First Team Seat: Phantom's Qualification

The air in the Teikō First Team Training Hall felt like solidified lead, heavy enough to choke. Bai Ze You's previous shot, a daring floater squeezed between the twin aces Aomine and Murasakibara, had landed like a spark in hot oil, instantly igniting a long-dormant fighting spirit. Before the cheers could fade, Aomine Daiki's low, predatory voice rang out like a beast's roar, carrying an undeniable challenge:

"Hey! Give it to me!"

Red Team (Starting Lineup) inbounded from the baseline. Akashi Seijūrō's heterochromatic eyes were calm as still water; with a flick of his wrist, the ball flew like a precision-guided missile toward Aomine, who was calling for it near half-court. The deep-blue figure caught it, pivoted, the motion seamless and fluid as a cheetah coiling to strike. He no longer looked at anyone—his deep-blue eyes fixed only on the basket and the sole obstacle in his path: that silver-haired newcomer.

"One-on-one!" Aomine's voice wasn't loud, but it echoed clearly through the suddenly silent gym, a raw, primal declaration. He would measure this newcomer's worth in the most direct way possible!

No flashy feints. Aomine exploded forward in an instant! The explosive power of his first step was like a detonated bomb, leaving only a blurred afterimage! His muscular body, wild with strength, bulldozed toward You's defensive stance like an out-of-control heavy truck! Simple! Brutal! The ultimate fusion of speed and power!

Thud! The dull sound of muscle colliding rang out!

You felt a colossal force slam into his shoulder, his whole body stumbling back half a step involuntarily! The gap in raw physical power was laid bare in that moment! Aomine's "Wildness" talent was the perfect marriage of unnatural explosive power and physical toughness!

But just as Aomine, relying on his physical advantage, forced open space and prepared to accelerate past You completely, You's slightly off-balance body displayed an astonishing resilience and control. Instead of bracing against the force or being knocked away, he moved like a supple vine, letting his body "float" backward along the direction of the immense impact force while his right foot anchored to the floor like a nail, forcibly stabilizing his center of gravity. At the same time, his left hand, still pressed against Aomine's body, clung like a persistent shadow, precisely interfering with the side of the ball Aomine had just dribbled up!

Slap!

The ball went loose instantly! Though he didn't fully steal it, he had severely disrupted Aomine's dribbling rhythm!

"Tch!" A flash of surprise and irritation crossed Aomine's eyes! This newcomer's roll-off technique and balance under contact were simply uncanny! Forced to slow down and adjust, he regained control of the ball. This brief pause gave White Team precious time to fall back on defense! Aomine's solo charge was brutally halted!

"Good defense!" someone on the sidelines couldn't help but murmur.

Aomine's gaze grew more dangerous, like a provoked beast. He no longer sought to blow past in one step; instead, he lowered his center of gravity and began a series of oppressive crossover dribbles in front of You, his shoulders swaying like a serpent's head, searching for an opening. Each change-of-direction fake was loaded with power and deception, trying to tear through the defense with a dual assault of rhythm and strength.

You was completely focused, his amber eyes locked onto every subtle movement Aomine made. Sweat dripped from his temple onto the floor. Facing a player of Aomine's caliber, every collision felt like being struck by a sledgehammer. But his calm-as-water gaze showed no sign of retreat. His body moved like the most precise spring, either yielding with flexibility, locking into position accurately, or using quick lateral steps to block whenever Aomine exerted force. He pushed his top-tier flexibility and core strength to the limit, standing like a reef against crashing waves—constantly battered, yet stubbornly blocking the path to the basket!

"This guy... is he made of taffy?!" Aomine, unable to break through, grew increasingly frustrated. He suddenly executed a highly realistic crossover fake to the left, and the moment You's center of gravity shifted, he planted his right foot, twisted his body violently, and spun back with blinding speed, trying to slip past on the right!

But just as his spin was halfway through and his center of gravity fully shifted, You's swaying body, relying on immense abdominal strength and unbelievable balance, forcibly halted its drift! At the same time, as if predicting Aomine's spin path, his left foot, as if by precognition, precisely planted itself in the path of Aomine's post-spin drive!

Bam!

The two collided solidly! The immense force made You grunt, his body falling backward, but his planted left foot was welded to the floor! Simultaneously, a sharp whistle blew!

