At that moment, the entire gym seemed suspended in time. All eyes were drawn to the crimson figure on the court.
The air felt frozen.
The senior players who had been scornful earlier were now silent. Contempt had vanished, replaced by a deep, uneasy respect.
No one could remember when the score had become tied—but everyone knew who was responsible. Akashi, with a quiet intensity, had turned the game upside down.
On the sidelines, Coach Taoka Moichi's gaze was fixed on Akashi. His fingers trembled slightly, excitement and disbelief warring within him.
"This kid… a natural point guard. With proper guidance, he could rival even Fujima or Maki."
Unbeknownst to Taoka, Akashi had barely shown a fraction of his strength. All he had done so far was steal, pass, and orchestrate—nothing more.
Sendoh, standing nearby, kept his gaze low, sharp as a blade. His brow furrowed unconsciously as he studied the scoreboard, then he looked at Akashi with a teasing smile edged with solemnity.
"You're really taking it easy, letting everyone else handle the offense."
Akashi smiled faintly, calm as still water.
"This is enough, isn't it?"
Sendoh chuckled softly, a hint of admiration in his tone. "True to form, it is you."
He stretched, cracking his neck and shoulders, his eyes sharpening like blades.
"I suppose I can't hold back anymore."
Their casual conversation struck like a spark, instantly electrifying everyone on the sidelines.
It suddenly became clear: Akashi had done almost nothing offensively.
He had only stolen and passed.
Hiss… a collective intake of breath swept through the gym.
This was not just impressive—it was abnormal.
The upperclassmen, seasoned and skilled, had been outplayed by freshmen. And yet, under Akashi's direction, those same inexperienced players scored repeatedly, their crude coordination transformed into an unstoppable force.
Akashi's control of the rhythm, his anticipation of open spaces, and his awareness of each teammate's position were unnervingly precise.
And through it all, Akashi never glanced at the crowd. His eyes were fixed only on Sendoh.
Then, softly:
"Come on, Sendoh. Let the game officially begin."
The words carried a promise—and a challenge.
The senior players froze. Officially begin?
Could it be… the suffocating pace from before was merely a warm-up?
Coach Taoka Moichi slowly stood, ready to call a timeout. Akashi's performance was already more than impressive, yet something about his words made Taoka hesitate.
"Does he… have more hidden?"
He slowly sat back down, uncertain.
The game resumed.
Sendoh advanced with the ball, and soon they faced each other head-on.
The gym seemed to hold its breath.
Sendo did not rush. He dribbled cautiously, aware of Akashi's terrifying defensive skill. A single misstep could mean losing the ball.
"Why isn't Sendoh driving?" Koshino muttered.
"Could he be wary of Akashi?" Uekusa whispered.
"Impossible," Ikegami scoffed.
Aida Hikoichi, eyes wide, whispered, "I can't wait to see this matchup…"
Sendoh shifted, dribbled laterally, probing, his feet sliding like lightning.
Akashi mirrored him perfectly, poised, every movement synchronized.
Sendo changed directions, faster now, elusive, but Akashi adapted instantly, an immovable shadow.
Back and forth, the ball bounced, their bodies blurred in motion. Spectators barely kept up. Faint afterimages lingered where they had moved, as if two storms clashed on the court.
Offense like lightning, defense like a mountain. Neither gave an inch.
"Oh… my gosh…" Aida gasped, forming a perfect "O" with his mouth.
The upperclassmen stared, mouths agape.
"This… must be a joke!" Koshino exclaimed.
Ikegami shook his head in disbelief. "Akashi… he's restraining Sendoh? I've never seen Sendoh so… limited."
Even Uozumi, familiar with Sendoh's overwhelming strength, muttered to himself, "Could he really be this strong?!"
Coach Taoka Moichi was on his feet, heart racing. Shock gave way to pure exhilaration.
"This kid… he's not just talent—he's a prodigy."
The mental rollercoaster left Taoka breathless: disappointment, then awe, then the thrill of witnessing something historic.
On the court, after several rounds of tense entanglement, Sendoh stepped back, chest heaving.
A wry smile formed on his lips. "True to form… it is you."
Akashi's gaze was unwavering. Calm, precise, yet undeniably confident.
"Sendoh, you've grown. But… the one who wins will be me."
With that, Akashi lunged, a pouncing leopard, fingertips flying toward the ball.
Danger.
Sendoh's mind raced, calculating, then decisively passed the ball.
"That was close… almost had it," Sendoh muttered, relieved.
"Is that so?" Akashi's faint smile remained, serene as water.
Slap! The ball arced oddly, hitting Uekusa's thigh and bouncing away.
Silence. Shock.
A turnover?
Before it went out, Aida leaped, intercepting with perfect precision.
"Fast break!" he shouted.
Aida flicked the ball like a missile to the rookie shooting guard. The shot went up immediately.
Swish!
Freshman Team 39, Senior Team 36.