The Teikō First Team Training Hall had yet to awaken. Morning light and dust filled the vast space with a cool, hazy air. When the first rays pierced the high windows and cast long slanted beams across the polished wooden floor, Bai Ze You was already standing in the center of the empty court. Sweat-soaked, his old gray T-shirt clung to his powerful back, while his silver-gray bangs stuck to his smooth forehead and trembled faintly with every focused repetition.
"Thump... thump... thump..."
The dull sound of the basketball striking the floor echoed rhythmically through the silent gym, like the most primitive heartbeat. This was not a stage for showing off. It was the dullest, most basic, and least forgivable battlefield.
Low Post Hover Dribble: Yū kept his body extremely low, his center of gravity steady as a rock. The ball seemed held between his palm and the floor by invisible magnetism. Every bounce stayed below knee height, swift as wind and dense as rain. His wrist worked like a precision bearing, his forearm muscles bulging as he controlled each bounce's angle, force, and spin. There were no flashy changes of direction, only the purest control being honed. Sweat dripped steadily along his jawline, spreading into a small dark patch on the floor.
Drag Step Lateral Defensive Movement: He imagined an invisible opponent moving at incredible speed before him. He drove off with his left foot, then quickly dragged his right foot diagonally backward, carrying his center of gravity smoothly sideways. The movement was swift and solid, the soles of his shoes scraping against the floor with short, piercing squeaks. The instant the slide ended, his core tightened like a fully drawn bowstring, maintaining a flawless defensive stance without the slightest wobble. Then he slid back the other way. Left foot dragging, right foot driving off. He repeated the motion, carving invisible zigzags across the empty floor like a tireless pendulum. Every slide came with heavy, even breathing.
Continuous Crossover Step-Back Return: A marker cone stood at each end of the court. Yū started from one side, sprinting forward while dribbling at high speed. The instant he neared the cone, his center of gravity dropped sharply, and a continuous series of crossover dribbles flashed like a butterfly weaving through flowers. Left side, right side, then left again. The ball shot between his legs as his feet adjusted rapidly and his center of gravity shifted with pinpoint precision. He rounded the cone and immediately returned without pause. Sprinting, changing direction again. Sweat had long since soaked through his back, and his T-shirt clung to his skin, outlining muscles drawn taut by extreme exertion. His lungs heaved like bellows, while the hot air scorched his throat.
This was Yū's daily routine. Behind those dazzling drives between defenders' legs, those unbelievable acrobatic layups, and those uncanny fake moves lay countless mornings and evenings, and a foundation as tough as steel forged in sweat. The foundation of the Phantom was buried in this monotonous, day-after-day training.
"Creeeak—"
The heavy doors of the training hall opened, breaking the morning silence. Aomine Daiki rubbed his sleepy eyes and yawned as he walked in, his dark-blue hair a complete mess. He glanced at the figure in the middle of the court, drenched in sweat and repeating basic movements, then habitually curled his lips in undisguised contempt.
"Tch. This boring stuff again." He muttered softly, but in the empty gym his voice was especially clear. He did not walk toward Yū. Instead, he picked up a basketball and went beneath the hoop on the opposite side, beginning powerful stationary dribbles and jumping-touch exercises. Every bounce landed like a warhammer striking a drum, and every leap burst with savage power, as though he were declaring the arrogance of talent and his contempt for fundamentals.
Yū seemed not to hear the mocking mutter. He did not even raise his eyelids. His gaze remained fixed on each bounce's trajectory and the precise points where his feet landed. His amber eyes held only the ball and the floor, still as a deep pool. Aomine's disdain was merely a breeze brushing a boulder; it could not shake him at all. He knew the gap between himself and naturally gifted physical monsters like Aomine and Murasaki-bara. Only the clumsiest yet most reliable fundamentals could support his unique path as the "Phantom" and give him a foothold amid the storm of their talent.
