The afternoon sun filtered through the windows of Teiko's gymnasium, painting golden lines across the wooden floor, but to Kise Ryota, the light seemed to have lost its luster. He sat in the corner of the court, his back against the cold wall, knees drawn to his chest. His restless fingers drummed against his crossed arms—a nervous habit he'd never had before. Before that game.
The sound of light footsteps echoed through the empty gym.
"Kise-kun?"
Momoi Satsuki's sweet, familiar voice cut through the silence like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. Kise lifted his head slowly, his golden eyes—usually so vibrant—now dulled, like coins that had lost their shine.
"Ah, Momoicchin…" His voice came out hoarse, as if he hadn't used it in far too long.
Momoi stopped in front of him, her hands clutching a clipboard to her chest. Her pink eyes, always so observant, studied Kise's face with growing concern.
"What happened after that day—the practice match?" she asked, leaning slightly forward. "You completely disappeared… No one from the second string wants to talk about the game against Kouzan."
Kise flinched. His fingers twitched involuntarily, nails digging into his own skin through his uniform. In his ears, the sound of the final whistle echoed. In his mind, the image of that scoreboard burned:
12-110.
And worse than the numbers—those eyes. The turquoise eyes of Sae Itoshi, cold as Arctic ice, predatory like a wolf watching its prey.
"We lost," Kise finally admitted, the words ringing out like a funeral bell.
Momoi stood frozen. Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. Lost? Teiko's team? That was impossible.
But then Kise continued, and every word was like a stab:
"No... actually, it was more like a complete humiliation." He lifted his gaze, and Momoi saw something she had never seen on the face of the always-confident Kise Ryota—fear. "There was a guy there... his name was Sae Itoshi. His level is the same as ours, maybe even higher."
A drop of sweat trailed down Kise's temple.
"He destroyed me. The entire second string fell... and I mean, even if they were second string, they were still Teiko's."
A chill ran down Momoi's spine. Her analytical mind was already processing the implications:
A player capable of annihilating the second string single-handedly.
A level comparable to—or surpassing—the Generation of Miracles.
Kise Ryota, the perfect copycat, completely broken.
And then, the most important question rose to her lips:
"Kise-kun... what did he say? At the end of the game?"
Kise closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, Momoi saw something that frightened her more than anything else—resignation.
"He said he's waiting for the Generation of Miracles at the Winter Cup." Kise swallowed hard. "And to tell everyone... we'd better train."
His fingers clenched into fists.
"Because he's going to tear us apart, piece by piece."
The silence that followed was so thick it felt like it had physical weight. Momoi, for the first time in her life, had no statistics to offer, no data to analyze.
The air in the Teiko gymnasium seemed to have grown heavier after Kise's words. Momoi remained silent for a long moment, her pink fingers unconsciously clutching the clipboard tighter against her chest. She could feel her own heart beating faster—not from excitement like during regular games, but from an unfamiliar unease.
She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat making it difficult as she processed all the information. Her instincts as a manager and analyst were on high alert.
I need to see this player's skill level with my own eyes.
Her analytical mind was already at work, mentally scanning through the game schedule. She knew Kouzan would have another match soon—a showdown against Shoei. The perfect opportunity to observe this so-called Sae Itoshi in action.
"Akashi won't be happy about this," Momoi murmured, more to herself, already picturing the captain's reaction upon learning that someone existed who could humiliate a Teiko team like that. Her pink eyes narrowed slightly as she imagined the icy expression that would surely take over the leader of the Generation of Miracles' face.
"And neither will the others," Kise added with a sigh that carried the weight of defeat. His shoulders, usually so full of energy, were slightly slumped now. "Especially Aomine... he's going to be unbearable when he finds out."
Momoi couldn't help but silently agree. Aomine Daiki, with his unshakable pride, would certainly react badly to the news that there was a player capable of surpassing them. And the others... each in their own way would have an explosive reaction.
But beneath the concern, a small flame of determination ignited in the manager's chest. She straightened her back, her face taking on a resolute expression.
"Then I'll have to see this Sae Itoshi for myself," she declared, her voice firmer now. "And figure out exactly what we're dealing with before he shows up in the Winter Cup."
Kise looked at her, and for the first time since the conversation began, a glimpse of his usual self appeared—a tired but genuine smile.
"Good luck, Momoicchin. You're gonna need it."