"Offensive foul! Red Team, number 5!" The referee pointed decisively at Aomine!

"What?!" Aomine looked at the referee in disbelief, fury burning in his deep-blue eyes, "He ran into me!"

The referee's face was expressionless, pointing to where You had fallen: "The blocking position was legally established. Your spin move made contact with the defender. Offensive foul!"

Aomine spat to the side, his gaze cutting like a knife at You, who was getting up. You wiped the sweat from his chin, his amber eyes calmly meeting Aomine's gaze—no pride, no provocation, only the focus of a completed defense. This silent attitude only made Aomine more furious.

On the sidelines, Nijimura Shūzō nodded slightly. That defensive sequence showed not just physical talent, but exceptional defensive anticipation and positioning! To draw an offensive foul against someone of Aomine's caliber through precise positioning—that level of composure and basketball IQ was extremely rare even in the First Team!

"Beautiful! Bai Ze!" The bench players shouted excitedly, morale soaring.

Ball turnover! White Team on offense. You brought the ball up. The one guarding him was still the experienced third-year defensive stalwart, Takahashi. With the previous lesson learned, Takahashi's defense was more cautious, his center of gravity low, arms spread like a spider's web, giving You no easy room to drive.

You didn't rush. He patiently dribbled at the top of the key, his gaze calmly sweeping over his teammates' movements. Suddenly, his eyes caught a fleeting opportunity! White Team's small forward (Ishida), using a teammate's screen, cut back from the baseline, shaking off Midorima by half a step and slicing toward an open gap under the basket!

Opportunity! The moment Takahashi's attention was slightly drawn by Ishida's cut, You moved! His upper body faked sharply to the left! His shoulder dropped, his eyes piercing left! A wide, highly realistic drive fake to the left!

Takahashi's nerves tensed instantly! Having been burned once, he didn't fully bite this time, but his body instinctively prepared to shift left to block!

In that micro-moment of weight shift! You's right hand, controlling the ball, flicked with impossible speed! The ball traced a bizarre "Z" trajectory in a tiny space, improbably passing through his own legs to his left hand! At the same time, his swaying body, using the instant rhythm change, pivoted on his right foot in a lightning-fast spin that left only an afterimage! Takahashi felt a blur before his eyes, a gust of wind brushing past his side!

"Behind-the-back dribble into a spin! Again!" came the gasp from the sidelines.

But Red Team's rotation defense was lightning fast! The moment You shed Takahashi, Midōrima Shintarō's tall, slender figure appeared like a phantom to help defend! His defense was as precise and merciless as his three-point shooting! His arms were raised high, completely sealing off You's shooting angle!

Midorima blocking ahead, Takahashi pursuing from behind! You was trapped in a pincer again! Yet his movements didn't falter! Facing Midorima's airtight contest, You's sprinting body suddenly took a step back at high speed! An abrupt stop-and-step-back! Midorima's anticipated block whiffed!

Just as Midorima's center of gravity leaned forward, trying to close in again, You's retreating body, like a compressed spring, exploded forward once more with his powerful core and ankle strength! A fast-slow, rhythmically bizarre "pump fake" (feigning a shot to drive)!

Even Midorima's precision-instrument-like brain seemed to stutter for a moment! His vaunted anticipation and defensive habits, faced with this completely unorthodox rhythm, combined with extreme flexibility and deception, hesitated for the first time!

That fraction of a second of hesitation was all You needed! He slipped past Midorima like a fish through the fleeting gap! Straight into the paint!

"Stop him!" Akashi's calm voice rang out again.

Under the basket, the purple, primordial-beast-like figure was already waiting! Murasakibara Atsushi's massive frame blocked every possible shooting angle! The oppressive pressure was like a solid wall!

You didn't slow down at all! His sprinting body rose from the ground just inside the free-throw line! A flicker of coldness passed through Murasakibara's eyes as his colossal body leaped like a mountain, his enormous hand blotting out the sky!

Everyone expected You to pull off another extreme aerial dodge and floater. But just as his body was airborne, about to collide with Murasakibara's giant palm, You's ball-handling right hand inexplicably whipped behind his head! His wrist flicked softly!

The ball traced a bizarre, high-arcing parabola, clearing Murasakibara's raised, blocking arm, and flew precisely to the completely unguarded space on the other side of the basket!