Time passed amid monotonous, heavy repetition. The sunlight shifted almost imperceptibly, and more teammates gradually entered the training hall. The morning silence gave way to noise. Regular team practice was about to begin.
Yū finally stopped his nearly self-destructive fundamental drills. He went to the sidelines, grabbed a towel, and vigorously wiped the sweat from his face and neck. His chest heaved violently, each breath carrying a burning ache. He picked up a water bottle and drank deeply. Just then, a breeze carrying a faint cherry-blossom fragrance swept past, accompanied by light footsteps.
"Bai Ze-kun! Good morning!"
Yū raised his head. Momoi Satsuki held a thick blue folder in her arms, her cherry-pink ponytail swaying lightly with each step. A fresh smile like morning light brightened her fair cheeks, scattering the fatigue of training like a gentle breeze. She hurried to Yū, excitement shining in her bright pink eyes.
"Momoi, good morning." Yū nodded, his voice slightly hoarse from exercise.
"Here!" Momoi presented the blue folder to him like a treasure. On its cover, in elegant handwriting, were the words, "Bai Ze You Exclusive Data Optimization Suggestions V1.0." "I recompiled and analyzed your recent training and scrimmage data last night, focusing on optimizing your Rhythm Model and Feint Deception Layer Evaluation! I also simulated targeted breakthrough routes based on Aomine-kun's and Midōrima-kun's defensive habits!" She spoke rapidly with professional enthusiasm, her sparkling pink eyes fixed expectantly on Yū.
Yū accepted the folder in surprise. It was heavy in his hands. On the first page were densely packed yet orderly tables, trend charts, and rough but precise tactical diagrams. Every change-of-direction speed, the amplitude of his fake moves, the success rate of his eye deception, his preferred breakthrough routes against different defensive intensities, and even his stamina-consumption curve had been recorded, analyzed, and given specific optimization suggestions. Notes in different colors included precise advice such as, "Increase the deceptive effect of the Rhythm Change here by 0.2 seconds," and, "Against Midōrima's pressure, entering from the left at forty-five degrees raises the success rate by 5.7%."
This was more than a data report. It was a tailor-made training guide to a higher realm of the "Phantom." The care and professionalism behind it sent a warm current through Yū, mixed with immense surprise and sincere gratitude.
"This... is incredibly detailed. Thank you, Momoi." His voice held genuine gratitude, and his amber eyes reflected Momoi's expectant smile.
"I'm glad I could help, Bai Ze-kun!" Momoi's smile blossomed like a cherry tree in full bloom. "Oh, right. About those attacks yesterday when Murasbara-kun shut you down in the low post—I reviewed the footage and found that when you cut in using a screen, your launch was about 0.15 seconds later than the optimal model. That gave Murasbara-kun enough time to rotate over! If you could explode half a body-length earlier, the instant the screen forms..." She immediately got into the zone, pointing to a diagram in the folder and analyzing it at length. Technical terms poured out like rapid-fire shots.
Yū listened seriously, nodding from time to time. Momoi's analysis pinpointed subtle flaws in his technique, rhythm gaps he himself had never clearly noticed. He tried simulating the earlier launch she suggested, sensing the tiny opening it might create in Murasaki-bara's Wall of Sighs.
However, that focused and harmonious exchange once again stabbed into someone's eyes like a thorn.
"Hey! Satsuki!" Aomine Daiki's distinctly irritated voice exploded nearby. He had just finished a series of violent dunks, his chest heaving and his body drenched in sweat. His dark-blue eyes blazed with resentment at being ignored and intense hostility. He glared at Yū, then turned to Momoi. "Where's my data report?! Have you analyzed the power figures for that shot when I dunked over Murasaki-bara in the last scrimmage?! And that fluctuation curve for that guy Bai Ze's fake-move frequency—have you updated it or not?!" His tone was possessive and commanding, his rejection of Yū completely undisguised.
