Total Defeat, a Genius's Helpless Cry!

When Akira Sendoh fell to the floor in disarray and could only watch Shirakawa casually put the ball into the hoop, the entire Ryonan Gymnasium sank into an eerie silence, mixed with sympathy and shock.

Akira Sendoh.

In Kanagawa, he was hailed as a genius, a basketball prince admired by countless people.

Yet at this moment, he was like an ordinary person stripped of every halo.

No, he looked even more miserable than an ordinary person.

He lay on the cold floor, sweat and tears mingling together and blurring his vision.

All he could hear was his own ragged breathing, like a broken bellows.

And the casual words left behind by that man as he walked past him.

"It's over."

Yes, this time, it really was over.

His last shred of pride, his final challenge, had been crushed to pieces before that dazzling, suffocating 360-degree spin.

He had nothing left to bring out.

He had given everything he had.

But he had still lost.

Lost completely.

"Sendoh..."

Jun Uozumi ran over and reached out, wanting to pull him up from the floor.

However, Sendoh merely shook his head.

He did not want to get up.

He only wanted to lie there like this forever.

Perhaps then, he would not have to face that nightmare-like back bearing the number 1.

Coach Taoka sat on the bench, watching this scene as he closed his eyes in pain.

He knew that Sendoh's heart had been completely shattered.

This genius in whom he had placed such high hopes, whom he regarded as Ryonan's hope for the future, might need a very, very long time to recover from this blow.

Or perhaps he might never recover at all.

"Why..."

"Why does Shohoku have such a monster..."

Coach Taoka's heart was filled with unwillingness and helplessness.

He felt that all his years of effort, all his years of dreams, had been utterly destroyed today by a white-haired kid who had appeared out of nowhere.

The game continued.

But all suspense had vanished.

Ryonan's soul—Akira Sendoh—had fallen.

The remaining Ryonan players had completely lost their fighting spirit as well, running back and forth across the court like walking corpses in a mechanical, meaningless routine.

Meanwhile, Shohoku had gone completely wild.

After utterly crushing Sendoh with that dazzling spin move, Shirakawa once again retreated into a supporting role.

He handed the stage entirely to his teammates.

"Kaede Rukawa, that Fukuda can only use his left hand. Drive at him from the right."

"Senior Miyagi, their point guard is out of stamina. Use your speed to overwhelm him."

"Captain Akagi, Uozumi's mentality has collapsed. Score over his head using what you do best."

"Sakuragi..."

"Here! Lord Shirakawa! What do you need me to do this time? Do you want another 'Century Assist'?"

"No." Shirakawa shook his head, pointed at the basket, and smiled. "This time, go throw down a dunk."

Under Shirakawa's command, every Shohoku player displayed his own brilliance.

Kaede Rukawa used a string of flashy one-on-one plays to make Ryonan's newcomer Fukuda question his entire life.

Ryota Miyagi used his unstoppable speed to tear open Ryonan's defense again and again, scoring with ease or dishing out assists.

Takenori Akagi completely dominated the mentally unbalanced Uozumi in the paint, putting on a "Gorilla Dunk Show."

Even Hanamichi Sakuragi caught an alley-oop from one of Shirakawa's exquisite assists and threw down a powerful, imposing dunk over two Ryonan players!

"Wahahahaha! Did you see that?! I'm the real genius!"

After the dunk, Sakuragi excitedly pounded his chest and howled at the sky.

The gap on the scoreboard rapidly widened.

60:40.

70:42.

80:45.

The game had completely entered garbage time.

Ryonan's stands had long since fallen silent.

Many people could not bear to keep watching and had already left early.

They could not accept that the powerful, invincible Ryonan team in their hearts was being pinned to the floor and mercilessly crushed in what was practically a massacre.

"Beeeep—!"

At last, the final whistle sounded.

To Ryonan's players and fans, that sound was a release.

The score on the scoreboard finally settled on a shocking number.

95:50.

Shohoku won this practice game by a massive, terrifying margin of 45 points.

At the moment the whistle sounded.

Akira Sendoh finally slowly sat up from the floor.

He looked at that glaring score, then at the Shohoku players across from him, who were cheering in celebration.

Then he buried his face deeply between his knees.

No one saw it.

This young man who had always presented himself as a genius—dashing and composed.

At this moment, his broad shoulders were trembling faintly, beyond his control.

A suppressed, mournful cry filled with helplessness and unwillingness rose from the depths of his throat.