The timer above the court continued to tick down.
Only three minutes remained in the game.
On the scoreboard, the difference was painfully clear.
A 12-point gap — like an uncrossable chasm — separated Shohoku from Ryonan.
Everyone understood one thing: without Mitsui Hisashi, their core perimeter shooter, making up 12 points in 3 minutes was almost impossible.
Shohoku's outside firepower, once supported entirely by Mitsui, had completely vanished.
Sakuragi Hanamichi had energy and drive, but his unreliable shooting limited him.
Rukawa Kaede was smothered by Sendoh, making even his drives and kick-outs difficult.
No matter how fiercely Takenori Akagi fought under the basket, he couldn't overcome Ryonan's seamless rotating defense.
The game had become entirely one-sided.
Ryonan's offense flowed like a river, surging forward again and again, giving Shohoku no chance to breathe.
Sendoh brought the ball up. Rukawa Kaede closed in on him, his eyes burning with refusal to accept defeat.
But Sendoh simply curled his lips into a slight smile, faked left with his right-hand dribble, and slipped into a smooth crossover.
The moment Rukawa shifted his weight, Sendoh pulled the ball back, gliding past Rukawa on the right like water cutting around a rock.
By the time Rukawa reacted, Sendoh was already at Shohoku's rim.
Akagi rushed in to block him, but Sendoh avoided him with a light scoop shot.
The ball kissed the backboard and fell through the hoop.
On the next play.
Fukuda sprinted down the sideline. Sakuragi chased him, panting, waving his arms desperately to create pressure.
Fukuda caught sight of Sakuragi's awkward defense from the corner of his eye, then suddenly stopped and changed direction.
He cut inside effortlessly, caught Ake's pass, leaped, and slammed the ball home.
Another clean score.
Again, Ryonan attacked.
Uozumi planted himself in the paint, backing into Akagi with the ball held firmly in both hands.
Akagi pushed back with all his strength, muscles straining as he tried to force Uozumi out.
After several silent exchanges of force—
Uozumi roared, lowered his shoulder, and shoved Akagi back two steps before turning and jamming the ball into the hoop with both hands.
Another resounding dunk.
Next possession.
Mitsui Hisashi stood beyond the arc, bent over with his hands on his knees, sweat dripping from his chin. His chest rose and fell violently.
Those last few defensive rotations had completely drained him.
Koshino dribbled toward him step by step, then suddenly exploded forward, shaking Mitsui with a simple crossover.
Mitsui tried to summon the last of his strength to contest the shot—
But Koshino was already airborne.
The ball cut through the air…
Swish.
Straight through the net.
The timer above the court continued its merciless countdown.
No one realized the game had already entered its final moments.
Ake dribbled the ball calmly as he once again broke into Shohoku's defense.
Just before he reached the paint—
Two figures launched at him from opposite angles: one from the left, one from the right.
Rukawa Kaede on the left, eyes sharp.
Sakuragi Hanamichi on the right, stubborn determination carved on his face.
Both spread their arms wide, leaning forward, clearly ready to stop Ryonan's final strike together.
The atmosphere crackled with tension. All eyes locked onto the three of them.
Ake glanced up at them.
In his normally calm heterochromatic eyes, two golden halos flashed to life.
The Emperor Eye — activated once more.
Instantly, he captured everything: Rukawa's and Sakuragi's current motions, their next steps, even their missteps.
Countless possible outcomes flickered through Ake's mind before settling on one.
One particular future.
Ake's dribbling rhythm suddenly shifted.
Thump… thump…
Two short, sharp beats echoed on the floor.
Almost immediately—
Rukawa and Sakuragi froze mid-stride.
It was as if their legs had suddenly given out. Their bodies buckled, and the two fell backward uncontrollably.
Thud… thud…
The sound of two bodies hitting the floor.
Both sat on the court, identical stunned expressions on their faces.
Ake didn't even look back.
