The air in the Teikō First Team Training Hall still seemed to retain the lingering warmth of colliding muscles and the salty tang of sweat after Aomine's savage impact and Murasaki-bara's overwhelming strength. However, when training shifted to stationary half-court shooting, an entirely different, cold and precise aura began to spread. Bai Ze You's gaze was involuntarily seized by the figure in the left corner of the court—Midōrima Shintarō.
He stood as straight as a pine, wearing his trademark glasses. The gaze behind the lenses was sharp as a scalpel as he meticulously adjusted the bandage wrapped tightly around his left wrist and the finger guard on his right index finger. Every movement was as precise as interlocking clockwork gears, carrying an almost obsessive sense of ritual. Several basketballs were arranged neatly before him, like shells waiting to be fired. His entire presence instantly shifted from lazy observer to a cold, focused, oppressive "sniper" mode.
"Half-court stationary shooting test! Ten shots each! Midorima, you're first!" Nijimura Shūzō's voice broke the silence.
Midōrima pushed up his glasses, the ceiling lights reflecting off the lenses and obscuring his eyes. He walked to the left corner, bent down, and lightly brushed his fingertips over the basketball's rough surface with a steadiness that seemed measured a thousand times over. Then he bent his knees, lowered his waist, raised the ball, pushed off, lifted his arm, and snapped his wrist—the motion flowing seamlessly, every stage precise as a textbook reproduction, without the slightest deviation!
Swish!
The basketball traced a perfect, heart-stopping high arc, like a precision-guided missile, and dropped cleanly through the hoop! The crisp swish of the net was especially jarring in the silent gym.
"1/10." The upperclassman keeping score called out the number, his voice carrying habitual awe.
Expressionless, Midōrima moved to the next spot—the left fifteen-degree angle. The same preparation, the same ball-raising posture, the same release rhythm. Once again, the basketball traced that familiar, perfect arc through the air!
Swish! It dropped cleanly through the net again!
"2/10."
Like a machine running on a preset program, he silently moved to every spot: the top of the arc, the right fifteen-degree angle, the right corner, the free-throw line... Every shot was terrifyingly calm, and the arc, spin, and speed of every ball were precisely identical! Those perfect trajectories seemed to have been measured by an invisible ruler, carrying a cold, despairingly beautiful quality.
Swish! Swish! Swish! The crisp sounds of the net were like a countdown to death, striking against the hearts of every spectator again and again.
"9/10!" The scorekeeper's voice held an imperceptible tremor. Only the final shot remained—the right corner.
Midōrima planted his feet and performed the same perfect preparation. He drew a deep breath, his gaze through the lenses locking onto the center of the distant hoop like a laser. He bent his knees, lowered his waist, and raised the ball... Just as the ball was about to leave his hands, a faint metallic scraping sound suddenly came from somewhere in the training hall's ceiling! A hanging piece of equipment seemed to have loosened slightly and swayed once!
Such a tiny disturbance might have had no effect on an ordinary person, but to Midōrima, who pursued absolute precision and incorporated every environmental variable into his calculations, it was like a grain of sand thrown into a precision instrument!
Midōrima's brows knitted together almost imperceptibly! His flawless release rhythm suffered a barely detectable hesitation! The height at which he raised the ball seemed to be a fraction of a millimeter higher than before, and the angle at which he pressed down his wrist seemed to deviate by the tiniest amount!
The ball left his hand! It still traced a high arc, but Akashi, Nijimura, and even Momoi Satsuki by the sideline all caught that imperceptible difference—the arc seemed slightly flatter than before, and the spin seemed slightly weaker!
Clang!
The basketball struck the inner side of the back rim and bounced high! It rattled along the rim a few times before finally... barely, with breathless suspense, rolling into the net!
"10/10! Perfect!" The scorekeeper's voice held the excitement of someone released from a burden.
