Amid thunderous cheers, the third quarter finally ended.
The score was 83 to 61. Kirisaki Daiichi now led by a massive 22 points.
"Little Tendou came out on top after all…"
A result —few had predicted it.
Not even Kise, one of Aomine's old teammates.
He had expected Aomine might lose—but not . Not this completely.
Ever since Aomine awakened his full potential, he had cast a suffocating pressure over everyone around him.
So overwhelming that no one could even imagine how someone might defeat him so decisively.
But here it was—a complete and total domination.
From the first play to the last, Tendou never lost control.
Even when Aomine pushed himself to the limit again and again, Tendou stayed one step ahead, always suppressing him.
A lead in every dimension.
That was the impression Tendou gave:
As the leader of the Generation of Miracles, his strength was downright oppressive.
"The fourth quarter is all yours now."
Tendou returned to the bench.
He had no intention of stepping back on the court.
Aomine had reached his physical limit—he had burned through every last drop of energy.
At this stage, Kirisaki Daiichi had practically secured the win.
"Of course, if you still blow it from this point… I'll personally come back and finish it."
"Tch. Who the hell needs you back on the court?"
Hanamiya glared at the scoreboard and gave a dismissive snort.
As long as that monster from Tōō wasn't returning, they could protect a 22-point lead with their eyes closed.
His tone had shifted—he no longer sounded as sharp or dismissive as before.
Clearly, he'd been shaken by the display of Tendou's strength.
He'd always believed that brilliance—genius or not—would eventually turn rotten and become trash.
But Tendou was different.
That guy? He couldn't be broken.
Maybe that's what it meant to be a real genius.
"Alright, it's in your hands now."
Tendou slipped on his jacket and put his sunglasses back on.
Then he grabbed the clipboard and sketched out a few final plays for Kirisaki Daiichi.
Meanwhile, on Tōō's bench…
Aomine sat in silence, towel draped over his head, hiding his expression.
"So Aomine was the first to break down, huh…" Harasawa Katsunori let out a bitter chuckle.
His guess had been correct: Zone was powerful—but not without its risks.
What he hadn't expected was that Aomine would reach his limit while Tendou continued to stand tall.
By this point, Tōō's odds of winning had dropped to virtually zero.
All they could do now was wait for the national tournament—and try for revenge.
With that thought, Harasawa stopped dwelling on it.
"You crying because little Tendou beat you?"
If anyone else had said that to him, Aomine would've punched them without hesitation.
"Who the hell would cry over that?" he grumbled, yanking the towel off his head to reveal his wild, defiant expression—proof that no tears had been shed.
He glanced across the court toward Tendou… and stood up abruptly.
"Hey, where are you going?" Momoi asked. The source of thɪs content is NoveIＦire.net
And Aomine was not someone who couldn't take defeat.
He'd get his chance to settle the score at Nationals.
This time, Momoi didn't stop him.
Because unlike all the times he'd left early before—this time, she saw something different in his eyes.
Real, burning determination.
"Stick to that mushroom-head. Get physical. Don't let him get off an easy shot."
The fourth quarter began.
Tendou, now transformed into the iron-blooded young coach, barked out commands from the sideline.
With a 22-point lead, Tōō couldn't just chip away 2 by 2.
If they were going to make a comeback, they needed three-pointers.
And aside from Aomine, the only reliable three-point shooter in their lineup was Sakurai Ryō—the guy with the mushroom cut.
Sakurai tried to protest:
"I am not a mushroom head…"
But when he looked over at Tendou… he couldn't even muster a rebuttal.
This was the guy who'd shut down Aomine for the entire game.
The fourth quarter flowed smoothly.
Harasawa Katsunori called two timeouts—but neither had much impact.
Kirisaki Daiichi kept their lead until the final buzzer.
When time finally expired, the scoreboard read:
Kirisaki Daiichi defeated the rising powerhouse, Tōō Academy, by 17 points!
As the final whistle blew, Hara Kazuya and the others finally exhaled.
This was unlike any match they had ever played.
So serious—so intense—it almost felt unreal.
"Congratulations, Tendou-kun. You won."
"You mean we won," Tendou replied, stepping forward to shake Harasawa's hand.
He noticed the whole team watching, so he quickly corrected Harasawa's wording.
And with that, the "bad boys" of Kirisaki Daiichi burst into cheers—including Hanamiya.
Even though they all knew Tendou said it just to win them over…
It still felt good to hear.
That was the power of words—emotional intelligence.
When Tendou revealed his ability to predict the future, Akashi had fallen silent.
Stronger than the Emperor Eye—Tendou's Heavenly Eye could predict full-court situations at high speed.
"No… he can only see three seconds ahead. The Emperor Eye sees all possible futures."
"I am the absolute one."
He composed himself once more, brimming with unshakable confidence in his own eyes.
He turned to his three Uncrowned Kings.
"That's enough rest. Training resumes now."
"The real competition is just beginning."
Kyoto had been too easy.
Rakuzan hadn't met any real resistance yet.
No "old teammates" here could challenge him.
But when Nationals began, they'd all be there—especially Tendou's Kirisaki Daiichi, with its terrifying potential.
And the prophecy had come true.
With the sole exception of Midorima, whose team had been unexpectedly eliminated, every Generation of Miracles team had made it to the Nationals.
"His style of basketball can't win."
Akashi had made that judgment from the beginning.
In the stands, the crowd began to disperse.
Midorima was already on his way out the moment the game ended.
"You're leaving so soon?" someone asked.
"I saw what I needed to see."
He didn't even look back.
He had to return to training.
The year wasn't over yet. He and Takao still had things they needed to prove.
"Let's go too," said Kasamatsu Yukio.
He had no intention of watching the award ceremony.
This match had left a deep impression on him.
Much like Rakuzan, Kanagawa hadn't offered Kaijō enough of a challenge.
Their path to Nationals had been smoother than that of Kirisaki Daiichi or Tōō.
But in Tokyo, every team was forged in fire.
The ones who made it out… were elite among elites.
If they weren't ready…
They'd repeat last year's mistakes.
And Kasamatsu had no intention of letting that happen again.