No Chance (2)

His mind was clouded with anxiety, but there was also a lingering sense of defiance. He knew that if they failed to stop this possession, the game would slip even further out of reach.

After swatting the dunk attempt, Aomine wasted no time. His movements were fluid and effortless, like a dancer gliding across the court. In the blink of an eye, he was already at the three-point line.

Midorima stuck close to him, his gaze sharp and unwavering—he couldn't afford to let his guard down for even a second.

But Aomine didn't go for a flashy move or a sudden iso play. Instead, he casually pulled up from deep and let the ball fly.

Midorima's heart skipped a beat. He wanted to contest the shot, but no matter how fast he reacted, he was still a step behind. That overwhelming feeling of helplessness crept in—he knew he wouldn't be able to stop this one.

Bang!

The ball banked off the glass and swished through the net, the crisp sound cutting through the tense atmosphere.

The scoreboard flashed again — 81-90.

Shutoku's players felt a wave of despair wash over them. They watched Aomine, their emotions a complicated mix of awe and frustration.

The weight of the situation bore down on them. Their scoring drought had stretched over multiple possessions, and the gap was only widening.

"At this rate, Shutoku is getting completely crushed by Aomine alone!"

Kise furrowed his brows, realizing that if things kept going like this, Kaijo would inevitably have to face Too in the tournament.

And against this Aomine — the one who had entered the Zone — even Kise couldn't shake off a growing sense of powerlessness. Looking at Midorima's struggles, he wasn't even sure he could push Aomine to his limits.

"So this is the Zone… damn, he's strong!"

Kagami's eyes burned with a mix of determination and admiration. Even though he knew he couldn't beat Aomine as he was now, it didn't dampen his excitement at the thought of facing such a powerhouse.

"But first, we need to qualify for the round-robin stage. Shutoku might not even make it past this game!"

He clenched his fists. This summer, he had to go to America—he had to train with Alex and level up his game.

Shiro shook his head slightly. He had anticipated this outcome, but watching Midorima and Shutoku struggle like this still left him with a tinge of regret.

"Too strong."

Moyun and Kawamura exchanged bitter smiles. The gap between them and the Generation of Miracles was painfully clear.

Even though Shiro had once said they were stronger than the Uncrowned Kings, against the Generation of Miracles, it hardly seemed to matter. The difference in skill was simply on another level.

The energy on the court stilled for a moment. Aomine's cold, piercing gaze locked onto Midorima, his voice dripping with confidence and challenge:

"Midorima, it's over. There's no way you're coming back from this."

Despite the nine-point deficit and seven to eight minutes left on the clock, Aomine spoke as if victory was already decided.

And for him, it might as well have been. Now that he had unlocked the Zone, beating Shutoku was as easy as breathing.

Otsubo felt the weight of those words, and for a moment, it felt like Aomine had spoken their fate into existence.

Could they really stop him?

Was Midorima completely outmatched?

Shutoku was stuck—they couldn't find a way to score, and their defense was falling apart.

The other Shutoku players felt it too. The overwhelming pressure Aomine exerted on both ends of the court was stifling their spirit. Their intensity had faded, and it seemed like they were on the verge of giving up.

Midorima lowered his head, his expression dark—but his voice was resolute.

"This isn't over."

"As long as we don't give up, there's still a chance."

"What makes you think a measly nine-point lead is enough to make me quit?"

"Even if it were 30 points… 40 points… I would never give up."

His words sent a jolt through every Shutoku player.

Otsubo clenched his fists, shame washing over him.

"Damn it. I'm supposed to be the captain, and I'm the one losing faith?"

Without hesitation, he slapped himself across the face, snapping himself back to reality.

He couldn't let his own resolve waver when his teammates were still fighting.

He turned to look at the others on the court.

One by one, their eyes met.

And one by one, they nodded.

Their ace still believed.

So how could they give up now?

No matter how strong their opponent was, no matter how big the deficit, Shutoku would fight until the final buzzer.