Perfect! Yet the danger of that final ball was like a tiny thorn driven into Midōrima's precision-minded heart, which pursued absolute perfection. He stood where he was and pushed up his glasses, his cold gaze behind the lenses sweeping over the spot on the ceiling where the noise had come from. His thin lips pressed into a hard, cold line. He said nothing, but the silent chill and faint anger at having been slighted were clearly conveyed to everyone. To Midōrima, "barely making it" was itself a failure.
"Next, Bai Ze You!" Nijimura called, with a barely perceptible note of anticipation. Everyone's eyes instantly focused on Yū.
Yū walked to the left corner, taking the same position Midōrima had just occupied. He picked up a basketball. Without Midōrima's elaborate ritual, he simply felt the ball's texture with his fingers out of habit, then slightly bent his knees and lowered his center of gravity. His shooting posture was not as standardized as Midōrima's, carrying instead a unique, smooth, natural rhythm. He raised the ball, pushed off, lifted his arm, and snapped his wrist—the movement was fluid and expansive, beautiful as flowing water.
Swish!
The basketball traced an equally graceful arc and dropped cleanly through the net! Crisp and effortless!
"1/10." The scorekeeper called out the number.
Yū's expression remained calm as he moved to the next spot. Left fifteen-degree angle, catch, bend, release!
Swish! Another make!
"2/10."
From the top of the arc, swish! Clean!
"3/10."
Right fifteen-degree angle, swish! Perfect!
"4/10."
Right corner, swish! Still crisp!
"5/10!"
Five consecutive clean shots! Smooth! Stable! Not the slightest bit cumbersome! Unlike Midōrima's cold, mechanical quality, his shooting was filled with a unique rhythm and confidence. Low murmurs and barely restrained exclamations began to rise from the sideline. This newcomer's shooting touch was actually so soft and steady?!
However, when Yū stepped onto the free-throw line, Midōrima Shintarō's cold voice cut through the air like a scalpel:
"Interference."
At some point, Midōrima had moved to a position roughly two meters in front and to Yū's side. He pushed up his glasses, the gaze behind the lenses sharp as a needle as it locked onto every minute movement Yū made. His voice held no fluctuation. "Keep shooting. I'll interfere with you."
The air instantly froze! Interference shooting practice?! And Midōrima Shintarō himself was going to interfere?! This was practically hell difficulty!
Nijimura stood with his arms folded, showing no intention of stopping them. Instead, a stronger interest burned in his eyes. Akashi stood silently to one side, his heterochromatic eyes like cold probes. Aomine bared his teeth in an amused grin. Murasaki-bara yawned, seeming to find things a little more interesting now. The pen in Momoi Satsuki's hand stopped in midair, nervousness filling her cherry-pink eyes.
Yū's movements did not pause at all. He seemed not to have heard Midōrima or felt the cold gaze that seemed almost tangible. He slightly bent his knees, lowered his waist, raised the ball, and calmly locked his eyes on the hoop.
The instant Yū lifted his arm and the ball was about to leave his hand, Midōrima moved! His motion was as fast as a phantom, yet as precise as if measured with a ruler! His long body shifted half a step sideways, and his right arm shot out like a venomous snake, blocking the most direct line of sight between Yū's shooting hand and the hoop! At the same time, his cold voice, formulaic as an equation, rang out: "Visual interference, Type A! Release-angle correction rate down 12.3%!"
Yū's view was completely blocked by the suddenly appearing palm! All he could see was the shadow of Midōrima's arm! The enormous psychological pressure and sudden deprivation of vision were enough to distort any shooter's form!
Yet Yū's arm rose without the slightest hesitation! His wrist still snapped out softly! The ball left his hand, tracing an arc that seemed slightly higher than before!
Clang!
The basketball struck the front rim and bounced high! It missed!
"6/10." The scorekeeper's voice carried a hint of regret.
The interference had worked!
Midōrima expressionlessly withdrew his arm and pushed up his glasses, as if he had merely completed a precise experimental procedure.
