When the whistle blew again, Maki Shinichi's breathing suddenly steadied.
Sweat dripped from his chin onto the floor, spreading into a small dark stain, but the restlessness in his eyes, like steel being quenched, abruptly cooled into a captivating sharpness.
The moment Mike Okita's layup went in, he suddenly understood—anger was the most useless weapon; a true Emperor would never be swayed by emotions.
"A Mu..." Kiyota on the sidelines subconsciously clenched his fists, but Takato Riki placed a hand on his shoulder.
Coach Takato's gaze held a hint of understanding, as if he had been waiting for this moment.
Maki Shinichi's hand holding the ball loosened and then tightened, the whiteness of his knuckles gradually fading.
He started dribbling, the rhythm no longer a frantic pounding, but undulating like ocean waves—the momentary slowdown concealing a powerful foreshadowing.
Mike Okita's pupils contracted slightly.
The opponent in front of him had changed; the enraged beast-like aura from before had vanished, replaced by a bottomless sense of oppression, like the stagnant air before a storm.
"Here it comes," Takato Riki whispered.
Before he finished speaking, Maki Shinichi suddenly accelerated.
It wasn't a shoulder-first charge, but in the instant his left shoulder dipped slightly, his right foot, like a wedge driven into the floor, allowed his body to shift sideways by half a step at an incredible angle.
This change of direction was so fast it seemed like an illusion; just as Mike Okita's defensive center of gravity shifted, Maki Shinichi's right hand had pulled the ball behind him, his left hand smoothly taking over, and he cut into the restricted area like an arrow released from a bow!
"What a quick series of crossovers!" The commentator's voice suddenly rose.
Mike Okita's defensive recovery speed was already fast enough, but Maki Shinichi completed a tiny hang-time maneuver in the air—not to evade, but to deliberately adjust his shooting angle.
The basketball traced a low, flat arc from his fingertips, brushing past Okita's fingertips and swishing into the hoop.
"Swish!"
6:5!
As he landed, Maki Shinichi's gaze swept over Okita, without provocation, only an icy calm.
He remembered his first year of high school, when he first represented Hainan in the Prefectural Tournament, trailing by two points with 30 seconds left, and what the captain at the time said during the timeout: "Hainan's jersey isn't about rushing to win, it's about learning how to win."
Now he understood.
It was Mike Okita's turn to attack, and he tried to use the same trick, creating space with a behind-the-back dribble.
But just as his wrist was about to turn, Maki Shinichi's hand, like an iron clamp, was already in the path of his dribble.
This wasn't a blind block, but a precise anticipation of his point of force—two consecutive steals earlier had allowed Maki Shinichi to completely figure out his dribbling habits.
"Slap!"
The moment the basketball was slapped away, Maki Shinichi was already charging towards the frontcourt like an arrow released from a bow.
When Okita chased back, he only saw a blur flash past.
Maki Shinichi, with the ball, drove into the restricted area, not choosing an easy layup, but sharply arching his back in the air and slamming the ball against the backboard!
"Bang!"
The instant the basketball rebounded, he jumped a second time, forcefully pressing the ball into the hoop with his right hand!
"Dunk! Emperor Maki's counterattack!" The commentator's voice cracked.
6:6!
As he landed, Maki Shinichi's sneakers screeched on the floor; he didn't look at the cheering crowd, but only at Mike Okita, his eyes burning not with anger, but with the flame of Hainan—the resilience forged through countless comebacks and game-winners, the pride of "Always Victorious" etched into their bones.
Mike Okita's wild grin froze.
He suddenly realized that the enraged Maki Shinichi from before was not the true Emperor at all.
This calm, precise opponent with an iron will was the one who struck fear into the hearts of high school basketball teams across Japan.
The next three minutes became Maki Shinichi's personal show.
Okita's hang-time shot was anticipated by him, and he forcefully pressed the ball down in mid-air;
Okita's powerful drive was pushed aside by Maki Shinichi with even more dominant strength, leading to a steal;
Even Okita's most adept behind-the-back dribble was intercepted by Maki Shinichi with faster hands.