He continued dribbling past them, his steps steady as ever.
Thump… Thump… Thump…
Calm and unhurried, he walked to Shohoku's free-throw line.
He planted his feet, lifted the ball above his head, and locked onto the hoop.
A gentle push. A clean follow-through.
The ball arced softly through the air—
Swish.
Right through the net.
And at that exact second—
Beep!
The referee blew the whistle.
The game was over.
The scoreboard froze at 90–67.
A 23-point difference.
Ryonan had won.
The match had ended…
But the entire arena was silent.
No cheers. No applause. Not even murmurs.
Everyone was still reeling from what they had witnessed.
This wasn't just Ryonan winning, it was Ake dominating.
From the first possession to the last, he controlled everything.
The game had not felt like a heated basketball match, but like a carefully designed chessboard.
Every player, whether from Shohoku or Ryonan, had moved along paths he had already predicted.
Only that crimson figure stood outside the board.
Calmly moving the pieces.
Step by step, he had dictated the rhythm, predicted reactions, and seized the advantage before anyone even realized it.
Only when the final shot went in did everyone truly understand—
From the opening tip, the result had already been in his hands.
He was the only chess player on the court.
In the stands.
Maki Shinichi was the first to rise, his voice lower and heavier than usual. "Let's go."
He didn't turn immediately. Instead, he looked one last time at the celebrating Ryonan players.
His gaze inevitably found Ake.
Even surrounded by teammates, Ake seemed to radiate a quiet gravity that commanded attention.
Maki felt it clearly—
Kainan was heading into a storm.
Beside him, Jin Soichiro stood up as well, emotion evident in his voice. "Ryonan is unbelievably strong."
Even Kiyota, normally the loudest among them, was quiet.
On another side of the stands—
Fujima Kenji rose from his seat. He looked at Hanagata and said in a deep voice,
"Let's go."
Gone was his usual calmness — replaced by a heavy seriousness.
Shoyo's next opponent: Ryonan.
He used to feel confident.
But after watching this match, that confidence had evaporated.
Ake's full-court control, his psychological warfare, his precise timing — everything was too sharp, too overwhelming.
Fujima didn't even dare imagine how Shoyo would handle such pressure.
Hanagata glanced at Fujima's tense expression, said nothing, and only nodded silently as they walked out together.
Their silhouettes looked unusually heavy against the slowly rising chatter of the stadium.
Back on the court—
Shohoku's players stood with their heads lowered, shoulders drooped, shadows covering their faces.
Sweat still clung to their skin, but their fire had burned out.
They hadn't just lost, they had lost completely.
Like puppets whose strings were controlled by someone else.
The feeling of being read, outmaneuvered, and outplayed at every turn was far worse than a normal defeat.
At that moment, Ayako hurried over, her voice cutting through the silence.
"Lift your heads. The tournament isn't over."
The players looked up.
Ayako took a deep breath. "There are three qualifying spots. This is just one loss. We still have games left. Being depressed now won't change anything."
Her words were like a spark reigniting dim embers.
That's right.
They weren't eliminated yet.
They still had a path forward.
Across the court, Ryonan gathered.
Their atmosphere was relaxed — not overly celebratory, but grounded, calm, and steady.
They had been tested… and they had answered with strength.
Koshino wiped the sweat off his forehead and let out a long breath. "Man… finally over. I thought my heart was gonna explode. Good thing we won."
Ikegami strode over confidently. "With Captain Ake, winning was never in doubt."
As he spoke, he glanced toward Ake, who was speaking with the coach. His eyes held genuine conviction.
"Yeah, yeah!" Aida Hikoichi chimed in instantly, practically glowing. "Captain Ake was incredible today! His steals, his reads, his control… And that last shot! I still can't believe it!"
Sendoh leaned casually against the bench, drying his hair with a towel.
A relaxed smile curved his lips.
"Of course," he said lightly.
"He's Ake."
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