Yū calmly retrieved the ball and returned to the free-throw line. There was no fluctuation in his amber eyes, only deeper concentration. He bent his knees again, lowered his waist, and raised the ball.
This time, Midōrima's interference was even more devious! The instant Yū raised his arm, Midōrima did not extend his hand to block his vision. Instead, he suddenly leaned forward and stepped in, closing the distance like a phantom! Enormous pressure descended at once! At the same time, his cold voice rang out like a spell: "Oppressive Close Defense! Balance disrupted! Expected core stability down 18.7%!"
The powerful pressure made Yū's body sway slightly despite himself! His ball-raising motion became minutely stiff!
The ball left his hand! The arc was visibly off!
Bang! It slammed into the side of the rim and bounced away!
"7/10." Another miss!
Two consecutive failures under Midōrima's precise interference! The discussion along the sideline grew louder. Midōrima Shintarō, Teikō's most precise "sniper" and "Defense Computer," had used flawless calculation and prediction to teach this radiant newcomer a harsh lesson!
Yū stood where he was, watching the ball bounce away, and slowly exhaled a breath of stale air. Sweat slid down from his temple. He felt the scrutiny and challenge contained in Midōrima's cold gaze. This was not a clash of strength, but a silent war of calculation against countercalculation, prediction against counterprediction! Deep within his amber eyes, beneath their well-like calm, a flame called "fighting spirit" was completely ignited. He liked challenges, especially dual challenges of intellect and technique!
He bent down to pick up the ball and stepped onto the free-throw line for the third time. This time, he did not immediately bend his knees to prepare. Instead, he dribbled twice, calmly swept his eyes over Midōrima's position, then looked toward the distant hoop, as if conducting some silent calculation.
Midōrima remained in front and to the side, the gaze behind his lenses like that of a hawk, catching every minute muscular tell from Yū.
He moved!
Yū's center of gravity suddenly sank! His shoulder swayed slightly, and his eyes stabbed sharply toward the right—a small yet extraordinarily convincing fake drive right!
Midōrima's pupils narrowed slightly! The amplitude of the shoulder movement, the angle of the gaze shift, the direction of the sinking center of gravity... The data flashed through his mind in an instant! Probability of a drive right: 67.3%! His center of gravity shifted half a step to the right almost instinctively, nearly imperceptibly, preparing to block the driving lane!
Yet the instant Midōrima's weight shifted, Yū's sinking body used the strength of his core and the explosive force of his ankle to forcibly halt the motion! At the same time, his right wrist flicked with incredible speed, as if disappearing! Within an extremely small space, the ball traced a bizarre arc and somehow passed from behind his own back into his left hand! Using the rebound of his center of gravity, his entire body became a spring compressed to its limit and sprang violently toward the left, into the tiny gap created by Midōrima's shifted weight! He rose for the shot!
Rhythm Change! A fake move followed by a behind-the-back dribble adjustment and an instant pull-up! The entire motion flowed as one, as smooth as if practiced a thousand times! It perfectly combined the deception of the fake with his own explosive power!
For the first time, clear astonishment flashed through Midōrima's eyes! His precise calculations and predictions suffered a fatal delay before an action that completely violated the normal rhythm of shooting while combining extreme body control with deception! He forcibly twisted his center of gravity and tried to block the shot, but he was already half a beat too late!
The ball flew from Yū's fingertips! Spinning faster than before, it traced an arc that was slightly flatter yet much quicker!
Swish! Clean through the net!
"8/10!" The scorekeeper's voice held a hint of excitement!
He had done it! Using a fake move and a bizarre Rhythm Change, he had tricked Midōrima's Defense Computer!
Midōrima's expression did not change, but the fingers pushing up his glasses pressed slightly harder. The gaze behind the lenses grew even colder and sharper.
"Continue." Yū's voice was calm and unruffled, as if that spectacular shot had been nothing unusual.
