Defeat

Throughout the entire second quarter, Shutoku barely managed to get a single lucky shot off, courtesy of Midorima forcing one through. Every other offensive attempt was completely shut down by Shiro.

On defense, they were equally helpless. No matter how many players tried to stop Shiro—even with all five collapsing on him—it made no difference.

Shiro's speed, power, and skill were on full display. He moved like an unstoppable force, completely dominating the court.

By the second half, both Shiro and Midorima had exited their awakened states, but the intensity of the game never let up.

Every play was electric, every possession a battle, keeping the crowd on edge.

When the final buzzer sounded, the scoreboard read 132-95—Fukui crushed Shutoku by 37 points, securing their place in the national quarterfinals.

From the stands, Kise let out a low sigh, his voice tinged with admiration.

"As expected, Shiro still came out on top."

His performance tonight left no room for doubt—he was the undisputed king of the court.

Aomine's voice suddenly cut in, carrying his usual smirk. "Of course. This is Shiro we're talking about. Did you really think Midorima could win?"

Kise turned toward him, shaking his head. "Not really…" He hesitated before adding, "It's just… right now, it really feels like nobody can stop him."

Aomine scoffed, his lips curling into a confident smirk. "Relax. I'll take him down. The only one who can beat me… is me."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Kise standing there, his mind buzzing with anticipation.

Kise quickly called after him, "Oi, Aominecchi! What's that supposed to mean? You still haven't played me yet! Don't act like you've already won!"

Aomine paused, then turned his head just enough to tease, "You? Please. Out of all of us in the Generation of Miracles, you're the weakest."

Kise's eye twitched. He knew that was technically true, but did Aomine have to say it out loud like that?!

Aomine simply chuckled, waving him off before disappearing down the hall.

Meanwhile, over at Seirin's training gym, Riko's voice rang out like a whip.

"Alright, practice is getting doubled!"

The entire team groaned, feeling the weight of their coach's decision settle on their shoulders.

"Coach, even if we train like crazy, how are we supposed to beat Fukui?!"****" One of the first-years, Furihata, hesitated before voicing the doubt lingering in everyone's minds.

The room fell silent.

No one wanted to admit it, but Fukui looked unstoppable. The idea of taking them down seemed… impossible.

But Riko wasn't having it.

"What, you're just gonna quit because they're strong?" Her voice cracked through the air like a thunderclap. "That's not how Seirin does things. If they're that far ahead, we just have to catch up. If they're better, we have to work harder. Sitting around feeling sorry for yourselves isn't gonna change a damn thing!"

She smacked Furihata hard on the back, making him wince. "And for lowering morale, your training is now tripled."

Furihata paled. "Wha—!? Noooo!!" His wails echoed through the gym, but nobody laughed.

Because they knew she was right.

This was what it meant to chase the top.

Riko narrowed her eyes, her fists clenched. "Anyone else got a problem?"

Seirin's players gulped and quickly shook their heads. "Nope! No problems at all, Coach!"

Their voices rang out in unison—not out of fear, but because deep down…

They wanted to win.

Back at the arena, despite the bright lights above, Shutoku's players stood in the shadows of defeat.

Their Inter-High journey had come to an abrupt, crushing end.

The echoes of sneakers squeaking against the hardwood, the distant cheers of the crowd, the referee's final whistle—all the sounds that once fueled their drive now felt strangely distant.

Midorima stood still, eyes closed, silent.

He wasn't just disappointed.

He wasn't just frustrated.

He hated this feeling.

Every shot he took, every defensive stand, every calculated pass… it hadn't been enough.

A pair of footsteps approached.

Shiro stopped beside him, his expression calm—not gloating, not mocking—just sincere.

"You played a great game. But today… I was just a little better."

Midorima let out a quiet chuckle—bitter, but not resentful. He knew Shiro was right.

Lifting his head, he met Shiro's gaze. "Then you better go all the way. If I have to lose, it better be to the champion."

Shiro grinned. "Of course."

He lifted his fist. "Next time, let's go all out again."

Midorima blinked before returning the gesture, their fists colliding in a silent promise. "Next time, I'll be the one winning."

The impact of their knuckles against each other wasn't just a simple gesture.

It was a vow.

Shiro chuckled. "Then you better start training. After all, I haven't even entered the Zone yet."

Midorima's breath hitched.

Not even the Zone?

Shiro turned and walked away, his silhouette stretching long under the arena lights.

Midorima watched him go, fists clenched.

He had no intention of staying second place forever.

This wasn't the end.

It was just the beginning.

Taking a deep breath, he turned back toward his team. They all stood in silence, defeat weighing heavy on their shoulders.

But when he spoke, his voice carried none of the hesitation from before.

"We lost today. But this isn't over." He met each of their eyes, his green irises blazing with renewed determination. "We'll learn from this. We'll grow stronger. And next time… we'll show everyone what Shutoku is truly capable of."

One by one, his teammates straightened their backs.

The fire returned to their eyes.

No one spoke, but they didn't need to.

They walked out of the arena together, heads high—not as losers, but as a team determined to rise again.

Their steps were heavy.

But their resolve had never been stronger.