As Momoi turned to leave, her mind was already buzzing with plans. She'd have to rearrange her schedule, maybe even come up with an excuse to leave early on the day of the game.
...
The silence in Gouzan's training court was so heavy you could hear sweat dripping onto the floor. The air was thick with tension, with frustration, with something deeper—the acrid stench of fear.
Bang!
The sound of the rim rattling echoed like a gunshot. Sae Itoshi was still hanging from the hoop, his fingers bone-white from gripping the metal, his muscles taut like bowstrings. His turquoise eyes, now narrowed to vertical slits, scanned the fallen team before him with absolute disdain.
"Pathetic."
The word landed like a hammer.
He released the rim, dropping to the ground with the grace of a cat as the ball rolled away, its slow dribble echoing like a heart about to stop.
"The defense has more holes than Swiss cheese." Sae spat, wiping sweat from his chin with his wrist. "You don't even try to steal the ball. You just stand there like lampposts, waiting for me to give up and hand it to you?"
The entire team was gasping. Some players couldn't even stand, their legs trembling like reeds in a storm. Kazuya, the captain, swallowed hard, his chest heaving like a bellows.
"W-We can't…" he panted, his eyes glazed. "When we try to block, you… you just switch gears out of nowhere. It's like you—"
"—Like I know exactly what you're going to do before you even think it?" Sae finished, arching an eyebrow. "Yes. Because I do. And you know why?"
He picked up the ball again, bouncing it once, twice—the sound ticking like a time bomb about to explode.
"Because you're predictable. Because you're mediocre. And the worst part?" He stopped, the ball now motionless in his hand. "You accept it."
Kazuya turned red. "Shut the hell up, you arrogant bastard!"
Sae didn't react. Instead, his eyes swept over the entire team, one by one, like a surgeon assessing corpses.
"Arrogance? No, this is confidence. Get it through your heads. You're soft. Hopeless. Incapable of seeing victory because you're too busy drowning in your own inferiority." His voice was sharp, lethally cold and calm. "And that inferiority isn't just physical—it's mental. You look at someone more talented and just… give up."
No one answered. No one could answer. Because it was the naked, brutal truth.
Sae spun the ball on his finger, his eyes now gleaming with an almost supernatural light.
It was the [Predator Eye].
Suddenly, the air grew heavier. The players' breaths turned shallow. Something had shifted—something dangerous.
"This training has one purpose," Sae said, his voice now a whisper laced with dark promises. "I'm going to push you into the abyss. I'll make you fall, break, bleed. I'll make you taste failure so many times…"
He took a step forward.
"...That when you face someone like me, you won't tremble. You won't give up. You'll fight."
The silence was absolute.
Then, Sae smiled. It was a humorless smile, devoid of joy—just the bared teeth of a predator about to strike.
"Now get up, you worthless pieces of shit." He slammed the ball against the floor hard enough to make everyone flinch. "We're starting over. And this time, if even one of you falls before the end, the whole team runs 20 laps around the court."
...
The gymnasium was stifling, the air thick with the scent of sweat and the electricity of competition. The Shoei crowd roared like a wild beast, their vibrant colors staining the bleachers in a mosaic of adrenaline. But to Sae Itoshi, all of it was just background noise—an insignificant buzz in the face of the presence he had just recognized across the court.
Kiyoshi Teppei.
The "Uncrowned King" of Shoei.
A slow, predatory smile curled on Sae's lips as his turquoise eyes—now narrowed into vertical slits like a reptile's—scanned the gentle giant.
'A new toy to play with...'
A thick, black aura began to emanate from his body, undulating like living smoke. Sharp spines of dark energy sprouted from his shoulders, his back, his arms—each one pulsing with malicious intent. Monstrous creatures writhed within that black mist, their yellow eyes gleaming with hunger.
Sae slowly extended his tongue, licking his lips like a tiger eyeing its prey.
"Sae..." Kazuya, his captain, muttered, feeling the air grow heavier. "Do you know that guy?"
Sae didn't answer immediately. His fingers twitched involuntarily, nails digging grooves into his own palms.
"One of the so-called 'Kings.'" His voice came out distorted, as if layered with multiple tones. "Let's see how long he can stay on his throne."
Across the court, Kiyoshi felt a chill crawl down his spine. His dark eyes locked with Sae's from afar—and for the first time in a long while, the gentle giant felt something strange:
Fear.
The whistle blew.