The arena buzzed with energy. Sneakers squeaked against polished hardwood, basketballs bounced rhythmically thump, thump, thump and every sound echoed through the massive gym.

Each team had their side of the court for warm-ups. Seiryō's boys were running drills layups, mid-range shots, defensive slides while the opposing team, Easton Technical High, moved like a machine. Their warm-ups weren't flashy; no dunks, no unnecessary flair. Just clean passes, sharp footwork, perfect timing.

Marcus wiped sweat from his forehead, stealing a glance at Easton's captain Sho Amakusa calm, steady, centered. Every command he gave was short, yet the whole team responded instantly. It was like watching gears move in sync.

"They're not just players," Marcus thought. "They're a system."

Across the court, Coach Rin Hazama and Coach Hikari Aoyama met at center court.

"Coach Aoyama," Rin greeted with a small bow.

"Hazama-san," Hikari replied, shaking his hand firmly. "Let's make it a good game."

"May the best team win," Rin said, eyes calm but unreadable.

The referees' whistle cut through the noise.

"Teams, finish up your warm-ups!"

The boys gathered near the bench, hearts pounding in sync. They'd been waiting for this moment for weeks all the training, all the sweat, all the talk came down to this.

Kana and Ayaka and some other students and teachers from Seiryō walked in and sit in the stands.

"First time being in a huge Stadium like this." said Ayaka.

"Starting lineup!" the referee called out.

Players stripped off their warm-up suits, revealing their fully dark blue-and-white jerseys that's for Seiryō and for Easton they had on a fully light yellow and black jerseys.

The announcer's voice echoed through the loudspeakers:

"Now entering the court….Seiryō's High!"

Cheers erupted from the stands as Yuuto slapped Marcus's back, grinning.

"Time to show 'em what we've got, Captain."

Marcus exhaled slowly, feeling the weight and the fire in his chest.

"Let's go."

"Point Guard Number 7 Marcus Inoue!"

Marcus jogged to center court, the captain's band on his arm,Marcus wears his fully dark blue-and-whitdesign jersey fully tucked, captain's armband on his left bicep, white compression sleeve on his shooting arm and matching knee sleeve. on his feet a dark blue and white Jordans squeaking. Six feet even, seventy-eight kilos of muscle, fourth-form. He raised a fist to the stands and the roar swelled.

"Small Forward Number 26 Shunjin James!"

Shun sprinted out, all wiry speed at five-eight, sixty-seven kilos, the team's ace. Shunjin's jersey is half-tucked (front in, back loose), black headband holding back his hair, one black calf sleeve on his right leg. He wears custom white-and-red Adidas Dames.

"Center Number 17 Riku Tanaka!"

Six-two, eighty kilos, fifth-form. Riku jogged in with a calm face, towering over most players on the floor.Riku keeps his jersey fully tucked, no arm gear but both knees wrapped in black sleeves. Thick white-blue Nike Zoom Freaks.

"Shooting Guard Number 5 Kento Sato!"Kento bounced on the balls of his feet, the shortest at five-six but deadly from midrange, sixth-form veteran.Kento wears his jersey untucked at the back, a single red shooting sleeve on his right arm, low-cut grey Curry Flows on his feet.

"Power Forward Number 10 Daichi Moriyama!"Daichi flexed once for the crowd, five-eight, seventy-eight kilos, fifth-form workhorse of the paint.Daichi's jersey is fully tucked, two white armbands, black ankle brace on left foot, high-top Air Jordan 37s in navy.

The announcer continued,

"And representing the Easton Technical High… led by Captain and Power Forward Number 4 Sho Amakusa!"

The gym's roar shifted into a respectful hush as he step on the court.

Six feet even, eighty-one kilos of composed muscle the embodiment of discipline. His jersey was perfectly tucked, his armband wrapped neatly around his left bicep. A single white compression sleeve covered his right arm, while matching white wristbands hugged his wrists. His navy-and-silver Nike Air Zoom G.T. Hustle 2s squeaked softly with each step.

Sho didn't raise his fist or shout he simply placed a hand over his heart and gave a calm nod to the stands.

A quiet authority filled the air. Even opponents straightened instinctively.

"Shooting Guard Number 8,Orson Kuga"

Orson sprinted out next, his stride compact, sharp, and full of fire.

Five-seven, seventy-two kilos pure explosive energy in motion. His jersey hung loose around his waist, one black sleeve hugging his left arm. His black-and-red Kobe 5 Protros gleamed beneath the lights.

The ace of the team, yet silent as stone. He didn't look at the crowd his gaze was locked on the hoop, a faint determination burning behind his calm expression.

"Short but dangerous," someone whispered from the crowd. "He doesn't miss when it matters."

"Small Forward—Number 11, Ajax Mura"

The crowd buzzed as Ajax jogged out with swagger, spinning the ball once on his finger before tossing it to a teammate.

