Midorima stood on the sidelines, his sharp gaze locked onto Shiro and Murasakibara on the court.
Seeing the score, Midorima frowned. He noticed that Shiro wasn't going all out—every shot seemed effortless, every move executed with absolute ease.
"Shiro… are you just testing the waters?"
Midorima silently speculated. He knew Shiro's true strength was far beyond what he was showing, yet in today's game, he seemed to be toying with his opponent—every pass, every movement, casual and relaxed.
On the other side, Akashi's piercing gaze dissected every play, analyzing each detail with precision.
Unlike Midorima, Akashi understood Shiro's intentions.
He's assessing Murasakibara's current level of improvement.
"Damn, this is insane!" a young voice from the stands burst out, barely concealing his excitement.
"Yeah! Both teams are evenly matched!" another fan chimed in, full of admiration for the game.
The crowd's enthusiasm surged like a tidal wave, wave after wave of cheers and gasps filling the arena. They erupted at every spectacular moment, roaring at every tense standoff.
This wasn't just a basketball match—it was a spectacle, a battle of skill and will.
A close game was always the most thrilling, and the audience was loving every second of it.
But Shiro wouldn't let the match spiral out of his control.
Standing at half-court, his expression remained calm and unreadable, as if the noise around him didn't exist.
He caught the inbound pass from Kawamura, the ball spinning lightly in his hands as he walked toward the center circle, composed and deliberate with every step.
A murmur spread through the crowd.
Then—Shiro moved.
With a subtle flick of his wrist, the ball soared through the air, tracing a perfect arc toward the basket.
"Oh no!"
The entire Yosen bench, players and coach alike, gasped in unison. They knew exactly what this meant—
A HALF-COURT SHOT.
Murasakibara reacted instantly. The moment Shiro released the ball, he took off from the baseline like a black lightning bolt, moving with unnatural speed for someone his size.
But even with his reach, even with his speed—he was too far. He couldn't make it in time.
Swish!
The ball sailed clean through the net—no rim, no backboard, just pure, effortless precision.
The scoreboard flipped: 25-26.
A single shot, and the momentum of the game shifted.
Shiro's half-court dagger not only put his team ahead—it changed the entire atmosphere of the match. The crowd erupted into a frenzy.
For Yosen's players, a chilling pressure descended upon them.
The opponent's Ace… had just shifted gears.
Shiro turned, locking eyes with Murasakibara. Neither spoke, but their silent exchange carried an unspoken challenge.
The game had only just begun, but their battle was already in full swing.
The court was a blur of movement—players clashing, sneakers screeching, sweat leaving faint marks on the polished wood.
With every possession, the intensity grew. Every turnover, every play had the potential to tip the scales.
Now, it was Yosen's ball.
But what happened next caught everyone off guard.
Shiro switched matchups.
Instead of guarding his usual assignment, he positioned himself right behind Murasakibara, effectively switching onto Yosen's center.
"Hah? Shiro, I'll crush you" Murasakibara taunted, his voice booming across the court.
Feeling underestimated, Murasakibara immediately called for the ball from Fukui, determined to slam it over Shiro.
Fukui didn't hesitate.
This was a gift-wrapped opportunity.
Even though Shiro and Ren, were the same height, Shiro was significantly lighter. There was no way he could stop Murasakibara.
Murasakibara caught the ball, lowering his stance, ready to bulldoze through Shiro with sheer power.
But at that moment, Shiro held his ground, pressing tightly against Murasakibara's back.
A sudden, almost bloodthirsty presence erupted from him, an aura so cold and intense that it sent shivers down the spines of everyone on the court.
Shiro's eyes sharpened, his body coiled with tension—like a predator preparing to pounce on its prey.
Murasakibara felt it.
A flicker of unease rose in his chest, but he quickly shoved it down. There's no way Shiro can stop me.
Yet, this was the first time he had ever come face to face with such primal, untamed power.
For the first time, Murasakibara felt rattled.
Sweat beaded on his forehead. His breathing grew heavier.
A chilling sensation wrapped around him, as if he had been dragged into an abyss, unable to move.
Then—Shiro struck.
Like a flash of lightning, his hand shot out—ripping the ball away from Murasakibara's grasp.
"SMACK!"
The crisp sound echoed across the court, followed by complete silence.
Everyone froze, eyes wide with disbelief.
Shiro had just stripped Murasakibara clean.
The aura around him was overwhelming—wild, untamed, terrifying.
For a moment, it felt as if he had transformed into a beast, ready to tear through anything in his path.
Then—he was gone.
A white blur streaked across the court.
Shiro's movements were fluid, every dribble precise, every step a blend of speed and power.
Murasakibara snapped out of it, gritted his teeth, and chased after him—his frustration burning in his eyes.
But the unleashed Shiro had already hit top speed.
Like a gust of wind, he was untouchable.
"BOOM!"
A thunderous slam rocked the hoop.
The rim shook violently as the ball crashed through the net.
For a split second, it felt like the entire gym trembled from Shiro's dunk.
"SHIROOO!"
Murasakibara's roar erupted through the arena, his massive frame trembling with frustration.
Without hesitation, he sprinted to the baseline, demanding the ball from Fukui.
But Shiro was already there.
The moment Murasakibara caught the ball, Shiro planted himself right behind him—a solid wall blocking his every move.
A pressure unlike anything before weighed down on Murasakibara.
Shiro's defense was relentless.
Every little bump, every subtle movement—it was all getting under his skin.
"Damn it!"
Murasakibara snapped.
Frustrated, he lowered his shoulder and slammed into Shiro, trying to bulldoze through him.
But just as he made contact—
Shiro fell back.
"BEEP!"
Offensive foul!
Turnover—possession goes to Fukui High!
The referee's whistle blew immediately.
Murasakibara stood frozen, stunned.
He had walked right into the trap.
"Shiro!"
His glare burned with anger and disbelief.
But deep down, he realized—Shiro hadn't flopped.
Without dribbling, Murasakibara had leaned too far outside his cylinder and bodied Shiro with excessive force.
It was a textbook charge.
Shiro had baited him perfectly.
Drawing a charge wasn't just about contact—it was about timing, positioning, and understanding the ref's line of sight.
Shiro had mastered all three.
On the sideline, Takao crossed his arms, smirking as he turned to Midorima.
"Damn, that was smart."
Midorima didn't take his eyes off Shiro, a rare note of admiration in his voice.
"Of course. He's a genius, after all."
After all—anyone who could go toe-to-toe with Akashi in shogi…
Was far from ordinary.