Rakuzan High School
A young man with striking red hair stood on the court, a faint smile playing on his lips. He wasn't the tallest player, but his presence alone was enough to command absolute respect.
What stood out the most were his eerie crimson eyes—deep, mysterious, and seemingly capable of reading every move his opponent made. A single glance was enough to send chills down the spine.
With effortless precision, Akashi weaved past three defenders. Though they were some of the best players on the team, against him, they looked helpless—like rookies going up against a seasoned pro.
One of the players who had just been shaken off got back on his feet. It was Reo Mibuchi, a sharpshooter renowned for his lethal three-point range, known as the Yasha—one of the Uncrowned Kings.
Brushing the dust off his uniform, Mibuchi let out a sigh, looking at Akashi with a mix of frustration and admiration.
"Sei, you really are on another level."
His mind drifted back to the past—back when they were rivals, constantly battling on the court, pushing each other to their limits. And now, somehow, Akashi was his teammate. The shift still felt surreal, but one thing was certain—with Akashi leading them, Rakuzan was stronger than ever.
Eikichi Nebuya, the team's powerhouse center, dusted himself off as well. He had the height, the reach, and the brute strength, but even he couldn't stop Akashi from leaving him in the dust. The experience left a sour taste in his mouth.
Beside him, Kotarō Hayama clicked his tongue. He shared the same thought as Nebuya—Akashi was simply on another level. As a natural-born scorer, Hayama prided himself on his ability to break through defenses, but against Akashi, it was like trying to score against an impenetrable wall.
"It's not a big deal, I'm not that strong. There are still players better than me" Akashi said with his usual calm demeanor. His words were humble, but the sharp gleam in his crimson eyes told a different story.
The moment he said that, the three players instantly thought of him—Shiro.
A legend in middle school basketball. The undisputed No. 1 player of his generation. The name alone carried weight, and now, he was leading Fukui High in this tournament. If there was anyone who could challenge Akashi, it was him.
Noticing their hesitation, Akashi chuckled softly. His voice was steady, filled with unwavering confidence.
"Relax. As long as I'm here, we won't lose to Fukui High."
His words carried a quiet power, instantly easing the tension among his teammates. They had all seen what Akashi was capable of. No matter how strong Shiro was, Akashi was not someone to be underestimated.
They believed in him.
Two Days Later
The Fukui High basketball team sat inside their team bus, rolling through the bustling streets of Tokyo.
The moment they arrived at Tokyo Dome, an overwhelming sense of awe filled the air. Even for players who had experienced countless high-stakes games, this was something else.
The atmosphere in the bus shifted from relaxed to tense as they stared out the windows. The entrance was packed—a sea of spectators and reporters blocking the way.
"Damn… how many people even showed up?" Kawamura muttered, his voice reflecting the shock everyone felt.
Tokyo Dome—one of the largest arenas in Japan, with a seating capacity of 55,000. Home to the Yomiuri Giants, Japan's most famous baseball team, but today, it was the battleground for the nation's most anticipated basketball matchups.
The stadium's exterior gleamed under the sunlight, a monument to sports history and legendary performances.
"Compared to our last game, this is a whole different level" Moyun murmured, his eyes scanning the arena's massive structure.
As the bus came to a halt, the doors swung open, and instantly, a wave of heat and noise crashed into them.
A swarm of reporters flooded toward them, cameras flashing, microphones extended like weapons in the chaos.
The relentless flashing of cameras and the overlapping sounds of shutters and questions created a chaotic storm, pressing down on the players of Fukui High like never before.
"Shiro! Shiro! What are your thoughts on today's game?" a reporter shouted above the noise, his voice cutting through the clamor like a buzzer at the end of a quarter.
"Shiro! How do you plan to go up against your former teammate, Murasakibara?" another journalist quickly followed up, going straight for the biggest storyline of the matchup.
The press wasn't going to waste this golden opportunity. For them, this interview could make or break their paychecks for the month.
Their questions kept coming, wave after wave, like a relentless full-court press, giving Shiro and his teammates no room to breathe.
"This is insane..." Kawamura muttered with a nervous chuckle, feeling an overwhelming sense of pressure. The media presence was unlike anything they had faced before—it was messing with their mindset.
Miyamoto shook his head, knowing this wasn't like their last game. Sure, there had been reporters then too, but nowhere near as many as today. There was no easy way to brush them off this time.
"Alright, let's go. We'll have to face them sooner or later" Shiro sighed, his voice steady but firm.
The moment they stepped off the bus, the reporters swarmed them like a fast break in transition. There was no way out.
Standing at the front, Shiro took a deep breath before stepping forward to face the press.
20 Minutes Later – Tokyo Dome Locker Room
By the time Fukui High's players finally entered the Tokyo Dome, they looked drained.
The roaring noise of the arena faded behind them as they trudged into the locker room, their steps heavy with exhaustion.
The media had been relentless—like a swarm of tireless bees, buzzing around them, determined to squeeze out every last bit of energy before the game even began.
"That was brutal..."
That thought echoed in every player's mind. All they wanted was a quiet corner to catch their breath, but on the eve of such a high-stakes game, even a moment of peace felt like a luxury.
Shiro, at least, had managed to handle the press better than most. He was a master at dodging questions, giving vague, playful answers that left reporters grasping at straws.
When asked about his confidence in today's game, he casually replied, "Well, the meat buns I had today were pretty good."
For a moment, the reporters were completely speechless.
As time went on, the journalists caught onto Shiro's strategy and shifted their attention to the rest of the team, bombarding them instead.
Standing in the center of the locker room, Miyamoto tried to rally the squad. His voice was strong, but the fatigue in his tone was unmistakable.
"Come on, guys, snap out of it. We're up against a serious opponent today!"
His words were meant to be a wake-up call, a shot of adrenaline before tip-off. But even he sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
Nijimura leaned against the wall, letting out a sigh. "Coach, you know how ruthless these reporters are. Let's just take a moment to breathe first."
His voice carried a sense of resignation. Even a seasoned coach would struggle under this kind of media assault.
Shiro shook his head, making a mental note—next time, they needed to park farther away and sneak into the arena unnoticed. His eyes scanned the locker room. His teammates were worn out, but he knew they couldn't let this affect them.
Meanwhile, Momoi sat nearby, smiling to herself.
Most of the questions directed at her had been about her relationship with Shiro. It was funny, a little embarrassing, but also kind of sweet.
If nothing else, it showed that people believed in them—not just as players, but as a duo. That quiet sense of validation lightened her mood, even in the middle of all the pre-game chaos.