Six-two, seventy-six kilos tall, lean, and confident. His jersey was half-tucked, headband tilted slightly off-center, white undershirt showing beneath. A single blue knee sleeve wrapped his right leg, and on his feet gleamed gold-trimmed LeBron 21s.

He flashed a grin toward the opposing bench. "Try to keep up," he mouthed.

The arrogance was obvious but so was the skill radiating off him.

"Point Guard Number 6, Itsuki Sera!"

The lights dimmed slightly, spotlight narrowing as Itsuki stepped onto the court with calculated composure.

Five-ten, sixty-eight kilos every motion deliberate, his posture perfectly balanced. Jersey tucked tight, no sleeves, no flair. Just a single black wristband on his left hand. His low-top white Curry 11s barely made a sound on the floor.

He scanned both teams in a single glance, eyes cold and analytical.

"Reads the court like a chessboard," one coach muttered from the sideline. "He's always three plays ahead."

"Center Number 15, Tetsuya Mori!"

A low rumble spread through the gym as a broad figure stepped out from the tunnel, shadowed beneath the lights.

Six-foot-five, eighty-eight kilos the anchor of Easton's defense and the wall no one wanted to challenge.

Tetsuya's jersey was perfectly tucked, shoulders squared, posture like a soldier. He wore no flashy gear just black knee pads, a white wristband on his shooting hand, and his trademark navy-blue high-top Anta Shock Waves, scuffed from countless battles in the paint.

He didn't smile. He didn't wave. He simply cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, and took his place under the rim silent, immovable, unshaken.

"Cold as steel," whispered a fan. "That's Mori for you Easton's Iron Wall

Sho spoke quietly, but his voice carried to all of them.

"Play with focus. No ego. No panic. Our rhythm our game."

Across the court, Seiryō's team lined up energetic, loud, and fiery.

Easton?

Silent. Composed. Deadly.

Both teams lined up for the handshake.

Sho looked Marcus straight in the eye.

"Play your best," he said calmly.

Marcus smirked. "Wouldn't dream of anything less."

The referee tossed the ball in his hand, stepping to midcourt.

The two tallest players Riku Tanaka and Tetsuya Mori bent their knees, eyes on the orange leather.

"Both teams ready?"

and

Players nodded, crouched, focused.

"Tip-off begins… now."

The whistle blew.

The ball soared.

And the tournament truly began.

Riku Tanaka shots up into the air his fingers touched the ball but Tetsuya Mori grabs it even though he jumped last he hits it to Itsuki who catches it.

Easton Technical claimed the first possession.

Their passes were sharp and cold, each bounce echoing through the gym like clockwork.

Thump—pass—thump—pass—swish.

Itsuki Sera, the point guard, moved with quiet calculation. Every dribble was measured. Every step, intentional. His eyes never blinked.

Behind him, Sho Amakusa stood tall calm, steady, the axis around which Easton's entire rhythm spun.

Marcus tracked him carefully from the top of the key.

"They're too balanced… like a machine," he thought. "Everything flows through Sho's rhythm."

Sho set a screen, Sera weaved through, pulled back

Pass to Kuga in the corner.

Orson caught it and rose in one smooth motion.

The ball left his hand pure form, perfect rotation.

Swish!

The net snapped cleanly.

The scoreboard blinked: 3–0 Easton.

The crowd erupted.

Yuuto clenched his fists on the bench. "Already?! We didn't even touch the ball yet!"

Marcus raised a hand, signaling calm. "Relax. That's just one shot. We knew they'd start strong."

Riku inbounded to Marcus.

Seiryō began their first real attack.

But Easton's defense it was suffocating.

Every lane cut off. Every passing angle predicted.

Itsuki hovered near the top like a shadow, reading everything.

Sho controlled the paint, calm and immovable. Ajax and Kuga rotated between help coverage and traps, switching with robotic precision a defense that moved as one heartbeat.

Marcus saw an opening and drove in.

Bam! Sho stepped up, body firm like a wall.

Marcus pivoted, fired a quick pass to Riku

Swipe!

Kuga's hand tipped it, sending the ball ricocheting toward Shunjin.

Shunjin snatched it mid-bounce and exploded toward the rim.

"Let's go!" Marcus shouted.

They broke past the center. Shunjin leaped high, arm cocked back for the dunk

But then

A blur cut through the lane.

Shoes screeched. A figure sprinted across the court faster than anyone could react.

"Wait isn't that the point guard?! Wasn't he just on the other side?!"

In a flash, Itsuki Sera was airborne.

He twisted midair, right hand reaching out tap!

He met Shunjin at the apex and snatched the ball clean.

The entire gym went silent.

As Itsuki landed, a dark yellow aura erupted around him pulsing, heavy, suffocating.

The light bent behind him, shaping into a massive, spectral tower that loomed over the court. Its shadow swallowed the rim, casting the entire paint in gold-tinted darkness.

His eyes sharpened cold, analytical, unreadable.

"No one passes… my perfect defense."

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