Up in the stands.
Coach Taoka of Ryonan had already put away his earlier disdain.
Arms folded across his chest, his gaze burned like a torch as he locked onto the figure on the court—Rukawa Kaede, who had just completed that putback dunk.
That play wasn't just worth two points.
It was like a sledgehammer, smashing open the seemingly impenetrable wall of "height" that Shoyo relied on.
"The real game starts now."
Taoka Moichi spoke in a low voice, a faint tremor hidden within it.
"Shohoku's momentum is up."
"That number 11, Rukawa Kaede… he may be a rookie, but he has the ability to break deadlocks."
"That unreasonable level of talent… and that near-obsessive hunger for victory…"
Taoka took a deep breath, as if making a prediction:
"If nothing unexpected happens, Rukawa Kaede will become an incredible basketball star."
"Perhaps… he might even surpass Sendoh."
Beside him, Hikoichi Aida froze mid-note. His pen had already pierced through the paper.
He looked at Rukawa's cold, unyielding back—then down at his own frail body.
A trace of envy… even jealousy… crept into his eyes.
"Must be nice…"
"To have that kind of height… that kind of talent…"
Hikoichi bit his lip, a sour feeling rising in his chest.
"Someone like me… no matter how hard I try, I could never become a star like Rukawa, right?"
"Is basketball… really a sport for giants?"
That thought didn't belong to him alone.
At that moment, the audience's attention also shifted to another "weak point" on Shohoku's side—
The player wearing jersey number 7.
Standing among towering figures, he looked especially small.
Ryota Miyagi.
"Hey, look at Shohoku's point guard."
"He's way too short, isn't he? Even 170 cm?"
"Probably around 168 at most."
A few spectators pointed and whispered, their tone filled with doubt.
"Everyone on Shoyo is over 190 cm. That number 7 looks like a kid who wandered into a group of adults."
"If I were Shoyo's coach, I'd target him relentlessly."
"Exactly. Just cut off his passing lanes—or shoot right over his head—and Shohoku is done."
"That short guy is definitely their weak link!"
The chatter was noisy—but some of it still reached the court.
Miyagi's ear twitched.
He reached up, brushing the shiny earring on his ear, and a crooked smirk curled onto his lips.
"Weak link?"
"Shorty?"
His eyes gradually sharpened, like a blade being drawn from its sheath.
"Looks like… they're underestimating me."
At that moment, the game suddenly shifted.
Shoyo's number 8, Takano Shoichi, received the ball.
Still shaken by Rukawa's previous dunk, his movement faltered for just a split second.
As he tried to dribble and reset—
His footwork slipped.
"WHISTLE!"
The referee's call rang out.
"Green number 8—traveling!"
"Shohoku ball!"
An opportunity!
Miyagi's eyes lit up as he snatched the ball directly from the referee.
No hesitation.
No waiting for his teammates to set up.
"Fast break!!"
With a shout, Ryota Miyagi exploded forward like an arrow released from a bow.
On the sidelines, Fujima Kenji—who had been calm all along—finally changed expression.
He shot to his feet, shouting toward the court:
"Itou! Stop number 7!"
"Don't let him get going!!"
Shoyo's point guard, Taku Itou, reacted instantly.
Relying on his 180 cm height and long legs, he slid into position, cutting Miyagi off.
"You're not getting past me!"
Itou spread his arms wide like a net, trying to smother Miyagi.
In his mind, the height difference alone was enough to block every path forward.
But he was wrong.
Completely wrong.
Miyagi stared at the towering wall in front of him.
Suddenly, flashes of the past few days surfaced in his mind—
Those hellish training sessions under Makino Juro.
[Hey, Miyagi, your dribbling is too slow.]
[Lower your center of gravity! What, are you trying to be a target?]
[Your dribble needs rhythm—control your opponent's rhythm too!]
The muscle memory forged under extreme speed… the control honed through relentless repetition—
All of it awakened at once.
"Too slow!"
Miyagi growled.
His body dropped instantly, his center of gravity sinking to an almost absurd level.
The basketball danced at his fingertips like a living sprite, so fast it left afterimages.
"What?!"
Ito only saw a blur.
Miyagi didn't use any fancy crossovers.
Just acceleration.
Pure, explosive acceleration—
Like an F1 car launching off the line!
"WHOOSH!"
The air howled.
Miyagi slipped straight past Itou—right under his arm!
Simple.
Brutal.
And impossibly fast.
Itou tried to turn—
But his ankles felt nailed to the floor. He simply couldn't keep up.
Blown by in one step.
Clean.
Decisive.
"WAAAHHH!!"
The entire arena erupted.
"He… he got past him?!"
"So fast! What's with that number 7?!"
"That dribble speed—he's like lightning!"
Miyagi stormed into the frontcourt, throwing Shoyo's defense into chaos.
Hanagata Toru and Nagano Mitsuru collapsed inward, trying to shut the lane.
Just as the two towering figures were about to close in—
Miyagi's wrist flicked subtly.
Without even looking—
The ball bounced off the floor as if it had eyes of its own.
"BANG!"
It slipped cleanly between their legs, threading into the open space under the basket.
Waiting there—
A red-haired figure.
"Wahaha! It's here!"
Hanamichi Sakuragi stared at the ball flying into his hands, momentarily surprised.
But his body reacted instantly.
Catch.
Jump.
This time, he made no unnecessary moves.
"Layup from a small fry!"
"Nice and easy… just drop it in."
A gentle flick of the wrist—
The ball obediently fell through the net.
11:8.
"WHAT A PLAY!!"
"That pass was insane!"
"A surgical assist!"
In the stands, those who had mocked Miyagi's height now sat with their mouths wide open.
"That short guy… he can make passes like that among giants?!"
"Unbelievable!"
Shoyo hadn't even recovered from that last possession.
Inbound from the baseline.
To play it safe, Itou passed to Takano.
But the moment Takano caught the ball and turned—
A flash of lightning struck again.
"PAH!"
The crisp sound of a steal made Shoyo's hearts skip a beat.
Miyagi Ryota.
Once more.
Like an assassin lurking in the grass, he had already read the play.
The instant the ball touched Takano's hands—
He cut it loose.
After the steal, Miyagi didn't rush.
He held the ball in one hand, standing beyond the three-point line, facing Shoyo's rattled defense.
Then slowly—
He raised a single finger.
Pointing at the hoop.
A wild, cocky grin spread across his face.
"Come on."
"Let's score another one."