Chapter 58: Ready? (Good night… sweet dreams…)
Possession changes.
After dribbling past half court, Seijuro Akashi scans the floor, observing his teammates’ positioning.
Daiki Aomine is being tightly boxed out by Meisei’s shooting guard, who keeps slipping in small, dirty moves while fighting for position.
Meisei’s small forward tries the same tricks on Miyamoto Tokima—only to freeze in shock moments later.
Miyamoto Tokima responds in kind, repeatedly ramming into the small forward’s shins with far greater force than he can handle. The difference in power is overwhelming, and the small forward is already close to breaking.
Thud!
Meisei’s small forward drops to his knees, forced down by Miyamoto Tokima’s relentless pressure.
He lifts his head with difficulty and meets Miyamoto Tokima’s icy gaze.
In that instant, a terrifying sensation floods his mind—as if he were being locked onto by a wild beast. This wasn’t a human standing before him, but a man-eating predator.
His body begins to tremble, lips quivering uncontrollably.
Miyamoto Tokima stares down at him and silently mouths a sentence.
No one else understands what he says.
But the Meisei small forward does.
He reads the lips clearly:
“This… is just the beginning…”
Makoto Hanamiya glances in Miyamoto Tokima’s direction, then at the referees. Seeing no intention to stop play, he clicks his tongue and passes the ball to the shooting guard.
After releasing the pass, Hanamiya cuts hard toward the paint, with Seijuro Akashi right on his heels.
Meisei’s shooting guard wears a crooked grin as he steps down on Daiki Aomine’s right foot, sealing him behind, and receives Hanamiya’s pass.
Aomine’s face darkens as he suppresses his anger.
‘This bastard…’
Without hesitation, the shooting guard swings the ball onward to Kentaro Seto.
The moment Seto catches it, his right elbow snaps backward, slamming into Atsushi Murasakibara’s waist.
A sharp pain explodes through Murasakibara’s side, forcing him back a step.
Seizing the opening, Seto immediately turns and flicks in a hook shot.
Neither Yamada nor Okuyama Shuzan sees the foul—their attention is fixed entirely on Miyamoto Tokima, not the ball.
Murasakibara’s eyes burn with fury as he glares at Seto’s retreating back.
From there on, Meisei keeps relying on constant small fouls to disrupt Teikō.
Yet whenever Meisei’s small forward interferes with Miyamoto Tokima, the whistle blows instantly.
When Miyamoto Tokima retaliates with his own dirty moves, however, the referees act as if they’re blind.
On one possession, Miyamoto Tokima lowers his shoulder and blasts straight through the small forward, sending him flying—
And still, no call.
Instead, the referee whistles a blocking foul on Meisei’s small forward.
The call leaves him utterly miserable.
“Beep! Teikō calls a timeout!”
More than halfway through the first quarter, Kōzō Shirogane signals for a timeout.
The score is now 17–9, Teikō leading by eight.
Teikō’s players return to the bench. Daiki Aomine takes the water handed to him, gulps it down, and snaps angrily,
“Damn it—how is this even basketball?”
Murasakibara is just as furious. Stationed in the paint and fighting for rebounds, he’s taken the brunt of the cheap shots.
Nijimura Shuzo takes a sip of water, anger flashing in his eyes.
“That’s how they play. I learned that the hard way last year.”
Seijuro Akashi sits quietly, his expression cold and unreadable.
Miyamoto Tokima drops into the seat beside him.
“Seijuro…”
Akashi turns to meet his gaze. As if understanding what Tokima is thinking, he gives a slight nod without a word.
Seeing this, Miyamoto Tokima smiles faintly and turns to Kōzō Shirogane.
“Coach, put Haizaki in. Take Seijuro out.”
Shirogane meets Tokima’s eyes and immediately understands. He nods.
“Alright. Miyamoto will run point, and Shogo Haizaki will take his spot.”
Shogo Haizaki rubs his neck, rolls his shoulders, and replies,
“Yes, Coach.”
Sipping his tea, Shirogane adds calmly,
“Watch your safety. And keep it subtle.”
Haizaki licks his lips and grins wickedly as he nods.
...
On Meisei’s bench—
“Coach, I don’t want to face that monster anymore!”
Meisei’s small forward speaks in panic. Miyamoto Tokima has completely shattered him. Barely halfway through the first quarter, his left hand already feels numb and unresponsive.
Worse still, the referees are blatantly biased. Miyamoto Tokima can rough him up freely, but the moment he retaliates even slightly, the whistle blows.
In such a short span, he’s already picked up four fouls. One more, and he’s done.
The coach hesitates, unsure whether to pull him.
Suddenly, Makoto Hanamiya steps forward and shakes his head.
“No.”
The small forward nearly breaks down.
“Why?! Hanamiya—why?!”
Hanamiya asks calmly,
“How many fouls do you have left?”
The small forward freezes for a moment.
“One… just one… but I really don’t want to face that demon anymore! The second I move, I get called for a foul!”
Hanamiya’s voice turns cold and vicious.
“Who said you need to use small tricks?”
The small forward stiffens.
“Hanamiya, wasn’t it you—”
“Shh.”
Hanamiya raises a finger to his lips.
“I want you to use that last foul properly. Preferably…”
He pauses, glancing toward Teikō’s side of the court.
“Preferably, cripple him.”
The small forward stands there for several seconds before his face twists into something feral. Teeth clenched, he snarls,
“I understand.”
All his anger, fear, and pent-up resentment fuse into a single emotion—hatred.
The game resumes.
The moment he steps onto the court, Miyamoto Tokima notices something wrong with the way the Meisei small forward is looking at him.
That gaze is pure, undisguised hatred.
Miyamoto Tokima grins.
‘Looks like the lesson wasn’t enough.’
Teikō possession.
Miyamoto Tokima dribbles past half court.
Makoto Hanamiya guards him calmly, briefly glancing toward Seijuro Akashi on the bench.
‘The redhead’s off? What a shame.’
Miyamoto Tokima ignores him and signals for Shogo Haizaki to set a screen.
Haizaki steps in, blocking Hanamiya cleanly. Miyamoto Tokima dribbles left, once again lining up against Meisei’s small forward.
The small forward glares at him, teeth clenched, hatred pouring openly from his eyes.
Miyamoto Tokima meets his stare, lips curling slightly as he asks,
“Ready?”
Author's Note
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