Inside the basketball gym, a deathly silence hung in the air.
Hisashi Mitsui stood rigid as stone, glaring at Shirakawa with shock, fear, and a trace of the humiliation of being completely seen through in his eyes.
This white-haired punk... who the hell was he?
How could he know those secrets buried deep in his heart, secrets not even Tetsuo and the others knew about?!
The calluses on his hands, the posters in his room, the courtside playground late at night... those scenes flashed madly through his mind like a movie on fast-forward, shredding the disguise of "degeneracy" and "violence" he had so painstakingly built to pieces!
"You... you investigated me?!" Mitsui's voice was hoarse. It was the only explanation he could think of.
"Investigated you?" Shirakawa laughed, his smile as disdainful as if he were watching a clown perform. "Hisashi Mitsui, you think too highly of yourself. Trash at your level isn't worth my time investigating."
"I can merely... see the cowardice in your heart."
"You're talking nonsense!" Mitsui roared again, but even he could hear the lack of conviction in his own voice.
The Shohoku Players were completely dumbfounded.
Takenori Akagi and Kiminobu Kogure stood with their mouths open. They had known Mitsui for two years and clashed with him for two years, yet they had never imagined his heart was like this.
So he didn't hate basketball. Rather... he loved it too deeply, which was why he was too afraid to touch it again?
Ryota Miyagi's clenched fists gradually loosened. Looking at Mitsui's pale, trembling figure, the anger that had flared up from being ambushed strangely faded by more than half, replaced by an indescribably complicated feeling.
Hanamichi Sakuragi, meanwhile, looked utterly awestruck.
"Wow... Master's amazing! Can he read minds?!" he whispered to Kaede Rukawa beside him.