"We're going to win! We're going to win!!!"

Taoka Moichi clenched his fists, his shoulders trembling with excitement, and the veins on his forehead pulsed.

He stepped forward half a pace, almost on the sideline, his hoarse roar tearing a hole in the roaring stadium.

On the court, Maki Shinichi's eyes blazed as if they would burn through his jersey, but when they met Sendoh Akira's calm smile, they inexplicably faltered for a moment.

No one understood Taoka Moichi's persistence better than Sendoh Akira.

It was a deep-seated desire to "defeat Hainan" and "surpass Takato Riki," hidden behind rigorous training plans and countless shouts of "Run for me!"

"I must make this shot!" Maki Shinichi gritted his teeth, his molars almost grinding to dust, the force of his dribble making the basketball thump dully on the floor, like a war drum beating.

The same thought revolved repeatedly in his mind: "This Sendoh Akira is completely different from last year's Prefectural Tournament.

Back then, he was just a player with potential.

No, I admit that last year's Sendoh Akira was at a near-top-tier level in high school basketball.

But why?

Why can he push me to this point now?

What allowed him to make such a leap?

Damn it! Damn it!

I can't lose! Hainan can't lose!!!"

The moment the roar erupted in his throat, Maki Shinichi suddenly accelerated.

The basketball traced a blur of afterimages on his fingertips, his crossover change of direction so fast that its trajectory was unclear, and his body shot towards the restricted area like a cannonball.

"He's through!" Kiyota Nobunaga on the sidelines suddenly jumped up, waving the towel in his hand like a flag. "The captain's going to score!"

But Sendoh Akira's figure was like a reef that had anticipated the trajectory, suddenly moving sideways as Maki Shinichi took his third step.

"I won't lose!" Maki Shinichi seemed to go all out, suddenly leaping from the ground, his body tensing in the air like a fully drawn bow, his right hand raising the basketball over his head, bringing with it the sound of tearing air, and smashing it fiercely towards the hoop—it was a powerful, thunderous dunk!

"Heh, a dunk from this position? A Mu, you underestimate Sendoh Akira too much." Taoka Moichi snorted coldly, his voice filled with barely suppressed excitement.

Almost at the same moment Maki Shinichi took flight, Sendoh Akira moved too.

He didn't retreat; instead, he leaped into the air, meeting the impact, his long arm stretching out like an iron gate between the hoop and Maki Shinichi.

The timing of his jump and the height of his arm were as precise as if measured with a ruler.

"Swat!"

A crisp, loud collision sound, like a sudden thunderclap.

Sendoh Akira's palm solidly slapped the basketball, the immense force instantly distorting Maki Shinichi's dunking motion.

The basketball flew out of his hand, hit the side of the backboard, and bounced towards the backcourt.

A huge block!

The entire gymnasium seemed to have been put on mute, and a few seconds later, the cheers from the Ryonan bench almost blew the roof off.

"Beautiful! Sendoh Akira!"

"Well done! That block was so cool!"

Sendoh Akira landed steadily, then turned to look in Gu Jin's direction. This time he didn't lift his chin, just raised an eyebrow, the smile in his eyes brighter than before.

Gu Jin leaned against the railing, mouthing a silent message to him: Keep going.

Takato Riki's thermos cup clanged against the stadium steps, splashing a few drops of dark liquid, but he didn't notice, his eyes fixed on the increasingly effortless figure on the court.

Maki Shinichi stood still, stumbling slightly as he landed before regaining his balance.

He looked down at his numb right hand; the force of that block still seemed to linger in his palm, making his fingertips tremble.

He looked up, and his gaze towards Sendoh Akira had completely changed.

It no longer held just anger and unwillingness, but more of a thoroughly ignited, almost frantic fighting spirit.

"Good... very good..." Maki Shinichi said in a low voice, his breath heavy, yet his words were unusually clear. "Sendoh Akira, you've successfully angered me."

Sendoh Akira clapped the dust off his hands, a smile curving his lips: "Then show me what you've really got."

The referee blew the whistle; Maki Shinichi's 24-second shot clock violation meant the ball possession returned to Sendoh Akira.

The moment Sendoh Akira advanced with the ball, Maki Shinichi's defensive intensity suddenly increased by a notch, even his breathing carried a sense of pressure.

But Sendoh Akira's rhythm became even steadier.

His dribble amplitude wasn't large, but he always managed to change trajectory just before Maki Shinichi reached out to steal, his footwork like he was treading an invisible rhythm, moving around outside the three-point line.

Suddenly, he accelerated for a breakthrough, his left shoulder dropping slightly, as if to replicate his earlier left-side cut.

Maki Shinichi immediately moved sideways to block, but then saw Sendoh Akira flick his wrist, and the basketball passed under A Mu's armpit.

"Swish!"

The ball went in. 4:0.

Taoka Moichi's excitement made the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes stretch open, and he repeatedly muttered: "Yes! Just like that! Attack his weak point! Maintain this rhythm! We'll win! We'll definitely win!"

Maki Shinichi picked up the ball from the floor, his fingertips white from gripping it tightly.

He looked at the scoreboard, then at the always composed Sendoh Akira, and for the first time truly felt—perhaps, this game was really going to be different.

But he didn't give up; instead, he bent down and tightened his shoelaces, tying them two knots tighter than usual.

"It's not over yet," he whispered to himself, then took the ball and charged at Sendoh Akira again.

Gu Jin on the sidelines watched the two clashing players, his fingertips lightly tapping the railing.

Sunlight streamed through the gymnasium windows onto his face, half bright and half dark, but a look of determined confidence played on his lips.

He would win.

He thought to himself.

Not just this one-on-one, but also the subsequent games, Ryonan would definitely win.

The discussions in the stands also rose and fell.

A Mu, the Emperor of Kanagawa!

That title now sounded somewhat jarring.

Emperor?

What kind of Emperor is he if he can't even suppress a second-year student?

On the court, Maki Shinichi's sweat streamed down his forehead into his eyes, stinging them, making him blink.

When his vision refocused, it met Sendoh Akira's gaze.

There was no mockery, no triumph in those eyes, only a calm focus, as if saying, "Again."

It was this look that suddenly reignited the fire that had been doused in his heart.

"Damn it..." he growled, not at anyone else, but at himself.

Panic? Confusion?

Those were emotions for losers.

He was Maki Shinichi, the captain who led Hainan to the National Tournament, the man called the "Emperor."

What was this small setback?

He took a deep breath, the surging emotions in his chest slowly settling, transforming into something colder, harder.

Yes, just like that.

Being provoked, being seen through, being suppressed... these were the things that made the game interesting.

He started dribbling again, the sound of the basketball hitting the floor heavier and more rhythmic than before. Each bounce was like a beat for his own heart.

"Sendoh Akira, Gu Jin..." He silently repeated these two names in his mind, a nearly ferocious curve forming on his lips.

You think you can win like this?

Too naive.

He looked up, and the last shred of hesitation vanished from his eyes as he looked at Sendoh Akira.

What remained was only a fighting spirit that would burn everything and a ruthless determination to go all in.

Then let's go.

Let me show you how tough the Emperor of Kanagawa really is.