Evenly Matched

Aomine's heart pounded in his chest as his eyes locked onto Midorima's movements, shock and disbelief filling his mind. "This… this fadeaway—how is it so much deeper than before?!"

Midorima's form was smooth and elegant, like a choreographed dance. His body leaned back at a perfect 60-degree angle, executing a textbook fadeaway jump shot that was nearly impossible to contest.

Although it wasn't as extreme as Aomine's signature near-horizontal fadeaway, the sheer elevation of this shot left Aomine with no chance to block Midorima's three-pointer.

The basketball traced a flawless arc through the air and, with a swish, cleanly passed through the net. In that instant, the entire court seemed to freeze—only the gentle sway of the net and the gasps of the crowd remained.

The scoreboard flickered: 56-67. The gap was still 11 points.

"This guy is something else" Aomine muttered under his breath, eyes fixed on Midorima. With his animal instinct, Midorima's skill had skyrocketed, and for the first time, Aomine wondered if he could actually shut him down.

Like a bolt of lightning, Aomine seized the ball from Imayoshi's hands. He moved as if fused with the ball itself, instantly exploding toward the frontcourt.

Faced with Midorima's tight defense, Aomine showed no hesitation, no fear. His body flowed like water—several sharp crossovers later, he had already broken past Midorima, creating an open lane to attack.

Just as Midorima lunged to recover, Aomine spun sharply—and in the next moment, he unleashed a move that stunned everyone on the court: a one-handed tomahawk dunk.

Before his spin even fully completed, he gripped the ball tightly in his right hand, soared high into the air, and hammered it through the hoop with a devastating slam.

"That unorthodox shot selection is insane!" Kise couldn't help but exclaim from the sidelines. Aomine's playstyle was completely freeform—his off-balance, non-traditional shot-making made him one of the hardest players to guard.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk… If I went one-on-one against him now, I'd get destroyed" Kagami thought to himself. In his mind, he ran through the scenario of facing Aomine.

Aside from a slight edge in vertical leap, he realized Aomine had him beaten in every other aspect.

After Aomine's dunk, Takao's eyes lit up as he spotted Midorima's position. Wasting no time, he sprinted to the baseline and heaved a full-court pass with all his strength—the ball cut through the air like an arrow.

"No way—don't let them get this off!" Imayoshi was the first to react, shouting to his teammates.

The moment he heard Imayoshi's warning, Aomine's instincts kicked in. His legs coiled like springs, and an instant later, he exploded forward, his speed leaving an afterimage across the court.

But Midorima was already in position, standing three steps behind the arc. He caught the ball cleanly, bent his knees, and raised his elbow and wrist into his signature high-set shooting form.

A sudden gust of wind brushed past him. Midorima's pupils shrank—he could feel Aomine closing in.

"He's so fast!" The entire arena shared the same thought. Though he had started far behind, Aomine was already at Midorima's side in the blink of an eye.

Aomine's raw speed put immense pressure on Midorima.

As Midorima began his shooting motion, Aomine leaped, fully extending to block the shot.

But—pump fake.

Midorima abruptly halted mid-motion, throwing off Aomine's timing.

Calmly, Midorima watched Aomine fly past, his eyes flashing with quiet determination. "I knew you'd get here." His voice was steady.

And then, in front of everyone's eyes, as Aomine descended—Midorima jumped.

Mid-air collision.

Their bodies clashed in the air, disrupting Midorima's shooting rhythm. But his focus never left the basket.

This was a shot he rarely took—a contested, high-risk three—but for the sake of the team, he was willing to gamble.

"BEEP!"

The referee's whistle cut through the tense silence.

Time seemed to freeze.

Hanging in the air, Midorima completed his fadeaway three-pointer and released the ball.

Aomine's defensive rhythm had already been thrown off by the mid-air collision with Midorima, causing his block attempt to fail.

"Swish!"

The ball traced a beautiful arc through the air and dropped cleanly through the net.

"That's some modern-day Curry sh*t!"

"No way—this is insane!"

The entire arena erupted in chaos after Midorima's fouled deep three-pointer found its mark.

The crowd roared in disbelief and admiration, fans rising to their feet as they cheered. Midorima had just hit an and-one logo three, and the sheer difficulty of the shot left everyone in awe.

Imayoshi narrowed his eyes, a wry smile forming as sweat trickled down his forehead. "Monsters… The Generation of Miracles really are absolute monsters."

"Basket counts! And one!" The referee's voice rang out, adding even more tension to the electrifying atmosphere.

Aomine's expression darkened slightly, his mind replaying the last defensive possession. At the same time, a sense of clarity began to settle in—he couldn't afford any more mistakes.

"Swish!"

Midorima, emotionless as ever, sank the free throw with his usual precision. No hesitation. No doubt.

Score: 60-69.

The lead was now in single digits.

With that single shift in numbers, everyone realized—this game was far from over.

What had seemed like a dominant advantage for Too Academy was now in question. Midorima's resurgence had single-handedly closed the gap, turning the game into an absolute thriller.

The crowd held its breath, anticipation thick in the air.

But as the third quarter continued, the battle between Midorima and Aomine only intensified.

Midorima had no answer for Aomine's lightning-fast drives, just as Aomine couldn't stop Midorima's deadeye three-point shooting.

Every possession felt like an artful dance—two players operating at their absolute peak, each showcasing their own brand of dominance.

Aomine's drives were a spectacle. His blend of speed and power made him nearly unstoppable at the rim. Every time he attacked, it was an explosion—pure athleticism, brute force, and silky finesse rolled into one.

Each bucket he scored felt like a statement—a declaration of his dominance. His offense was relentless, like a raging storm, impossible to contain.

Midorima, on the other hand, was a sniper. His three-pointers were daggers, each one slicing straight into the heart of the opposition.

Every time he let one fly, the crowd erupted. And every time the ball splashed through the net, the scoreboard continued to tighten.

But the math was simple—Midorima was drilling threes, while Aomine was putting up twos.

Slowly but surely, the gap kept closing.

This back-and-forth shootout had turned into the ultimate duel—one that made the outcome of the game completely unpredictable.

Each offensive and defensive possession was a chess match filled with endless possibilities.

The crowd fed off the intensity, their cheers and chants growing louder with every highlight-worthy play.

"BEEP! End of the third quarter! Two-minute break!"

The referee's whistle signaled the end of the quarter.

Just before the buzzer, Midorima launched a deep buzzer-beating three—and as if scripted, the ball arced perfectly through the air and swished cleanly through the net.

Score: 81-83.

The gap had now shrunk to just two points.

With the fourth quarter looming, the tension skyrocketed.

Both teams retreated to their benches, using the short break to regroup. They knew—every second of the final quarter would determine the fate of this game.