Momoi's explanation stopped abruptly. Her excited smile froze before embarrassment and helplessness surfaced. Flustered, she closed the folder in Yū's hands. "Aomine-kun... your data is still being organized... Bai Ze-kun's was finished last night..." She tried to explain.
"Hmph! Looks like all your attention is on the 'Phantom'!" Aomine cut her off impatiently, his voice sharp with obvious jealousy and provocation. "What good is this lousy data?! Is this what basketball depends on?!" He slapped the ball in his hand with an explosive crack, then turned toward the sideline, leaving behind a low-pressure silhouette.
The atmosphere on the sideline instantly congealed. Momoi lowered her head, embarrassment reddening her fair cheeks as her fingers unconsciously twisted the edge of the folder. The warmth faded from Yū's face. His amber eyes calmly watched the direction Aomine had gone, a trace of coldness passing through their depths. He understood Aomine's competitiveness, but this indiscriminate outpouring of negative emotion, especially toward Momoi, displeased him.
"Sorry, Bai Ze-kun..." Momoi's voice carried an apology.
"It's fine." Yū's voice returned to its usual calm. "His data is important." He paused, then added, "Your work is incredible."
Momoi raised her head. Gratitude and renewed light filled her pink eyes, and she nodded forcefully. "Yeah!"
Just then, Nijimura Shūzō's booming voice rang through the gym like a war drum. "Everyone, gather! Warm-ups are over! Today we're focusing on defensive rotations and help defense in the paint! Bai Ze! Aomine! Murasaki-bara! You three, over here!" He pointed to an area near the paint marked with tape.
Aomine approached with an annoyed expression, lingering anger in his dark-blue eyes and deliberate distance between himself and Yū. Murasaki-bara Atsushi slowly chewed an Umaibo, his enormous body like a moving mountain. His purple eyes were half-lidded, and he looked as though he had not fully woken up.
Nijimura pointed to a heavy humanoid sandbag wrapped in thick foam, simulating a tall interior player—the so-called "Opponent Wall"—in the center of the area. He said solemnly, "The rules are simple! Bai Ze, start with the ball at the free-throw line. Your goal is to break through the simulated defender's blockage and score at the basket! Aomine, chase and disrupt him from the wing! Murasaki-bara, provide the final help defense and block beneath the basket! I want to see the most realistic intensity possible! Understood?!"
The arrangement instantly lit a powder keg.
Excitement and malice erupted in Aomine's eyes. At last, he had a legitimate chance to teach this irritating "Phantom" a lesson. He grinned viciously and rolled his wrists. "Don't worry, Captain! I'll take 'good' care of him!"
Murasaki-bara yawned and mumbled vaguely, "...What a pain... Hurry up and finish..."
Yū's pupils contracted slightly. This was no different from throwing him into a double strangulation by Aomine's savage pursuit and Murasaki-bara's Absolute Strength. The pressure was mountainous. Yet the calm settled deep in his amber eyes instantly ignited into Blazing Burn fighting spirit. He took a deep breath, bent down, and picked up the ball. Its familiar grain beneath his fingertips felt heavy with significance.
"Begin!" Nijimura commanded.
Yū held the ball at the free-throw line and launched instantly. His First Step was not as savage as Aomine's, but it was still as fast as a leopard. He charged straight at the Opponent Wall in the center of the paint.
Aomine was like explosives set alight. His dark-blue figure shot in from the wing with terrifying acceleration. His powerful body pressed against Yū's driving space with wild force. His massive hand sliced toward the ball with a howling wind. He was not disrupting the play. He was destroying it.
"Bang!" Muscle slammed into muscle.
Yū felt overwhelming force surge from behind and to the side. The impact staggered him, and the ball nearly slipped free. The gap in pure physical strength was exposed without mercy.
"That all you've got?!" Aomine snarled, bloodthirsty excitement burning in his dark-blue eyes. His huge hand clamped toward the ball again like an iron pincer.
