"Is Akashi really that sure Fukui will make it to the finals and face us?"
Mibuchi asked softly, a barely noticeable hint of doubt in his voice.
His gaze cut through the noise of the arena and landed on Akashi, waiting for his response.
Akashi smiled slightly, his eyes filled with unwavering confidence. He nodded without hesitation. "Yes. I don't see anyone else stopping him."
Come on, we're talking about Shiro here—the same Shiro who once dominated Akashi on the court.
For Akashi, there was no way he'd believe Shiro would fall to anyone else. A flicker of complex emotion flashed in his eyes. He had once been defeated by Shiro, but that was in the past.
The scoreboard changed: 5-3. The numbers hit like a hammer, shaking everyone to their core.
The atmosphere in the gym tensed. The crowd held their breath, eyes locked onto the court, unwilling to miss a single moment.
Yōsen's Possession
Murasakibara remained stationed under Yōsen's basket, completely uninterested in joining the offense.
As expected, Fukui brought the ball up the court and quickly passed it to Himuro.
Standing beyond the three-point line, Himuro faced off against Moxun.
Moxun's eyes were calm and laser-focused. He lowered his stance, arms spread wide, a defensive wall that seemed impossible to break through.
Himuro took a deep breath. He knew his opponent wasn't someone to be underestimated, but there was no fear in his heart—only the burning desire to win.
He started his move, executing a quick crossover, followed by a series of fakes. Each movement was crisp and precise, honed through countless hours of practice.
Smooth and rhythmic, Himuro's dribbles aimed to mislead his defender, creating just enough separation.
He found a slight opening and didn't waste it—driving straight to the hoop.
Moxun reacted instantly, sticking to Himuro's every step, mirroring his movements like a shadow, leaving no space to breathe.
Feeling the pressure, Himuro initiated contact, using his strength to push Moxun back.
But to his shock, Moxun didn't budge an inch.
A flicker of surprise crossed Himuro's face. He hadn't expected this wiry-looking opponent to possess such incredible core strength.
Still, he didn't back down. Adjusting quickly, he spun off the contact with explosive speed.
The move was executed in a blink, too fast for Moxun to recover in time.
Without hesitation, Himuro pulled up for a jumper.
His shooting form was flawless—arms fully extended, a flick of the wrist sending the ball arcing toward the basket.
It was a shot he had practiced thousands of times, each release filled with confidence.
But just then—a figure materialized in his field of vision.
SMACK!
Shiro appeared out of nowhere, right in front of Himuro.
"When did he—?!" Himuro's eyes widened. He had barely blinked, yet Shiro was already in his face.
Mid-air, Shiro's hand came down, snatching the shot out of the air with ease.
"That's insane!"
A collective gasp rippled through the arena, but when they saw who had made the play, it almost felt expected.
Shiro's defensive prowess was legendary. His chase-down blocks were nothing short of iconic.
After the block, he took off like a wild stallion, sprinting toward the other end of the court.
"Stop him!" Himuro's voice echoed through the gym, tinged with urgency.
Fukui reacted instantly. The moment Himuro's shout rang out, he was already in motion.
But Shiro was faster. Like a streak of white lightning, he tore through the court, leaving Fukui behind in an instant.
Frustration surged within Fukui. He pushed his legs to the limit, each step driving with force, but Shiro's presence remained untouchable—like a phantom just out of reach.
Under the hoop, Murasakibara had been waiting, his gaze locked onto Shiro's every move.
Then, out of nowhere, Shiro stopped—three steps beyond the three-point line.
The transition was seamless, his motion fluid, no hesitation in sight.
Launching himself into the air with effortless grace, he extended his arms, wrist snapping forward as the ball took flight.
Murasakibara's instincts kicked in—he leaped, trying to contest the shot.
But he was just a fraction too short. He couldn't reach.
Swish!
The net snapped as the ball dropped cleanly through.
8-3.
Shiro's ultra-deep three-pointer was a devastating blow to Yosen.
Yosen's players exchanged glances, their eyes filled with disbelief and unease. Shiro's performance was beyond anything they had expected.
"Shiro, man, that's just ridiculous..."
Murasakibara muttered, slightly annoyed, but quickly shook off the feeling and jogged back into position.
The Yosen team now wore serious expressions, fully aware of the threat Shiro posed.
With no defensive pressure, Shiro's shooting accuracy was practically 100%. Every shot was a dagger to the opponent's morale.
Kensuke Fukui's heartbeat synchronized with the rhythm of the game, his gaze locked onto Shiro.
Every movement Shiro made carried an element of unpredictability.
Fukui knew he couldn't afford a single lapse in focus—because the moment he let his guard down, Shiro would be there to snatch the ball away like a phantom.
Carefully controlling the dribble, Fukui ensured there were no openings for Shiro to exploit.
His teammates scrambled, searching for the best passing lane.
Then, Fukui's eyes lit up—he spotted a perfect opportunity.
Okamura
Positioned away from Shiro's reach, it was the ideal moment to strike.
With precise aim, Fukui lobbed the ball, watching it sail through the air and land squarely in Okamura's hands.
The instant he caught it, Okamura reacted.
Back to the basket, he felt the pressure of Nijimura pressing against him—but he didn't waver.
As a power forward built like a tank, strength was his greatest weapon.
Taking a deep breath, Okamura lowered his shoulder and powered into Nijimura.