Fourth-ball interference. Yū caught the ball at the top of the arc. Midōrima followed like a shadow, maintaining the optimal interference distance. Yū adjusted with a dribble, then suddenly made an extremely convincing Cross-over Fake Drive Right! Midōrima's center of gravity was instantly fooled!
The moment his weight shifted, Yū's right wrist flicked with incredible speed! Within a tiny space, the ball traced a V-shaped path and passed between his legs into his left hand! At the same time, his body, which had drawn Midōrima's weight off-center, pivoted on his left foot and spun rapidly in place like a top! He tried to break free!
"Driving route predicted: cut left! Blocking angle correction!" Midōrima's cold voice rang out! Relying on terrifying prediction and reaction speed, he forcibly halted the weight shift he had been tricked into making. His large body became a precise gate, instantly sealing off the driving path after Yū's spin!
However, halfway through the turn, Yū forcibly stopped! His spinning body halted in place through the strength of his core and flexibility! At the same time, just as his body was about to completely lose balance and fall, his left hand holding the ball relied on muscle memory formed through countless repetitions and an astonishing touch to flick its wrist with extraordinary softness, lofting the ball toward the hoop!
An Off-balance Floater! A finishing move completely beyond expectation!
The basketball traced a low, bizarre arc!
Swish! Clean through the net again!
"9/10!"
"Whoa—!!" A tremendous wave of astonishment erupted from the sideline! What kind of powerful core and soft touch did it take to shoot while completely off balance?!
Midōrima stood where he was, watching the basketball roll away. The gaze behind his lenses was like a frozen lake, and for the first time clearly reflected a ripple called "confusion." His calculation model seemed to have no preset variable for an Off-balance Floater. This newcomer's style was filled with an Unpredictability that could not be fully analyzed through common sense or data!
The final shot! Right fifteen-degree angle! The score was 9/10!
The air throughout the gym seemed to freeze. Every gaze focused on Yū. Midōrima Shintarō stood in front and to his side, closer than before. The gaze behind his lenses was as cold as polar ice, incorporating every pore on Yū's body into its calculations. He would not be fooled by the same trick twice!
Yū dribbled slowly, each bounce heavy and steady. Sweat dripped from his chin. He could feel Midōrima's tangible, icy field of calculation, as if every movement he made were being broken down into streams of data and rapidly computed inside the other boy's mind. This was a silent war, the ultimate confrontation between a precision instrument and an unpredictable phantom.
He slightly bent his knees and lowered his center of gravity. Midōrima's eyes instantly sharpened like blades, capturing every minute muscular tell.
Yū's upper body suddenly swayed to the left! The movement was small, but every detail was convincing! His eyes stabbed toward the left—a fake suggesting a drive or pass!
Midōrima's data stream instantly analyzed it: probability of a fake move, 83.6%! Intention: create space for a shot! Center of gravity unmoved, arm slightly raised, preparing to block the shooting lane!
The instant Midōrima reacted according to his prediction, Yū's swaying body did not withdraw. Instead, using the force of the sway, his entire body rotated 180 degrees rapidly to the left and backward around his right foot, as if pulled by invisible threads! A back turn! At the same time, at the instant of the turn, his right hand controlling the ball made an extremely concealed flick. The basketball seemed to come alive, striking the floor with incredible speed and passing through Midōrima's instinctively spread legs! A Nutmeg Pass?!
The target was not the hoop! It was his teammate Kobayashi, cutting in from the baseline!
"A pass?!" Midōrima's pupils suddenly contracted! His precise calculations had been completely misled! Every prediction had focused on Yū's individual finish! A Nutmeg Pass?! This extremely risky, low-percentage pass was entirely beyond the "reasonable choices" in his database!
In the instant Midōrima stood stunned, Kobayashi had already caught the Nutmeg Pass, precise as a scalpel, and effortlessly finished the layup!
"Assist! White Team scores!" the referee called.
The ball went in! Though Yū had not scored himself, with that bizarre Nutmeg Pass that completely violated Midōrima's logic, he had utterly dismantled the defense system of Teikō's "precision sniper"! He had achieved an alternative kind of "defense break"!
