sharp.
Too unreal.
They were like two predators locked in a deadly duel — the basketball their only prey.
Neither was willing to yield.
"Oh my god…" Aida Hikoichi's mouth hung open in awe.
The seniors stood frozen, struggling to process what they were seeing.
"This has to be a joke…" Koshino muttered, disbelief written all over his face.
Ikegami stared blankly at Ake, who was trading blows with Sendoh like an equal.
"That guy… he's not losing at all. I've never seen Sendoh this restrained before."
Even Uozumi looked stunned.
He'd known how strong Sendoh was — he'd seen it countless times over the past year.
But now…
"So that's what Sendoh meant earlier… Is he really that strong?" he whispered to himself.
On the sidelines, Coach Taoka Moichi was already on his feet, eyes wide, expression caught between shock and elation.
"This kid…"
He was speechless.
It was like buying a lottery ticket, thinking you'd missed by one number — only to find out later there was a mistake and you'd actually hit the jackpot.
The rush of joy was almost dizzying. His pulse raced, his whole body alive with excitement.
Thinking back to all the players who had turned down his invitations, Taoka couldn't help but laugh to himself.'
"Huh Haha…'
On the court.
Huff…
After several intense exchanges, Sendoh suddenly stepped back, catching his breath. A wry smile tugged at his lips.
"Heh… as expected of you."
Ake's gaze was like steel — calm, cold, unwavering.
"Sendoh," he said evenly, "you've improved a lot this year. But…"
A sharp glint flashed in his eyes.
"The one who wins — will be me."
And before the words had even finished leaving his lips—
He lunged forward, lightning-fast, his arm sweeping out toward the ball.
Danger.
Sendoh's heart leapt. His brain raced, evaluating options in an instant.
He made the safest move possible.
Just before Ake's fingertips brushed the ball, Sendoh whipped a quick pass.
"That was close… you almost had me," he exhaled, forcing a small smile.
"Is that so?" Ake replied calmly, his lips curling slightly. His tone was steady — as if he had expected it all along.
The very next moment—
Slap!
The ball struck Uekusa Tomoyuki's thigh and bounced away.
The entire gym went silent.
A turnover.
But before the ball rolled out of bounds, Aida Hikoichi leapt forward, his arm stretching out to intercept it midair.
"Fast break!"
With a quick flick of his wrist, he hurled the ball across the court like a missile toward the freshman shooting guard beyond the three-point line.
The rookie caught it cleanly — and without a second thought, launched the shot.
Swish!
The ball sliced through the net.
Freshmen 39 – Seniors 36.