The air inside the gym seemed to freeze.
It was the kind of suffocating pressure that only appeared when a true ace rose to his feet.
Fujima Kenji merely rolled his wrist once, yet the entire Shoyo bench erupted, their cheers swelling like a tidal wave on the verge of breaking.
As long as he steps onto the court, this game is over.
That thought surfaced almost simultaneously in the minds of everyone watching.
And yet...
Just as Fujima's toe was about to cross the boundary line, Hanagata Toru suddenly turned around.
He pushed up his black-rimmed glasses. Behind the lenses, a sharp, proud glint flashed.
Sweat slid down his cheek.
He didn't wipe it away.
Instead, from half a court away, he locked eyes with Fujima.
No shouting. No exaggerated gestures.
Hanagata simply… slowly, firmly, shook his head.
That single motion carried an overwhelming weight of meaning.
It's not that desperate yet. Trust us.
If we need you to save us before halftime even ends… what right do we have to call ourselves Shoyo?
Fujima stopped cold in front of the scorer's table.
The two locked eyes across the distance, as if the roaring crowd had been erased entirely.
Three full seconds.
That was all it took for Fujima to understand the pride burning in Hanagata's gaze.
The pride of Shoyo's core center.
A line that could not be crossed.
"Hmph…"
The tension in Fujima's shoulders loosened. A faint smile curved at his lips—half helpless, half satisfied.
He turned, walked back, and sat down again, casually draping his jacket over his shoulders.
"Then let me see your resolve, Hanagata."
That single act of sitting down—
…carried more weight than standing up ever did.
The game resumed.
Fujima's rise—and his decision to sit back down—ignited something fierce within Shoyo.
Shame.
Their ace had been ready to step in and save them… only to be stopped by their vice-captain.
If they still couldn't deliver now—
Then they didn't deserve to wear that green jersey.
"We can't let Fujima-senpai step in yet!"
"That would be our disgrace!!"
Shoyo's offense instantly accelerated.
No. 7, Nagano Mitsuru, caught the ball and roared like a beast as he drove straight into the paint, forcing his way through Rukawa Kaede's defense.
Rukawa held his ground—
But that reckless, all-or-nothing momentum made him hesitate for just a split second.
"Get in there!!"
Nagano twisted midair, forcing up a layup.
"Too naive!"
Akagi Takenori rose like a black tower, his massive hand crashing down from above.
He didn't block it cleanly—
But the heavy contest sent the ball slamming against the front rim.
Clang!
It bounced high.
"The rebound is mine!!"
Sakuragi Hanamichi roared, his legs coiling like compressed springs, ready to explode upward.
In terms of jumping ability.
He feared no one.
But...
A tall figure had already secured the best position.
Hanagata Toru.
He didn't rely on brute force like a traditional center.
Instead, he slid into position with fluid, almost eerie footwork—like a fish gliding through water.
A slight lean.
A lowered center of gravity.
He sealed Sakuragi completely behind him.
Sakuragi felt like he had crashed into a wall of cotton—powerless, unable to exert strength.
"This one's mine, redhead."
Hanagata extended his long arm and snatched the rebound one-handed.
Landing.
Jumping again.
No unnecessary movement.
"Boom!"
A thunderous two-handed putback dunk!
13:13.
Tie game.
Hanagata threw his head back and roared, venting everything that had built up inside him.
The Shoyo stands exploded, green cheering sticks clattering like a storm.
On the sideline, Fujima's smile deepened. He leaned back fully into his seat.
That was absolute trust.
Possession changed.
Shohoku didn't panic, but the atmosphere had undeniably grown heavier.
Miyagi Ryota brought the ball up—
And immediately noticed something.
Shoyo's defense had changed.
The four tall players tightened their zone even further, forming an airtight net.
"Mitsui!"
Out of the corner of his eye, Miyagi spotted an opening in the corner.
With a quick flick of his wrist, the ball shot out like it had eyes of its own.
Mitsui Hisashi caught it.
His touch was blazing hot—like burning coals.
That last three-pointer had completely awakened the shooter within him.
With the ball in his hands, the rim looked as vast as the ocean.
"Come on."
No hesitation.
The moment he caught the ball, he was already in shooting motion.
Bend.
Jump.
Just then—
Hanagata rotated over.
Despite being a center, his speed was astonishing as he lunged forward, arm raised high.
"It's useless. This shot is going in."
Mitsui's eyes were unwavering.
Midair, he adjusted his posture—
Fingertips releasing the ball.
A perfect arc sliced through the air above the court.
"Swish!"
Nothing but net.
But..
At that exact instant—
A piercing whistle tore through the arena.
"Beeeep!!"
Mitsui landed—
Only to see Hanagata's body fly backward, crashing hard onto the floor and sliding over a meter.
His face twisted in pain, one hand clutching his chest.
"What?!"
Mitsui froze, still holding his shooting pose.
The referee ran in, expression cold, raising his fist.
"White No. 14—charging foul!"
"Basket does not count!"
The entire arena erupted in shock.
"What?!"
Shohoku players rushed forward, furious.
"Are you kidding me?!"
Akagi shouted at the referee, spit flying.
"That's a blocking foul! The shot was already made!"
"He fell after I released the ball!" Mitsui protested, disbelief written all over his face.
The referee shook his head, voice firm and unquestionable.
"The defender had already established legal guarding position. Both feet were set."
"You leaned forward after takeoff and made contact. The call stands."
On the floor, Hanagata was helped up by his teammates.
