The entire gym seemed to hold its breath as Sae snatched the ball from Teiko's forward with surgical precision. His footsteps echoed across the wooden court as he accelerated down the lane—a whirlwind of determination, the ball glued to his hands as if it were part of his body.
And then, like a golden lightning bolt, Kise Ryota appeared before him, eyes gleaming with the promise of a challenge.
"You're not getting past me this time," Kise declared, spreading his arms in flawless defensive stance.
But Sae didn't flinch. His predatory turquoise eyes had already dissected every detail:
[Predator's Eye]
Left side fortified.
Weight shifted to the left leg.
Gaze locked on the hips.
Conventional tactics dictated attacking the weak side. But Sae was different.
He would strike precisely at the strongest point.
In one fluid motion, Sae drove left, straight toward where Kise was most prepared. The copycat reacted instantly, closing the gap with a confident smirk—
—until Sae jerked to a halt, his sneakers screeching against the floor. The whiplash of inertia sent Kise staggering for a split second, his balance thrown off.
'I'll lure you to your strongest point...'
Sae's [Predator Eye] captured every micro-adjustment in Kise's muscles:
Left ankle trembling as it compensated for weight
Shoulders tilting backward involuntarily
Pupils dilating in the blink of an eye
'...And then completely destroy your strength!'
The moment Kise tried to recover, Sae exploded to the right, his body spinning like a top as the ball traced a perfect arc behind his back. Kise stretched out his arm—but it was too late—
Swish!
12-13
The net swayed gently as the ball passed through without touching the rim.
Silence filled the gym for a second before the crowd erupted into cheers.
Kise was still frozen in place, his brain replaying the move in slow motion. He looked back to where Sae was already walking away, adjusting his wristbands as if nothing extraordinary had happened.
"Was that…?" Kise murmured, feeling something he rarely experienced—doubt.
On the other side of the court, Sae allowed an almost imperceptible smile to flicker across his lips.
The whistle blew, signaling the game's restart. Kise Ryota, the ball bouncing rhythmically in his right hand, dashed forward like a golden bolt toward the paint. His muscles tensed with every step, ready for the inevitable clash.
And then, like a shadow emerging from the mist, Sae Itoshi blocked his path.
"Predictable."
Sae's voice cut through the air like a blade, his predatory turquoise eyes locking onto Kise's golden ones. There was something in that gaze—an icy calm, an absolute certainty—that made Kise hesitate for a split second.
"Huh? What are you talking about?" Kise shot back, forcing a confident smirk even as his brain worked furiously.
Without answering, Sae held his stance, slightly crouched, arms spread—a trap about to be sprung.
Kise didn't back down. His muscles had memorized every detail of the move Sae had used against him moments before.
If he wants to play like this… I'll return the favor in kind!
[Copy]
His body reacted before his brain even finished the thought.
Same 360-degree spin.
Same quick crossover.
Same acceleration timing.
But then, at the very moment Kise began his move, his eyes met Sae's once more—and what he saw froze him to the core.
Those predatory eyes showed no fear, no surprise, not even concern. They were as calm as Akashi's, yet there was something different… something wrong.
It was as if Sae was already seeing beyond the move, beyond time, beyond Kise himself.
Baam!
A sharp sound cut through the air.
Before Kise could complete the play, he felt a void in his hands—the ball had vanished.
His eyes widened as he saw Sae already in possession of the steal, holding the ball with one hand as if displaying a trophy.
"Don't misunderstand. I had already predicted you'd use my own move against me," Sae declared, his voice as smooth as it was deadly. "But I also knew you'd fail."
A chill ran down Kise's spine. He stared at his empty hands, then at Sae, unable to process what had just happened.
"How…?"
Sae didn't smile. He didn't need to. His eyes said it all.
"After all, those same moves are nothing without my vision."
And then, like a ghost, he turned and launched into the counterattack, leaving Kise frozen mid-court.
The entire gym seemed to have stopped in time.
Kise Ryota, the Copying Genius, one of the prodigies of the Generation of Miracles, had been read like an open book.
And the worst part?
Sae didn't even seem to consider it a challenge.
'Vision…?' Kise thought, his fists clenching involuntarily. 'So that's it… he's not just seeing the game…'
'He's seeing through me.'
And for the first time in his career, Kise Ryota felt something he never thought possible on a basketball court:
Fear.
...
The gymnasium, once noisy and vibrant, now seemed wrapped in a heavy silence, broken only by the sound of sneakers squeaking on the floor and the occasional blow of the referee's whistle.
12–16.