At the critical instant, Yū's slightly unbalanced body displayed unbelievable resilience and control once more. Like a supple willow branch, he "floated" with the impact and shed its force, while his right heel stayed planted like an iron stake welded to the floor, forcibly stopping his collapse. At the same time, his left hand yanked the ball back like a striking snake in an extremely swift Behind-the-Back Dribble. The ball skimmed past Aomine's fingertips by the narrowest margin.
"Behind-the-back dribble? Trying to run?!" Aomine roared. His massive body burst into even greater speed, closing in like a shadow. A huge darkness descended over Yū.
Just as he was about to be trapped completely, Yū's sprinting body took one enormous step toward the front left at high speed. His entire body leaned sharply left, his eyes stabbing toward that side, while his right hand pushed the ball far forward and left. It was a huge, blatantly obvious Fake Move toward the left.
Wildness First Sense erupted in Aomine's mind. His center of gravity was deceived instantly, and his feet instinctively shifted left.
At the instant his balance moved, Yū's right wrist flicked with such speed that it seemed to vanish. The ball traced an uncanny V through the tiny space, passed between his legs, and reached his left hand. At the same time, using his powerful waist, abdomen, and core, his body pivoted around his right foot and executed a Spin Move so fast it left only an afterimage. He slipped past Aomine's right side in an instant.
"He got through?!"
A cry of surprise rose from the sideline.
But escaping Aomine came at a huge cost. Yū's driving route had been forced off course, and his speed had dropped from the violent change of direction. Ahead, the purple figure resembling a primordial beast was already waiting. Murasaki-bara Atsushi's enormous body covered every possible shooting angle. His terrifying pressure was a tangible wall. He spread his huge hand with lazy yet despairing authority, waiting to swat Yū away like a fly.
Murasaki-bara's giant palm sealed the sky ahead.
Aomine pursued like a rabid beast from behind.
A dead end.
In midair, Yū saw Murasaki-bara's impassive face and sky-obscuring palm reflected in his pupils. Time seemed to stretch. His tremendous inertia carried him toward that wall of flesh. In the final fraction of a second, his airborne body once again performed a movement beyond its limits.
He did not force a layup against that wall. His body bent backward impossibly in the air, folding in on itself. His powerful core and flexibility bought him precious hang time. At the same time, with his body twisted to the extreme and nearly off-balance, his left hand relied on muscle memory forged through countless repetitions and an astonishing sense of space. His wrist flicked gently, changing the layup into a floater. The ball carried heavy backspin and followed an extremely low, bizarre arc that nearly grazed Murasaki-bara's fingertips, narrowly clearing the range of that sky-blocking palm.
"Swish!"
The crisp sound of the ball banking into the net rang out.
"What a shot—!" A wave of astonishment swept through the gym.
And yet—
"Boom!!!"
An even heavier, heart-stopping crash erupted almost at the same time.
Yū's body, folded to its limit in midair, collided beneath the basket with Aomine Daiki's enormous body as he lunged at full force and could not stop. The impact was like an out-of-control truck. Yū's vision went black, his organs seeming to shift at once. Like a kite with its string cut, his twisted body was hurled violently toward the hard floor. Pain burst through his back, shoulder, and the back of his head. The ball flew far away.
"Ugh!" A suppressed groan escaped Yū.
The immense recoil sent Aomine stumbling backward several steps before he regained his balance. He stared in shock at Yū, curled on the floor and twitching in pain. A flicker of surprise and... barely perceptible panic crossed his dark-blue eyes. He had not expected the collision to be so violent.
"Bai Ze-kun!" Momoi Satsuki screamed in horror. She shoved through the crowd and rushed onto the court, her pink ponytail whipping wildly behind her as tears instantly spilled from her eyes.
Nijimura Shūzō's face turned ashen. He reached Yū in a single stride. "Team doctor! Quickly!"
The entire training hall fell into dead silence. Every gaze focused on the silver-haired figure curled in pain on the floor. The cheers from that dazzling shot were instantly replaced by overwhelming fear and concern.