Every score was accompanied by the countless shouts that echoed through the Hainan Team's training gym—the roar of "one more point," the shout of "defend," the battle cry forged by generations of Hainan players with sweat and victories.
7:6, 8:6, 9:7... Mike Okita fought until the very last moment, even replicating the physics-defying hang-time shot from earlier, but the basketball spun four times on the rim and ultimately bounced out.
The rebound was firmly secured by Maki Shinichi.
When he landed, the entire stadium's cheers seemed to fall silent.
Only the sound of the basketball hitting the floor remained, once, then again, like a countdown.
With ten seconds left, Maki Shinichi stood with the ball outside the three-point line.
Mike Okita's defense was pushed to its limit, his knees trembling slightly, but the stubbornness in his eyes still burned.
Maki Shinichi didn't drive, nor did he shoot.
He just dribbled slowly, as if measuring every inch of this court—it carried Hainan's glory, and his name was carved into it.
With three seconds left, he suddenly accelerated.
Not to the left, not to the right, but directly into Okita's defense, forcefully crashing through!
This collision carried immense power, the unyielding resolve of the Hainan Team when trailing, the obsession of "even if we fall, we must move one step forward."
Okita was pushed back half a step, and Maki Shinichi seized the opportunity to jump, cupping the ball with his right hand, freezing in the air in a standard shooting posture.
"Swish!"
The basketball went in without touching the rim.
10:7!
The moment the whistle blew, Maki Shinichi landed, sweat blurring his vision, but he clearly saw Takato Riki's straightened back on the sidelines, Kiyota's tear-streaked face, and the Hainan school flag waving in the stands.
These images overlapped with countless late-night training sessions in his memory—the court under the lights, his teammates' tired yet determined faces, Coach Takato's words: "Hainan has no losers, only those who didn't fight to the end."
Mike Okita panted, then suddenly smiled, with the relief of admitting defeat: "You won, Maki."
Maki Shinichi wiped away sweat, looked at him, his voice hoarse from the game, yet exceptionally clear: "I didn't win."
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the court, finally settling on the Hainan Team's direction, stating word by word:
"Hainan has never lost."
Sunlight streamed through the gymnasium windows, casting a golden edge on him; that figure was the most vivid embodiment of Hainan's spirit of constant victory.
Mike Okita scoffed, raising an eyebrow at Maki Shinichi: "A win is a win, why act so cool? 'Never lost'? Wasn't that long-haired kid from your Hainan Team the first one to be shut out?"
"Damn it!" Kiyota Nobunaga's face instantly turned crimson, and he clenched his fists, taking half a step forward, only to be restrained by Takato Riki's outstretched hand. He could only grit his teeth and growl, "That damn bastard!"
The subsequent matches gradually became calmer.
S-rank Sendoh Akira defeated A-rank Hasegawa Kazushi without suspense, as effortlessly as autumn winds sweeping leaves;
A-rank Kosha Kazuma fought with all his might, but ultimately succumbed to A+-rank Akagi Takenori.
What surprised Gu Jin the most was the A+ rank showdown—Uozumi Jun actually lost by a large margin to Hanagata Toru, who was also A+ rank.
Hanagata didn't confront him head-on, but instead, like a hunter holding a fine thread, constantly provoked Uozumi's anger with fakes and overly probing moves. Once the "mad bull" completely lost control, he skillfully exploited his weaknesses to claim victory.
The next few days of the schedule almost became a showcase for the star players of renowned schools.
Two dark horses who had fought their way out of streetball barely made it to the third round, but both fell to Fujima Kenji and Gu Jin respectively.
The list of those advancing to the final two rounds was settled: S-rank Maki Shinichi, Gu Jin, Sendoh, Fujima Kenji; A+-rank Akagi Takenori, Hanagata Toru; and B-rank players—Hainan Team's Muto Tadashi and Miura Dai Captain Murasame Kengo.
Gu Jin had a bye in the next round.