There, White Team's center (Kobayashi), already reading the play, leaped high!

Boom—! A powerful, two-handed alley-oop dunk!

"Good shot—!!!" The entire training hall erupted! This wasn't just a score; it was a brilliant play that had pierced the layered defense of Teikō's starting lineup! From spotting the open man, to shaking off two top defenders (Takahashi, Midorima) with realistic fakes and bizarre rhythm, to that final stroke of genius—the no-look, over-the-head pass through Murasakibara's giant reach!

"Great pass, Bai Ze!" Kobayashi roared excitedly after landing.

You landed, breathing slightly heavily, his amber eyes sweeping over the scoreboard (now changed by the play), then calmly retreating on defense. The bench players were almost charging onto the court.

"Beautiful, Bai Ze!"

"That pass! Unreal!"

"Did you see that? He even fooled Midorima-senpai!"

Nijimura's smile was now impossible to hide. He clapped his hands vigorously, his voice booming: "Good shot! Bai Ze! Keep it up!" This praise, like an official seal, instantly elevated Bai Ze You's standing in the team.

Deep in Akashi Seijūrō's heterochromatic eyes, the frozen lake surface finally stirred with real ripples. He stared intently at the retreating You, his fingers unconsciously tracing his sleeve cuff. That whole sequence... the rhythm change and body control to beat Takahashi... the bizarre pump fake that fooled Midorima... the spatial awareness and audacity of that final no-look, behind-the-head pass... This could no longer be described with simple "talent." This was a floor general with top-tier basketball IQ, capable of making the most rational, lethal decisions under pressure! He picked up Momoi's shorthand notebook and quickly jotted down a few keywords: Rhythm Master, Space Reader, Deadly Passer. For the first time, the corner of Akashi's mouth curled into a faint, icy arc brimming with keen interest. This newcomer might not just be a sharp blade on the wing... but perhaps the key to orchestrating the entire team's offense?

On the second floor of the training hall, Kise Ryōta's golden eyes had already lit up like searchlights. Both hands gripping the railing tightly, he leaned forward, muttering incessantly: "That pass just now! That pass! How did he see that?! And that fake move to fool Midorima-senpai... wow! So cool! I have to learn it!" His fervor for basketball and his urge to imitate novel techniques had been thoroughly ignited.

On the sidelines, Momoi Satsuki's cherry-pink ponytail trembled slightly from excitement, her fair cheeks flushed. The pen in her hand practically flew across her shorthand notebook, her cherry-pink eyes blazing with intensity. "Unbelievable... It's not just his physical talent... his reading of the defense... his anticipation of teammates' positions... his timing on passes... and that mind that stays ice-cold even under the double pressure of Aomine-kun and Murasakibara-kun... This can't be fully measured by data anymore!" She lifted her head, her gaze fixed on the silver-haired boy in the arena, filled with pure awe and the thrill of discovering a treasure.

But that excited gaze pierced like a needle into someone's eyes.

"Hmph." A cold snort, heavy with barely concealed displeasure, came from Aomine Daiki's direction. His deep blue eyes swept coldly over Yū, who had just met Momoi's gaze, then glanced at Momoi, whose face was brimming with excitement, her eyes only on the basketball data. A nameless rage flared in his chest! That newcomer again! Not only had he challenged him on the court time and again, but now Satsuki... even Satsuki's attention was drawn to him?! Aomine abruptly swung his hand, irritably shoving aside a teammate trying to high-five him, turned, and strode to the sidelines. He grabbed a water bottle and gulped down several fierce mouthfuls, his dark blue disheveled hair shadowing a terrifyingly gloomy expression.

Yū naturally felt the icy stare and saw Aomine's irritated retreat. His expression didn't change, but deep in his amber eyes, a faint flicker of understanding passed. The stage of Teikō was rife with competition, and some rivalries were perhaps more subtle and complex than the battles on the court. He withdrew his gaze and refocused on the intense scrimmage. Sweat soaked through the red and white training uniform, clinging to his smooth, powerful muscles. The seat on the First Team had to be defended with strength and proven through performance. And the qualification for the "White Phantom" was being etched, stroke by stroke, in his own way, on this battlefield of sweat and collision, growing ever clearer and more dazzling.