...

As Shiro and his group stepped into the gymnasium, they were stunned by the sheer size of the crowd.

The entire stadium was buzzing with excitement—fans eagerly waiting for the showdown to begin.

Kawamura couldn't hide his enthusiasm. "Man, the moment we hit the round-robin stage, the crowd really steps up, huh?" His voice was filled with anticipation.

Nijimura, always the calm and collected one, gave a small nod. "It's not just because it's the round-robin stage. This is a battle between the Generation of Miracles. Of course, it's gonna draw in the crowd."

Inside Tōō Academy's Locker Room

Imayoshi squinted, scanning each of his teammates, carefully observing their expressions and body language. It was like he was trying to read their minds.

His gaze eventually landed on an empty locker, and his brows furrowed. "Where's Aomine? He's still not here?"

Wakamatsu's frustration was evident as he clenched the towel in his hands. "That idiot! I've called him a dozen times, and he's not picking up!"

Sakurai quickly stepped forward, his face full of guilt. He bowed repeatedly as if trying to take responsibility. "I'm so sorry, it's my fault… Aomine said he was too hyped last night and overslept… but he's on his way now!"

Just as he finished speaking, the locker room door slammed open with a loud BANG. A familiar figure strode in, his messy navy-blue hair unmistakable. Aomine wore his usual cocky grin, his excitement radiating off him.

"Finally" Imayoshi exhaled in relief. He knew that without Aomine, their team would be in serious trouble. After all, their opponents had one of the best sharpshooters among the Generation of Miracles.

Aomine's arrival injected new energy into the room. His eyes gleamed with confidence as he laughed. "I could hear you guys talking about me from outside."

Wakamatsu clicked his tongue, still irritated. "Tch, could you, for once, show up on time? Do you even realize how tough the other team is?"

Unlike before, Aomine wasn't as reckless and unmotivated. Ever since he started showing up to practice, the team's attitude toward him had softened.

But Aomine just smirked, slapping Wakamatsu's shoulder. His eyes burned with determination, and his signature grin widened. "Relax. We're not losing this. The only one who can beat me… is me."

His words oozed confidence — like he had already seen how this game would end.

The team felt reassured. Everyone knew Aomine's skills, and if he was locked in, their chances of winning skyrocketed. His presence alone boosted morale, and their fighting spirit soared.

Meanwhile, in Shūtoku's Locker Room

The atmosphere inside was tense.

Coach Nakatani stood in front of the team, his expression sharp and serious. His voice was steady, yet each word carried undeniable weight.

"Everyone, stay focused."

His words were like fuel to the fire, igniting the team's determination.

Midorima sat quietly, listening. His emerald-green eyes were filled with unwavering focus. Every player in the room understood what this game meant. There was no room for mistakes.

"You need to understand — only three teams will make it to Nationals. If you want that spot, you need to play like this is your last game. Win. No excuses." Nakatani's voice echoed through the locker room.

Midorima turned, his gaze falling on a pair of wired earphones sitting on the bench beside him—his lucky item for the day.

His grip tightened. This game wasn't just important — it was everything.

"This morning's horoscope ranked Cancers second… and you, Virgo, are ranked fifth," Midorima muttered, adjusting his glasses. "You know what that means? It means today's victory belongs to me."

...

Entering the Court

"They're here! It's Shūtoku and Tōō!"

As the teams walked onto the court, the crowd erupted in cheers, the energy reaching its peak.

Aomine and Midorima locked eyes across the hardwood. Neither backed down —both ready for the inevitable clash.

Aomine casually walked over, flashing his usual smirk. "Long time no see, Midorima."

Midorima nodded slightly, his gaze unwavering. "Yeah, it's been a while, Aomine."

Though their words were polite, the fire in their eyes told a different story.

Aomine chuckled, hands on his hips. His tone was playful, but his confidence was absolute. "Let me remind you—no one can beat me. Not even Shiro. And definitely not you."

Midorima pushed his glasses up, completely unfazed. "You won't win."

The tension crackled in the air.

Up in the stands, the crowd could feel the electricity between them. Excited murmurs spread through the audience, their eyes glued to the two former teammates.

Nijimura smirked, watching the exchange. "Hah, this should be interesting. The best shooter from middle school versus the best power forward. What do you guys think?" His tone was playful, but there was genuine curiosity behind it.

"Hard to say" Shiro mused, shaking his head. "They don't even play the same position. We'll just have to see how it plays out."

The anticipation in the arena was at its peak.

All eyes were on the court.

The game was about to begin.