Kaijō vs. Tōō

Kawamura's eyes locked onto Nijimura, a hint of curiosity and confusion flickering in his gaze. "What's up? You know him?" he asked again, his voice carrying a probing tone.

Nijimura's expression showed a subtle trace of admiration. He nodded slightly, his tone firm. "Yeah, he's got skills." Though brief, his words carried a sense of respect for the opponent.

Momoi joined the conversation, her voice lighthearted. "That's right, I looked into him. He should be Yōsen's leading scorer—not bad." Her tone exuded confidence, as if she had already analyzed the competition inside and out.

However, Shiro's tone suddenly turned serious, carrying a note of warning. "The real problem is Murasakibara." His words made it clear that he wasn't underestimating their upcoming opponents.

The rest of the team nodded in agreement, a mix of anticipation and tension in their expressions.

Momoi spoke up again, this time with a composed and analytical tone.

"Yōsen's starting five:

Center – Atsushi Murasakibara, 208 cm (6' 10")

Power Forward – Kenichi Okamura, 200 cm (6' 7")

Small Forward – Wei Liu, 203 cm (6' 8")

Shooting Guard – Tatsuya Himuro, 183 cm (6' 0")

Point Guard – Kensuke Fukui, 176 cm (5' 9")"

"Tall."

That was everyone's first reaction. Seeing a frontcourt filled with guys over two meters tall was intimidating. Height like that was a massive advantage on the court.

All eyes instinctively turned to their own center, Takahashi Ren. At 195cm, the same height as Shiro, he suddenly felt like he was coming up short—literally.

Feeling the weight of everyone's stares, Ren was hit with a sense of helplessness. He knew he'd be at a disadvantage in the paint, but there wasn't much he could do about it.

His expression shifted into a defeated grimace, as if saying, Why am I catching strays? It's not like I chose to be shorter!

Seeing his reaction, the team chuckled, but their smiles quickly faded as the reality of the upcoming matchup sank in. The pressure on the inside was going to be immense.

Just then, Shiro broke the silence. "Relax. I got this." His voice was calm, steady—filled with unshakable confidence.

With that, he picked up a basketball and returned to training. Every shot he took was precise, every move powerful yet fluid.

Watching him, the unease in his teammates' hearts began to fade. With a star player like him leading the charge, they wouldn't back down from anyone.

Fukui's squad wasn't necessarily weaker than Yōsen. Sure, Yōsen had size, but Fukui had their own strengths.

Nijimura, once the top power forward in middle school, should have no trouble handling Okamura.

As for the small forward matchup, Shiro wasn't worried in the slightest.

Point guard Kawamura's offensive skills and basketball IQ were far superior to Yōsen's Fukui.

Then there was the shooting guard battle — Moyun against Himuro. It was hard to say who had the edge, but as long as it wasn't one of the Generation of Miracles, Moyun wouldn't get steamrolled.

That left the center battle, which had everyone's attention.

Once again, all eyes turned to Ren. He knew the gap between himself and Murasakibara was huge. But there wasn't much he could do about it—after all, Murasakibara was one of the Generation of Miracles, the most dominant big man from middle school.

With a sigh, Fukui stopped acknowledging the stares, grabbed a basketball, and jogged off to train.

Kaijō High Gym

Kaijō vs. Tōō Academy was scheduled for the same afternoon as Fukui's showdown with Yōsen. Fukui's game would be in the morning.

Kise looked visibly nervous. After all, his opponent this time wasn't just anyone—it was the one who had inspired him to play basketball in the first place, Aomine.

It was the quarterfinals, and Kise felt more on edge than ever before.

"Kise! Kise!"

A hand suddenly waved in front of his face, snapping him out of his daze.

Slowly, Kise refocused, his eyes following the hand up to its owner—Kasamatsu, whose face carried a mix of exasperation and amusement.

"Senior…" Kise sighed lightly, his tone revealing fatigue and uncertainty. His gaze was unfocused, as if he had just awoken from a deep and distant dream.

Kasamatsu immediately picked up on Kise's unease. Standing beside him, he spoke with a touch of concern. "You're worried about the game, aren't you?"

"A little." Kise let out a small, helpless chuckle, anxiety flickering in his eyes.

"Nothing to be worried about. Just go out there and play your game. You're our ace—you need to have confidence. Aomine is strong, yeah, but you're also part of the Generation of Miracles." Kasamatsu's voice carried unwavering trust.

Then, after a brief pause, he added, "He might seem like an impossible mountain to climb, but at some point, you have to take that first step."

Hearing those words, Kise finally nodded. "Don't worry. I just wasn't mentally ready yet. This is what I've been working towards all along." His voice now held determination.

Satisfied, Kasamatsu nodded. "Good. Just remember—basketball is a team sport. We're here to support each other. If you need anything, don't hesitate to come to me."

Kise glanced at Kasamatsu with gratitude. "Thanks. I'll do my best."

Kasamatsu smiled. "That's the spirit. Now get to it!"

Then, suddenly, his expression shifted. Without warning, he kicked Kise's leg.

"Ow!" Kise yelped, glaring at him. "What was that for?!"

Kasamatsu folded his arms, his expression deadpan. "Because you're still standing here talking instead of training."

Kise was speechless for a moment before protesting, "Weren't you the one who started talking to me?!"

Kasamatsu's brow twitched. This kid really had the guts to talk back? He shot Kise a sharp glare. "You got something else to say? Get moving!"

Seeing the look in his captain's eyes, Kise didn't dare argue. He immediately grabbed a basketball and jogged onto the court.

Still, deep down, he was definitely grumbling about how quickly Kasamatsu could switch moods.

With the weight of the upcoming match pressing down on him, Kise locked in. Every dribble, every shot—he trained with laser focus.

He knew this game wasn't just about winning.

For him, it was personal.