In Kaijo High's locker room, inside the rest area—
The chubby coach, Takeuchi Genta, rested his chin on his large hand, his brows tightly furrowed.
To be honest, the current situation was completely one-sided. The suppression came not only from the difference in player strength, but also from Satsuki Momoi's tactical dominance.
All the players had fallen into silence. Their morale was at rock bottom, with even a faint trace of despair lingering in the air.
At this moment, as a third-year senior—and the captain—Yukio Kasamatsu stepped forward with firm resolve.
"There are still two quarters left in the second half. If they can widen the gap this much in one half, there's no reason we can't close it in the next. So get your heads up—we still have a game to play!"
Hot-blooded Mitsuhiro Hayakawa was the easiest to stir. He shot to his feet, slapping his cheeks hard with both hands as he spoke—half encouragement, half self-blame.
"It's my fault! I didn't grab the rebounds! Next time, I will get them—ugh… ugh… ugh…!"
Smack! Smack! Smack!
The sharp sound of palms striking cheeks echoed throughout the locker room.
Seeing his energetic, passionate, slightly goofy figure, the tense atmosphere loosened instantly. The gloom vanished, and the team's spirits began to recover.
Every team needed someone like him—and every coach loved a player like that.
Because sometimes, a fool like that… was the engine of the team.
A fool like that carried a strange, almost magical power.
"…Tch… figures. With a hot-blooded idiot like that around, it's impossible to stay serious," Moriyama Yoshitaka scoffed, before speaking in a low voice.
"So what if we lose? What's scary is not having the courage to face it!"
"We'll face it together. Let's go! The game isn't over yet—there's still hope!"
Inspired, Kobori Hiroshi stood up beside him, speaking with equal determination.
One by one, the players in the locker room shook off their frustration and gloom. Energy returned to their eyes as they all turned to look at one person—Kise Ryouta.
"Senpai, I…"
A large hand landed on Kise's shoulder. Along with it came the voices of his teammates, one after another.
"We believe in you! You're one of the Generation of Miracles—you're no worse than them!"
"You're our ace—go for it!"
"I'll cover for you—just play!"
"We believe in you!"
…
Watching his players encourage one another, Coach Takeuchi chose to remain silent.
Do I still need to say anything?
No. They had already come back to life. That was the best possible outcome.
Kise Ryouta looked at his teammates, his heart trembling.
"We believe in you"…
Those words echoed endlessly in his ears.
Then—
The slightly dejected, helpless Kise suddenly let out a carefree, unrestrained laugh.
After a while, the laughter faded. In a voice only he could hear, he murmured—
Come on… come on… it's nothing serious.
Meanwhile, in Tōō Academy's locker room—
With such a massive lead, every player was in high spirits. The outcome already seemed decided. Kaijo had no way to turn things around—especially with their ace, Aomine Daiki, on the court.
Aomine sat with a towel draped over his head, breathing steadily. Even he had broken a sweat.
After all, his opponent was Kise Ryouta.
Though Kise hadn't fully matured or developed his own unique style yet, he was no longer someone to underestimate.
Coach Harasawa Katsunori looked at his players—strong, focused, and full of energy—and spoke seriously.
"In the next quarter, maintain the tempo. The opponent hasn't given up yet."
"Aomine—keep Kise in check."
"Don't worry. No problem."
Aomine responded lazily, almost dismissively. Some teammates found his attitude irritating—
But his overwhelming strength left them with no room to complain.
During halftime, the audience buzzed with constant discussion.
"Reo-nee, Kaijo's done for, right?"
"Probably. Though… if I were on the court and kept shooting threes nonstop, it might be a different story."
"Tch, you're overthinking it, Reo-nee."
The Uncrowned Kings from Rakuzan High had come to watch the match, led by their team. Even they were deeply shaken by what they saw.
If not for Akashi Seijuro joining them this season, they might have been crushed as well.
And yet, Akashi had no intention of playing this season—something that left his teammates utterly confused.
With opponents this strong, his absence filled Mibuchi Reo, Nebuya Eikichi, and Hayama Kotaro with unease.
"Captain, Kaijo shouldn't be underestimated. They're really strong!"
"Oh? How so?"
Haizaki Shogo turned in surprise to look at his teammate. He hadn't expected such insight at a time like this.
Seven parts impressed… three parts surprised.
"Even with such a huge score gap, after two quarters, none of Kaijo's players look like they've given up. They might seem down, but their resilience and willpower are incredible. They're the toughest team I've seen so far."
Those words made Haizaki view him in a new light. Even Midorima and the others glanced at him with interest.
Fukuda Sogo has someone who can see this much… not bad.
Haizaki felt a quiet satisfaction—another player on his team had grown.
Halftime quickly came to an end. Both Tōō and Kaijo returned to the court.
Walking at the back, Kise looked at the unyielding backs of his seniors and murmured once more—
One more try… If I still can't copy it… then I'll just have to rely on myself.
The whistle blew.
Kaijo had possession. The ball found its way into Kise's hands as he dribbled, switching between left and right, attempting to break past Aomine.
But—too slow.
The ball was slapped away instantly.
Aomine shot forward like lightning—
"BOOM!"
A violent, two-handed windmill dunk crashed through the hoop, shaking the hearts of Kaijo's players.
"Kise… are you looking down on me?"
"Hah! If this is all you've got… that's just disappointing."
Kise lowered his head, saying nothing.
Looking down on you?
You're the one I admire most.
Kaijo inbounded the ball again.
This time, Kise stepped forward and demanded it.
For a moment, his teammates were stunned—then they all smiled.
Receiving the ball, Kise muttered softly while dribbling—
If I can't copy you… then I'll just do it my own way.
A strange aura began to rise from him.
Suddenly, Kise drove forward on his own initiative.
No lightning-fast shifts.
No flashy tricks.
Just a straightforward drive into the paint—
And a clean, one-handed windmill dunk.
Aomine had already leapt at the perfect moment, his large hand slamming toward the ball—
"BOOM!"
The ball went in.
Both landed.
The difference—Kise landed steadily.
Aomine, however, was forced back several steps.
There was no anger in Aomine's eyes—no frustration.
Only pure, genuine excitement.
That's more like it…
Now you're getting interesting.
"Nice. What do you call that move?"
Kise looked up and answered—
"Immovable King Form."