End of the First Quarter

Midorima jumped up for the block, but he was a step too late.

Swish! A smooth mid-range jumper found the net.

The score was now 9-4. Midorima frowned but said nothing, simply acknowledging the skill of the young player before him.

The entire Shūtoku team was momentarily stunned. They hadn't expected a non-Generation of Miracles player to break through Midorima's defense.

If it were a different position, it might have been easier to accept. But this was a shooting guard, just like Midorima. Everyone took a fresh look at Moyun, realizing that this new addition to Fukui High's basketball team was far from ordinary.

Only Moyun himself knew the truth—his last shot had been pure luck.

Even though Midorima had jumped late, his incredible reach and reaction speed had almost resulted in a block right in Moyun's face.

Fortunately, Moyun had found his shooting touch early, managing to sink the shot despite the heavy contest.

"Not bad, kid!" Kawamura clapped Moyun on the shoulder in appreciation.

Moyun could only smile wryly and quickly refocused on defense.

Takao dribbled up the court, and Midorima immediately called for the ball. Getting scored on just now meant only one thing — he was going to get those points back.

Takao had no hesitation. He trusted Midorima's ability. The ball arced through the air, landing perfectly in Midorima's hands.

Standing a full three steps beyond the arc, Midorima was met with tight pressure from Moyun.

Moyun was willing to concede a two-pointer, but he wasn't about to let Midorima get a clean three. Midorima's shooting ability was legendary in Japanese high school basketball. Moyun knew that if Midorima found his rhythm, the entire game's momentum could shift in an instant.

Midorima felt the intense defensive pressure, but his expression remained unreadable.

Without hesitation, he put the ball on the floor, his movement sharp and controlled. A single bump sent Moyun stumbling back slightly, as Midorima used both strength and technique to carve out space.

Ignoring Moyun's attempt to recover, Midorima pulled up with a picture-perfect jump shot.

His form was flawless, his wrist snapping effortlessly as the ball left his fingertips, soaring toward the hoop.

Swish! The net rippled beautifully, and the score shifted again—9-7.

Moyun could only sigh. He had to admit that Midorima's athletic ability was on a different level compared to most players.

With his height, wingspan, and elite shooting mechanics, Midorima had an undeniable advantage.

The rest of the first quarter played out as a strategic feeling-out process. Neither Shiro nor Midorima fully engaged offensively, both teams still holding their cards close.

Fukui had a minor weakness at center, but with Midorima not taking full control, Shūtoku couldn't fully capitalize.

Fukui, on the other hand, had multiple scoring options. Their offense was fluid and hard to contain, while their defense managed to put enough pressure on Shūtoku's key players.

BEEP!

The referee's whistle marked the end of the first quarter.

The score: 35-26, Fukui in the lead.

Fukui Bench

"That was tough!" Moyun gasped, chugging water. Sweat dripped from his forehead and neck as he reflected on Midorima's suffocating defense. He knew that to win, he needed to find a weakness in Midorima's game.

The others weren't nearly as exhausted. Their matchups weren't as demanding as Moyun's intense one-on-one battle with Midorima.

"Relax" Nijimura said with a smirk, patting Moyun on the back. "Shūtoku only has one guy we need to focus on. As long as we execute our game plan, Shiro will handle the rest."

Shiro shook his head with a helpless smile. Nijimura wasn't wrong.

As the team's ace, Shiro knew that no matter how the game unfolded, the final responsibility would fall on him. Whether Fukui won or lost, he would have to step up.

"Stay sharp" Miyamoto said, his voice echoing in the locker room. His expression was serious, eyes burning with the hunger for victory.

"This is single elimination. If we lose, we're going home. Play like it."

Fukui had fought hard to reach this level, and Miyamoto wasn't about to let them go down without a fight.

Ever since Shiro joined the team, Fukui had undergone a transformation.

For the first time, they felt the real possibility of a championship.

Now, they had only one goal—winning it all.

Shūtoku Bench

Midorima's gaze cut through the noise of the stadium, landing on the Fukui bench.

There, Shiro was casually chatting with his teammates, looking completely relaxed.

Midorima's face darkened.

Even though Shiro hadn't taken many shots, his presence alone had already put Shūtoku under immense pressure.

"This gap is wider than I thought…" Midorima thought to himself.

Shūtoku's starting lineup was strong, but compared to Fukui, they were struggling to keep up.

By the end of the first quarter, they were already trailing by 9 points.

That number weighed heavily on every player's mind.

Midorima knew that as the team's leader, the responsibility to turn things around fell on him.

He glanced at his teammates.

Fatigue was starting to show on their faces. They were excellent players, but Fukui's multi-pronged attack had put them in a tough spot.

"Sigh… this is exhausting" Takao muttered, breaking the tense silence. His tone was lighthearted, but everyone could feel the underlying frustration.

Shūtoku had come into this game expecting a battle, but Fukui's depth was proving to be a bigger problem than anticipated.

Particularly for Otsubo, their center. He found himself constantly struggling against double teams and weak-side help, limiting his effectiveness in the paint. Even when he kicked the ball out, Fukui's defensive rotations were so fast that Shūtoku couldn't get many clean looks.

"We're adjusting the game plan."

Shūtoku's coach, Nakatani, finally spoke up. His voice was calm but firm.

"Midorima is taking over in the second quarter. Everyone else, play through him."

It was time for their ace to start dictating the game.