Murasaki-bara Atsushi stood beneath the basket, his huge body looking somewhat lost, his chewing even stopping. Midōrima Shintarō pushed up his glasses. The gaze behind the lenses remained cold, but seemed to freeze for an instant. Kuroko Tetsuya's sky-blue eyes widened slightly. Akashi Seijūrō's heterochromatic eyes narrowed as he stared at the court.
The team doctor rushed in with a medical kit. Nijimura and another teammate carefully helped Yū up. A large patch of skin had split on his forehead, and blood mixed with sweat as it ran down his cheek, staining the collar of his gray T-shirt red. He clenched his teeth, his face pale and his amber eyes unfocused from the pain, yet he still forced himself not to collapse.
"How is he? Where is he hurt?" Nijimura asked with rare urgency.
Yū breathed with difficulty and tried moving his arm and shoulder. The piercing pain made him suck in a breath, but his bones seemed unharmed. The worst pain was in his back and the ribs on the side that had taken the impact, burning fiercely.
"My back... and ribs..." he rasped, his voice thick with suppressed pain.
The doctor quickly examined him. "The preliminary diagnosis is severe muscle bruising and soft-tissue damage, with possible minor fractures. He needs immediate icing and immobilization. Take him to the infirmary for a detailed examination!"
Momoi Satsuki knelt beside Yū, tears filling her pink eyes. She bit her lower lip to keep from crying aloud. With trembling hands, she carefully wiped the blood and sweat from his forehead using a clean towel, her touch as gentle as if he were a fragile treasure. "Bai Ze-kun... it hurts, doesn't it..." Her voice was thick with tears.
Yū managed to pull out an incredibly faint, reassuring smile, though pain twisted it nearly beyond recognition. "I'm... fine..." His gaze passed over Momoi's worried face, then Aomine standing nearby with a complicated expression and a trace of remorse beneath his stubbornness, then the indifferent Murasaki-bara, before finally landing on Nijimura's stern face.
"Captain... practice..." he forced out.
"To hell with practice!" Nijimura cut him off harshly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You're going to the infirmary right now! That's an order!" He turned to the doctor and the nearby teammate. "Help him up! Carefully!"
With the doctor and teammate supporting him, Yū slowly stood. Every step pulled at the agony in his back and ribs, making him grunt despite himself as cold sweat instantly covered his forehead. Momoi followed close beside him, concern and helplessness filling her pink eyes. Her hands were clenched so tightly that her knuckles had gone white.
Just as they were about to leave the edge of the court, Yū stopped. Enduring the pain, he slowly turned his head. His amber eyes were dimmed by agony, but deep within them, a sharp light like quenched ice pierced through the physical pain and fixed itself like a cold arrow on Aomine Daiki's face.
There was no furious roar in that gaze, no aggrieved accusation. There was only a coldness settled to its absolute depths and a silent warning like the moment before a volcano erupted.
Aomine Daiki's heart jolted beneath that stare. His dark-blue pupils contracted sharply. He instinctively wanted to argue or sneer, but the cold will in those eyes forced the words back down his throat. For the first time, an inexplicable chill of being seen through to his very nature crawled up his spine. He opened and closed his mouth, then merely clicked his tongue irritably and looked away.
Yū withdrew his gaze and, supported by the others, left the training hall one step at a time. Each step was agonizingly difficult yet unusually firm. Even wounded, his straight back resembled an unyielding spear.
Momoi Satsuki followed close behind, looking back three times every few steps, worry and determination filling her pink eyes. She bent down, picked up the old basketball Yū had always used—the one knocked away by the collision—and hugged it tightly as though it were the most important thing in the world.
Silence still filled the training hall. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, illuminating the dark stain on the floor where sweat mingled with traces of blood, as well as the complicated expressions on everyone's faces. Teikō's Trial Ground held both glory and thorns, and the foundation of the White Phantom, even amid pain, remained deeply rooted in this scorching land, waiting for its next, even more dazzling bloom.
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