Seirin High had possession. Shun Izuki brought the ball up to midcourt again, a palpable sense of helplessness weighing him down. His height wasn't enough to drive through the paint, and scoring seemed impossible.
Even with his Eagle Eye, advancing inside would result in a block. He felt utterly powerless.
On top of that, Hyuga Junpei was being tightly guarded, and Taiga Kagami was shadowed by Haizaki Shogo. Their team had no reliable scoring option left.
What do I do? What can I even do? Izuki's mind was a whirlwind of panic.
The shot clock was running out. With no other choice, Izuki passed to the interior player, Koganei Shinji.
But the ball was stolen. The interceptor: Fukuda's center, Okawa Sawano.
Under these circumstances, his signature move became Seirin's nightmare.
Because as Okawa stole the ball, another figure was already sprinting forward. Who else could it be?
Of course, Kimura Tosho. And right behind him, Taiga Kagami, still alert and reacting.
"Hold him!" "Hold him!" "Hold him!"
From Seirin High's bench came constant shouts, urging their players to stop the fast break.
But was Haizaki Shogo still guarding Kagami, just watching the show? Was he taking it easy?
Impossible. Three figures charged forward, forming a 2-on-1. With Shogo's faster speed and expert screening, Kimura completed the dunk.
Right in front of Kagami, a two-handed windmill dunk—a blatant slap in the face.
The ball sank into the net. The whistle blew.
The first quarter, thrilling and intense, ended with Kimura Tosho's two-handed windmill dunk.
Shogo led his team back to the bench. Three minutes of rest.
He took the pure water and towel from Shimizu Rena, wiped the sweat from his face, and gave her a small, polite smile in thanks.
After drinking, he felt the burning gaze of his teammates and grumbled irritably, "What's the hurry?"
Then he turned to Shimizu Rena and, on behalf of his teammates, asked gently:
"How's it looking, Shimizu-chan?"
Shimizu Rena brushed her hair back, her voice like a nightingale, confident and composed.
"Number 4, Hyuga Junpei, his form has dipped. Not hopeless, but he can be targeted. Number 5, Shun Izuki, is completely flustered—severe drop in form, prime target. Number 6, Koganei Shinji, any one of you could crush him; he doesn't even need a weak-point strategy. He is the weak point."
"Hell yeah!" "Hell yeah!" "Hell yeah!"
Excited voices erupted from the team. They were eager to take advantage of their opponent.
Shogo glanced at the scoreboard: 26–3. A huge first-quarter gap, but still, caution was necessary.
Seirin High's bench fell silent. No one had expected the game to turn into such a disaster. The shock was almost unbelievable, panic creeping in.
Coach Aida watched her dispirited players, silent Kuroko, furrowed Kagami, and disheartened Hyuga and Izuki.
As the team's supervisor and half-manager, she wanted to say something—but the words wouldn't come.
Near the end of the break, Kuroko finally spoke:
"Everyone, hold on until the third quarter. We will find a way!"
All eyes turned to Kuroko. Everyone wanted to see a solution through him.
Kuroko didn't say more. Instead, he extended his right hand to the group. One by one, the others placed their hands together.
"Keep going. There will be a way!"
======
In the stands, during the break, Midorima Shintaro and Kise Ryouta chatted with their group of four.
"The first quarter gap is massive. If they can't catch up in the second and third, the team will collapse in the fourth. The whole team will crumble."
Speaking was Yukio Kasamatsu, captain of Kaijo High. He understood how point gaps affect team morale.
If the rhythm isn't controlled, even a strong team can lose. Basketball is only forty minutes long. There's not enough time for a team to adjust and make substantial changes.
"Exactly. A huge gap puts immense pressure on the weaker side, almost like carrying a heavy load, further draining stamina."
Midorima added his insight, always precise, though he rarely voiced it. He performed his responsibilities quietly but to the utmost.
"No matter how I look at it, I can't see a way for Seirin to win. Honestly, Kise, last time, you weren't exaggerating."
"That's because you don't understand how terrifying they really are!"
No one continued the discussion; the second quarter was about to begin. Both teams were back on the court.
A subtle change on the court: Fukuda's point guard switched from Mochizuki Kazuhiro to Harano Shinichi, a player with superior ball-handling.
Fukuda's scoring didn't decrease. Harano excelled in floater shots, dribbling, and driving to the basket.
Coach Ichiro Kudo's adjustment had one goal: widen the gap further, speed up the game, and increase the pressure on Seirin.
By pushing the pace, Seirin's players were forced to bear a heavier load, exhausting their stamina.
Even if surprises happened in the third or fourth quarters, Fukuda would still have time to respond.
Truly, experience speaks volumes—when it comes to cunning and ruthlessness, Coach Kudo was unmatched.
Whistle. Seirin had possession.
The ball reached Shun Izuki, guarded by Harano Shinichi, a first-year freshman rivaling rising stars in skill.
Facing Harano, Izuki felt panic. Every Fukuda player on the court was a nightmare to deal with.
Through his Eagle Eye, Izuki could see no scoring options. Junpei beyond the three-point line was guarded by Kimura Tosho. Based on height differences alone, Junpei couldn't safely shoot, especially since Tosho was a rising star with overwhelming skill.
Kagami was blocked by Shogo; scoring or breaking free was impossible.
Amid hesitation, hands shot out and stole the ball.
Harano Shinichi, defending Izuki, had intercepted. Izuki immediately chased after him.
In an instant, offense and defense swapped. Fukuda's players sprinted toward Seirin's half.
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