The score changed again, the numbers glaring cruelly under the lights.
12–19.
And again.
12–21.
The point gap grew like an unstoppable tide, dragging down the morale of Teiko's second-string team. Every basket scored by their opponents felt like a hammer blow, every failed defense, a strike to the pride of the legendary academy.
12–23.
12–25.
12–28.
Teiko's players, once brimming with confidence, now moved like ghosts on the court. Their passes, once precise, had become hesitant; their shots, once deadly, now failed to even hit the rim. They exchanged glances, seeing the same despair reflected in each other's eyes.
"What's happening?"
"Why can't we stop them?"
"Where… where are the Generation of Miracles when we need them?"
But Teiko's starters remained on the bench, their expressions unreadable. Only Kise Ryota, sitting at the edge of the bench, watched the game unfold with an increasingly grim expression. His fingers dug into the seat, his knuckles turning white from the pressure.
12-110.
The final whistle blew, echoing like a funeral bell.
The entire gym fell silent.
No one—not the fans, not the players, not even the referees—could believe what had happened.
Teiko had lost.
And not just lost—they had been crushed.
The gym was wrapped in a tomb-like silence, so thick you could hear the sweat dripping down the faces of the defeated players. At the center of this vacuum of sound, Sae Itoshi stood motionless, meticulously adjusting the sports tape on his left wrist. His chest didn't even rise with exertion—every breath was controlled, measured, like everything in his game.
His turquoise eyes, now under the dim light of the empty gym, retained that predatory gleam that had torn through Teiko's defense. There was no triumph in that gaze, only the cold satisfaction of someone who had seen a scientific experiment confirm their hypothesis.
"How...?" Kise Ryota's voice cracked in the air, a hoarse whisper from a boy whose world had just been shattered.
Sae slowly lowered his gaze, his neck tilting with the calculated grace of an executioner examining his victim. When his lips parted, the words came out like drops of poison:
"Basketball isn't about talent or imitations." His fist clenched in a deliberate motion, tendons casting shadows beneath his pale skin. "It's about seeing what others can't."
The words hung in the air like a divine decree. The name "ITOSHI" on his back seemed to pulse with its own energy, transforming from a mere surname into a warning—into a prophecy. Every step he took toward the locker room echoed like thunder in the spectators' hearts.
Kise remained on his knees, his golden jersey stained with sweat and defeat. His trembling fingers scraped against the smooth court surface, searching for an anchor in a world that had suddenly, violently, stopped making sense. For the first time, the prodigy understood the true taste of fear—not the fear of losing, but the terror of staring into something that completely transcended his understanding of the game.
As the gym lights flickered off one by one, like candles being blown out after a funeral, a single incandescent truth burned in Kise's mind:
The basketball he knew—with its hierarchy, its unspoken rules, its Generation of Miracles at the top—had just been executed.
And Sae Itoshi, with those eyes and vision that pierced through logic, was about to become the merciless god of this new era.
The air in the gymnasium seemed to have solidified. Kise Ryota was still on his knees, his trembling hands pressed against the cold wooden floor, when Sae's voice sliced through the silence like a blade.
"I'll be waiting for the First String and the entire Generation of Miracles at the Winter Cup."
Sae didn't turn around. He didn't need to. His words were already knives buried in Kise's chest. But then, he continued, and something in his tone sent a shiver of impending destruction crawling down the spines of everyone present.
"And also… Tell them one thing."
That was when Kise saw it.
Sae's shadow.
It wasn't normal. It wasn't just the absence of light. It was something alive—a pulsing black mass stretching across the floor like spilled ink, growing, shifting. Shapes writhed within it: claws, fangs, gleaming eyes that belonged to nothing human.
Kise couldn't look away. His breath caught in his throat.
"They'd better train hard…"
The shadow rose, twisting into the form of a monstrous creature—a grotesque amalgamation of predators: a wolf with serpent's eyes, a vulture with a shark's maw, something that shouldn't exist. Its maw gaped open, revealing an endless void.
"...because I'll tear them apart, piece by piece."
The darkness swallowed Kise whole. For a moment, he no longer saw the gym, no longer heard the sounds around him. There was only that suffocating blackness, and Sae's piercing turquoise eyes glowing at its center, like beacons in an ocean of ruin.
"Just like I did to you."
And then, the shadow receded.
Kise gasped back to awareness, sweat pouring down his face in rivers. The gym was normal again. The lights still shone. The players still moved.
But Sae was already gone.
Only the echo of his promise remained, poisoning the air:
He was coming for all of them.
And the Generation of Miracles wouldn't be ready.