Fujima's fingernails dug into his palm, the sharp sting snapping him back to clarity.
"You… you're a monster, aren't you?"
"So strong… it's beyond understanding."
He took a deep breath, then turned and disappeared into the shadows.
On the opposite side of the stands, the players of Kainan High rose to their feet, clad in their purple-and-gold uniforms.
Maki Shinichi stood with his arms crossed, that overly mature face of his now heavy with gravity.
"Let's go," he said in a low voice.
As he turned, his gaze lingered for a brief second on Sendoh below—tinged with regret—before shifting sharply, like a blade, toward Makino Juro.
"Next… it's our turn."
Kiyota Nobunaga bristled beside him.
"Damn it! That cocky first-year brat!"
"Maki, next ga we have to show him what the King of Kanagawa is worth!"
"I'm gonna dunk right over his head!"
Jin Soichiro smiled gently, though there was no warmth in his eyes.
"Nobunaga… don't get careless."
Maki said nothing.
But the tension coiled in his muscles spoke volus—
The king of Kanagawa had already felt the violent tremor of his throne beginning to shake.
Ryonan's bench.
The atmosphere was as heavy as a graveyard.
Aida Hikoichi clutched his crumpled notebook, tears dripping onto the pages, saring the ink.
"We lost…"
"Sendoh-senpai lost… Captain Uozumi lost too…"
The collapse of his beliefs left him barely able to stand.
"Hikoichi."
A gentle hand rested on his head.
Aida Yayoi looked at her younger brother, her heart aching.
As a reporter, she had witnessed Shohoku's rise firsthand—
and the terrifying presence of the boy nad Makino Juro.
"Don't cry," she said firmly, handing him a tissue.
"We lost this match, but Ryonan isn't finished."
"If we win the next gas, we still have a chance at the national tournant."
"And…"
She glanced toward the court, where Sendoh was speaking with Rukawa Kaede.
"Look at Sendoh. He's not broken… if anything, he's even more fired up."
Hikoichi lifted his tear-blurred gaze.
And sure enough—
though exhausted to the bone, Sendoh Akira's eyes burned brighter than ever before.
At center court.
The referee's whistle called both teams to assemble.
They lined up.
Compared to Shohoku's jubilation, Ryonan's players looked drained and ashen.
Yet as the two teams faced each other, the sharp hostility faded—
replaced by a quiet, mutual respect.
The handshake began.
Akagi Takenori stepped forward to et Uozumi Jun.
For three years, these two giants had battled under the basket—
from rivalry, to confrontation, to this final, decisive clash.
Uozumi glanced at Akagi's swollen ankle.
He had ant to throw out a few harsh words—
but in the end, all that ca out was a long sigh.
"Akagi… you won."
He extended his massive hand.
Akagi t his gaze and clasped it firmly.
"Uozumi."
No more words were needed.
The next second—
the two sweat-soaked giants pulled each other into a heavy embrace, under the relieved gaze of the entire arena.
"Don't embarrass Kanagawa's centers at the national tournant," Uozumi muttered fiercely, eyes reddening.
"Of course not," Akagi replied, patting his back.
"And don't give up. You've still got a chance."
On the court, they were enemies who wanted to devour each other.
Off the court, they were the ones who understood each other best.
That… was a man's kind of romance.
Elsewhere, Sendoh clasped Rukawa's hand.
"Nice ga today."
"But next ti, I'll take everything back—with interest."
He smiled, returning to his usual easygoing deanor.
Rukawa stared at him coldly, tightening his grip.
"Next ti… I'll beat you one-on-one."
"Heh. I'll be waiting."
Sendoh let go, his gaze shifting to the last person in line—Makino Juro.
Juro looked half-asleep, his hand limp as he extended it.
"Juro."
"I'm not happy about it, but today—you won."
"That state just now…"
Sendoh's eyes sharpened the mont their hands t.
Makino Juro raised a brow slightly.
"That's called the 'Zone.'"
"It shuts out all external interference and lets you perform at 100% of your ability."
"It's a domain only the 'chosen ones' can enter."
A mysterious smile curved across Sendoh's lips.
"Next ti we et… maybe I'll step into that world too."
"Oh?"
"Then good luck. The admission fee's pretty high—not just anyone gets in."
Makino Juro pulled his hand back, lazily waving it off.
Handshake over.
Shohoku gathered in a circle, basking in the glory of victory.
Coach Anzai smiled like a jolly Buddha, his chin wobbling.
"Hohoho… well done, everyone."
"Coach! I'm hungry!"
"To beat that 'monkey boss,' this genius has completely emptied his energy bar!" Sakuragi Hanamichi jumped out first.
"Hungry," Rukawa muttered, rubbing his stomach—his expression still cold, but his body honest.
All eyes instantly turned toward…
the captain.
At that mont, Makino Juro suddenly "revived," his previous half-dead state gone in an instant.
He raised his right hand high, drew in a deep breath, and shouted loud enough for the entire arena to hear:
"To celebrate Shohoku's victory! And making it to the finals!"
"Tonight—YAKINIKU!!!"
"Captain's treat!!!"
The shout rang out like a loudspeaker.
"OOOOOOHHHHHH!!!"
Shohoku's cheers were even louder than when they won the ga.
"Yakiniku! Yakiniku! Yakiniku!"
Sakuragi imdiately broke into so bizarre tribal "grilled at dance."
"I want premium beef belly! Unlimited!" Mitsui Hisashi chid in, going big.
" too!!" Miyagi Ryota echoed.
Even Rukawa silently raised his fist and said one word:
"at."
Akagi Takenori stood frozen, his expression shifting from emotional to pitch black.
Clutching his perfectly healthy chest, he felt like his heart hurt a hundred tis more than his ankle.
"You bastards…"
"Why is it again?!"
"Juro, you—!"
"You're rich, aren't you?!"
"You even bought that sports shop yourself, damn it!!"
Akagi's furious roar was completely drowned out by the crowd chanting "Yakiniku," leaving him small, pitiful, and helpless.
Makino Juro turned back and flashed him an innocent, harmless smile.
"Captain…"
He pointed at the scoreboard.
"That beautiful win… doesn't it deserve so premium barbecue?"
Akagi looked at the bright red score—92:68.
Then at his noisy, troubleso teammates… whose eyes still sparkled with passion.
In the end, he let out a helpless sigh—though the corners of his mouth curled up uncontrollably.
"Only regular beef belly!"
"Premium… two plates per person, max!"
"Tch—cheapskate!" everyone jeered in unison.
The sun dipped low, golden light spilling outside the gymnasium.
The laughter of youth.
The promise of grilled at.
And the restless heartbeat of dreams.
This… was Shohoku's sumr.
This… was youth.
Of course—
for Akagi Takenori's wallet,
it was nothing short of a catastrophe.
END OF CHAPTER
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