3+1

As Kawamura passed the ball to Shiro, he could feel the subtle friction between the leather and his palm the moment he caught it.

Shiro locked eyes with Midorima and immediately positioned himself in a triple-threat stance, faking a shooting motion.

Midorima barely reacted—his center of gravity shifted slightly, but his body remained like an immovable mountain. He knew better than to bite on Shiro's fake. Any premature movement could become an opening for a drive.

Shiro then pivoted on his left foot, feinting left before exploding into a right-handed drive.

Midorima stuck close, using his body to apply as much defensive pressure as possible.

But Shiro didn't panic. The moment he took his first step, he spun swiftly in the opposite direction, executing a textbook quick spin move to his right.

The speed and precision of the spin were devastating—Midorima was caught completely off guard.

However, as a top-tier player, Midorima's reaction time was elite. He adjusted instantly, turning his body as fast as possible to stay in front.

But just as Midorima completed his rotation, Shiro initiated contact, lowering his shoulder slightly to create separation.

Midorima, whose physicality wasn't his strongest suit, staggered back from the impact.

Sensing the open space, Shiro wasted no time. He immediately transitioned into a fadeaway jumper, maximizing his separation.

Yet, Midorima's animal instinct was fully unleashed. He sprang forward with explosive force, closing the gap once more.

Despite Midorima's efforts, the spacing was already set—he was just a fraction too late. Even if his outstretched hand obstructed Shiro's vision, it made no real difference.

The ball soared high in a smooth arc.

Swish!

The net snapped crisply as the shot found home.

But Midorima wasn't fazed. There was no frustration on his face, only an even stronger determination. If he couldn't stop Shiro, then Shiro wouldn't be able to stop him either.

On the next possession, Takao dribbled up the court and lobbed a perfectly timed pass into Midorima's hands.

Takao didn't stop there—he quickly moved in to set a solid screen on Shiro, creating just enough space for Midorima.

Recognizing the play, Shiro spun quickly to avoid the screen, but that fraction of a second was all Midorima needed.

Midorima wasted no time. The moment he caught the ball, he rose up for a three-pointer.

Shiro recovered fast, leaping with incredible speed in an attempt to contest the shot.

But he was just a split second too late.

He could only watch as the ball arced beautifully through the air before sinking cleanly into the net.

Swish!

A perfect three-pointer. Midorima had answered Shiro's shot with one of his own.

Score: 42-38.

Though Shiro could go toe-to-toe with Midorima, there was a key difference. In a standard game scenario, Shiro's three-point game required more effort.

Midorima, on the other hand, could keep firing from deep at an absurdly consistent rate, rapidly closing the gap.

"Watch out!" Kawamura's sharp warning cut through the tense atmosphere.

Shiro, stationed near the midcourt, instinctively scanned the floor for Midorima.

The pass had gone to Moyun, who had turned to receive the ball without a hint of hesitation.

But lurking in the shadows like a coiled viper, Midorima was waiting.

Smack!

With perfect timing, Midorima stripped the ball away in one clean swipe.

Moyun's face flashed with shock—he hadn't expected Midorima to be this quick!

As he reached to recover, he realized it was already too late. Midorima, now fully in rhythm, had seized complete control of the ball.

With a quick retreat dribble, Midorima stepped back behind the three-point line.

Moyun, realizing his mistake, desperately rushed forward to contest.

For a split second, it seemed like he might actually block it—his hand was closing in on the ball.

But then he noticed something.

Midorima wasn't shooting.

It was a bait.

His eyes sharpened as he took the contact head-on—drawing the foul in the process.

Moyun's heart sank. He had fallen into a perfect trap.

Beep!

The referee's call was immediate.

All eyes locked onto the ball as it sailed through the air in a high, effortless arc.

Swish!

Nothing but net.

"Basket counts! And one!" The referee's authoritative voice echoed across the gym.

The crowd erupted.

"Damn! That was cold!"

"No way—he actually pulled off a 4-point play?!"

The energy in the arena reached a fever pitch.

Midorima remained stone-faced as he stepped to the free-throw line.

One last shot.

No hesitation.

Swish!

Perfect execution.

Score: 42-42.

Moyun lowered his head slightly, a mix of frustration and regret written all over his face. His lapse in judgment had allowed Shūtoku to tie the game.

"Alright" Shiro exhaled, stepping forward with renewed focus.

"Leave the rest to me."