The entire training hall fell into a brief silence. Everyone stared at the scene in stunned disbelief. He had cracked Midōrima Shintarō's defense with a Nutmeg Pass? It was practically a fairy tale!
Midōrima stood motionless. Slowly, he pushed up his glasses, the gaze behind the lenses fixed on the silver-haired figure high-fiving Kobayashi. His eyes remained cold, but unprecedented storm waves churned deep within them! Precision, calculation, data... Everything he took pride in seemed to have developed an unfillable flaw for the first time before the variable known as "Bai Ze You"! A cold anger at having been completely toyed with swept through his heart like a frigid current.
At the sideline, beneath the frozen surface of Akashi Seijūrō's heterochromatic eyes, Undercurrents Surging. He stared fixedly at Yū, his fingertips unconsciously tightening until they nearly crushed his sleeve. That series of movements just now... From using a convincing fake to induce Midōrima's prediction, to using the turning motion to conceal the Nutmeg Pass... Every step had struck precisely at the blind spots in Midōrima's calculation model! This was no longer mere talent. It was the ultimate control of defensive psychology and court-space reading! The true core of the "phantom"! He picked up Momoi's Shorthand Notebook and wrote heavily in it: Unpredictability. The corner of Akashi's mouth curved into a clear, cold smile brimming with strategic interest. Teikō's arsenal needed a variable like this.
Nijimura Shūzō's booming laughter broke the silence. "Hahaha! Nice play! Bai Ze! Beautiful pass!" His praise was filled with admiration for Yū's creativity on the court.
Aomine Daiki folded his arms, a fiercer flame burning in his deep-blue eyes. He had seen the cunning and creativity Yū displayed against a top defender like Midōrima, and it made the battle-lust in his body boil even more fiercely. Murasaki-bara Atsushi stopped chewing his Umaibo, confusion and displeasure at being disturbed showing in his purple eyes as he muttered, "...A pass? What a pain..."
On the second floor of the training hall, Kise Ryōta excitedly gripped the railing. "Whoa! A Nutmeg Pass! That was so cool! So sneaky! Midorima-senpai's face! Hahaha! Bai Ze-senpai! You have to teach me that move!" His admiration for Yū had reached its peak.
At the sideline, Momoi Satsuki's cherry-pink ponytail swayed slightly with excitement, and her fair cheeks were flushed. The pen in her hand raced across the Shorthand Notebook, shock and pure research fervor filling her cherry-pink eyes. "Incredible... A passing choice that completely violates the data model... Precise understanding of Midori-kun's psychology... And creativity that remains free and imaginative even under the pressure of Precision Calculation... This is simply..." She raised her head and looked toward the silver-haired boy on the court, her eyes filled with astonishment and the excitement of discovering a new continent.
At that moment, a cool, calm voice rang out from the sideline, carrying a force that pierced through every other sound:
"Bai Ze."
Akashi Seijūrō had appeared at the sideline at some point. His Heterochromatic Eyes were like cold probes, staring straight at Yū, who had just finished celebrating with his teammates. His voice was not loud, but it carried clearly into everyone's ears:
"Can your phantom deceive the 'Generation of Miracles'?"
The words were like a boulder thrown into a still lake, instantly sending enormous waves through everyone's hearts! Deceive the Generation of Miracles?! Akashi was actually using such high praise to evaluate this newcomer who had only just joined the First Team?!
Yū turned around. His sweat-soaked Red and White Training Uniform clung to the smooth, powerful lines of his muscles. He met Akashi's unfathomable gaze. His amber eyes remained calm, but deep within them, a sharp gleam never seen before slowly lit up like a drawn sword.
He did not answer. He merely curved the corners of his mouth into the faintest yet unmistakable smile, filled with confidence and challenge.
The answer was self-evident. The White Phantom's dance steps were destined to bewilder the entire world on this stage where countless prodigies had gathered.
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