The Real Showdown Begins

Kise stood on the sidelines, his brows furrowed as he let out a small sigh. "Tsk, tsk, tsk… This is looking rough for Shūtoku."

Standing beside him, Aomine kept his gaze locked on the court. Hearing Kise's remark, he gave a slight nod in agreement. "Yeah. Three positions are completely outmatched, and the only advantage they have is at center. Plus, Midorima hasn't even started shooting yet."

Kasamatsu joined the conversation, his voice carrying a serious tone. "At this point, Shūtoku can only hope their ace steps up."

Their eyes shifted back to the court as the second quarter was about to begin.

BEEP!

The referee's whistle cut through the tense atmosphere of the gym like a battle horn. All eyes focused on the court, as the showdown between Shūtoku and Fukui took center stage once again.

The intensity immediately surged as players took their positions, bracing themselves for the next round of competition.

Shūtoku had possession to start the second quarter, with Takao dribbling up the court.

Kawamura took a step back on defense, deliberately giving Takao an open look—a blatant sign of disrespect, challenging his shooting ability.

Anyone with a keen eye could tell that Takao wasn't a reliable three-point shooter.

Takao's expression darkened slightly, but he didn't take the bait. Three-point shooting had never been his strong suit, and it was clear that Fukui had done their homework.

As he moved the ball up, Takao searched for an opening, but Kawamura's defense was suffocating.

Unlike Aomine, Takao lacked the speed to blow past defenders, nor did he have enough space to make a clean move. Left with no better option, he decided to pass.

The ball traced a perfect arc through the air, landing precisely in Midorima's hands.

The moment he caught it, his eyes flashed with cold determination—this was Shūtoku's chance to close the gap.

With his towering frame, Midorima had a clear advantage over Moyun. Calm and composed, he took a jab step, forcing Moyun to react by taking a step back to maintain his defensive stance.

Midorima didn't hesitate. Rising straight up, he executed a textbook jump shot, his form as precise as a well-calibrated machine.

Moyun leaped to contest, closing in as fast as he could, but it was pointless. Midorima's release was flawless — there was no room for disruption.

Swish!

The net snapped crisply as the ball sailed through, a perfect three-pointer.

The scoreboard updated instantly—35-29. Shūtoku had cut the lead to just two possessions.

Kawamura pushed the ball past half-court, stepping just beyond the three-point line.

Takao stayed glued to him this time, practically breathing down his neck.

After learning his lesson in the first quarter, Takao wasn't about to give Kawamura an inch of space. He knew that if he allowed an easy three, Midorima's effort would be wasted.

His body tensed, fully locked in on Kawamura's every movement.

Kawamura dribbled with a steady rhythm, scanning the court for an opportunity.

Finally, he looked toward Moyun and called for a screen.

Moyun responded instantly, stepping up to set the pick, creating an opening for Kawamura.

Takao's sharp eyes caught the play unfolding—his Hawk Eye vision allowed him to track every movement.

As Moyun positioned himself, Takao prepared to fight over the screen, but Moyun's size was an issue. He planted his feet and completely blocked Takao's path.

Midorima observed the situation unfolding and knew there was no choice—he had to switch. His gaze flickered toward Takao.

Could Takao really guard Moyun?

Midorima wasn't sure.

Moyun established position in the post, signaling for the ball. Kawamura understood the play immediately—this was the perfect chance for a one-on-one mismatch.

Without hesitation, he lobbed the ball high.

Smack!

Midorima leaped at the perfect moment, intercepting the pass mid-air.

He had read Kawamura's tendencies—after studying the first quarter, he knew Kawamura rarely made bounce passes in pick-and-roll situations.

Kawamura's eyes widened in shock—he hadn't expected Midorima's vertical leap to be this good. While not on the level of players like Shiro, it was more than enough to snatch the pass away.

Landing with the ball, Midorima made a split-second decision. Instead of pushing for a fast break, he steadied himself and immediately rose for a deep three-pointer.

"What a steal!" The commentator's voice boomed through the arena speakers, sending waves of excitement through the crowd.

"Is he really about to take one of his signature long-range shots?"

The audience buzzed with anticipation, eyes locked onto Midorima.

He jumped, his shooting motion as polished as ever, the ball leaving his fingertips in a perfect arc.

Smack!

Just then, a massive hand swatted the ball away.

Midorima's pupils shrank in shock.

'Shiro?!'

Sure enough, Shiro had anticipated this exact move.

He knew Midorima would attempt a transition three after a steal—it was his go-to move.

With blistering speed, Shiro had closed the distance, rising up with perfect timing to deliver a thunderous block. The ball ricocheted out of bounds.

"What the—?!"

"No way! Did you see that reaction time?!"

Gasps and shouts filled the gym as the crowd erupted in disbelief. Shiro's speed and reflexes were simply unreal.

As he landed, a faint smile played on Shiro's lips. He met Midorima's gaze—silent, but the message was clear.

It was both a warning and a challenge.

"Don't get carried away."

Midorima's grip on the ball tightened, his eyes burning with defiance.

The two locked eyes, the intensity between them crackling like static electricity.

This was just the beginning.

The referee's whistle blew once again—game on.