He rubbed his chest, adjusted his glasses.
And in the instant he turned his back to Shohoku.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile curled at the corner of his lips.
Not malice.
But the satisfaction of a high-IQ player whose trap had succeeded.
He had done it on purpose.
The moment Mitsui jumped, Hanagata had already calculated the landing point.
He got into position early.
Reduced the physical resistance.
And at the moment of contact, fell backward with the momentum, exaggerating the impact.
One foul.
In exchange for erasing a three-pointer.
And disrupting the rhythm of Shohoku's ace shooter.
That—
Was strategy.
"Quite the actor…"
On the Shohoku bench, Makino Juro let out a soft chuckle.
He spun an empty water bottle in his hand, eyes filled with amusement as he watched Hanagata.
"So this is what they call a 'soft-type center,' huh?"
"Not just soft hands—his whole body's pretty 'soft' too."
"Falls over with the slightest touch… what a waste he's not starring in historical dramas."
Coach Anzai's glasses flashed, but he said nothing.
That call became the turning point of the game.
Mitsui's rhythm was completely disrupted.
He rushed his next two shots—
Clang! Clang!
Both missed.
And Shoyo.
Like sharks that had smelled blood—
Surged forward.
"Attack! Feed the ball to Hanagata!"
With their overwhelming height advantage, Shoyo began relentlessly pounding the paint.
But this wasn't mindless brute force.
It was surgical.
Precise.
Hanagata Toru displayed the full range of his skills as one of Kanagawa's top centers.
Against Akagi, he didn't force it—
A back fake, then a fadeaway jumper.
Swish.
Against Sakuragi's help defense.
A subtle double-clutch hook in midair, using timing to evade the block.
Bank—score.
When double-teamed—
A pinpoint bounce pass to a cutting Hasegawa for an easy layup.
Shohoku's interior defense crumbled under Hanagata's orchestration.
Akagi was stretched thin.
Sakuragi, despite his strength, ran around like a headless fly.
The scoreboard began to climb relentlessly—
Each point like a hammer striking Shohoku's chest.
Shohoku's offense faltered under Shoyo's suffocating zone.
Misses piled up.
Turnovers increased.
Miyagi's vision was blocked by towering defenders.
Passing lanes were cut off.
Rukawa fell into isolation plays, his stamina draining rapidly.
With less than a minute left in the first half—
The scoreboard froze at:
Shohoku 22 : 31 Shoyo.
A nine-point gap.
The entire arena's momentum had shifted completely in Shoyo's favor.
The weight of a powerhouse team pressed down like a mountain.
"Shohoku's done…"
"That burst of energy is gone—they're showing their true colors."
"Well, Shoyo is a seeded team. Their depth is just too much."
"Fujima hasn't even played yet—and Hanagata alone is dismantling them."
In the stands, Haruko gripped the railing tightly, her knuckles turning white.
Her eyes were filled with worry.
"What do we do… the gap keeps getting bigger… Onii-chan and the others…"
The Sakuragi Army had lost their earlier carefree attitude.
Mito Yohei frowned, watching Sakuragi pant heavily on the court.
"So this is the strength of a top team…"
"Even without their ace, they can suppress Shohoku this badly."
"Hanamichi's completely being played by that glasses guy."
On the other side of the stands.
Ryonan's coach, Taoka Moichi, stood with arms crossed, everything seemingly within his expectations.
"Hmph. As expected."
He stared at Hanagata, who was dominating the game.
"That guy has become far more composed than last year."
"Back then, he was just a technical player."
"This year, he's learned to think. To use the rules."
"That offensive foul? That's the mark of maturity."
"And if you add Fujima…"
Taoka glanced at Fujima, sitting calmly on the bench, and a deep wariness flashed in his eyes.
"This year's Shoyo… might even surpass last year's Kainan."
"30 seconds! 30 seconds left in the first half!"
On the sideline, Ayako shouted anxiously, her voice trembling.
The paper fan in her hand was already crumpled.
Taoka glanced at the timer, his gaze sharpening.
"This possession will be crucial."
"If Shohoku can't score within these 30 seconds and goes into halftime down by double digits…"
"Their morale will collapse."
He raised two fingers, continuing his analysis.
"And Shohoku still has one major hidden risk."
"First—Fujima hasn't entered the game yet."
He glanced at Fujima.
Then...
His eyes shifted to the Shohoku bench.
To the boy still casually spinning a water bottle—
Makino Juro.
For some reason, Taoka's heart skipped a beat.
From the start of the game until now—
That kid hadn't even taken off his jacket.
He hadn't even changed his posture.
While the entire team was tense and restless—
Only he remained detached.
Calm.
Too calm.
"That Makino Juro kid hasn't played either…"
Taoka frowned slightly, an inexplicable unease creeping into his chest.
"What is Coach Anzai thinking?"
"Has he given up?"
"Or is it…"
At that moment.
Fujima, as if sensing something, suddenly straightened from his relaxed posture.
His gaze cut through the chaos on the court—
And landed, almost instinctively, on that corner of the Shohoku bench.
Makino Juro stopped spinning the bottle.
He looked up.
Their eyes met—just for an instant.
And in that instant—
Fujima saw it.
No fear.
No anxiety.
No concern for the nine-point deficit.
Only—
A deep, unfathomable calm.
Like a hunter watching prey struggle in its final moments before the trap snaps shut.
Fujima murmured softly, his fingers unconsciously tightening.
"…Hanagata, don't let your guard down."