Kuroko no Basket: Honored One

Beeeep—

The whistle blew to end the second quarter.

Just like a runner crossing the finish line, the instant the buzzer sounded, the purple lightning at the corner of Murasakibara's eye faded away.

At this point, Yōsen was trailing by twenty-four points.

They all knew exactly what that meant—Murasakibara had hit his limit.

Back on the bench, he dropped onto the seat like a deflated basketball.

So tired. His head was heavy, his throat parched, and his jersey was soaked through with sweat.

He didn't complain. He didn't say he was exhausted. Because right now, he didn't even have the energy to speak.

Murasakibara had once hated players like this.

Now… he had become one of them.

No one blamed him.

Not even the coach—who normally wouldn't hesitate to hit him with a bamboo sword—handed him a towel and water personally.

"You did great, Murasakibara."

"Let's go. Rest up in the locker room."

Araki Masako patted his shoulder gently.

But she quickly returned to her usual tough self, leading the team through the tunnel with her head held high.

Lose the game, but never lose your dignity.

"Let's go."

In the stands, Akashi stood and left after watching the first half.

"Leaving already? You're not going to watch the whole match?"

"No need. Rakuzan's final opponent will be Kirisaki Daiichi."

Akashi threw on his coat and glanced back at Tendou disappearing into the tunnel.

Just as he predicted, the one who would reach him first was Tendou.

Both of them could see the future—so they were destined to grasp it.

This year's national championship would come down to Kirisaki Daiichi vs. Rakuzan.

And with it, the answer to who truly was the strongest among the Generation of Miracles.

...

In the locker room—

Tendou threw on a jacket and, as always, began drawing up adjustments for Kirisaki Daiichi.

He analyzed how the opponent might adapt and laid out targeted counterplans.

Basketball wasn't like soccer—it didn't rely as heavily on coaches or strategy. Often, it was the players, not the coach, who decided the outcome.

But a great coach could still give the team a head start—and make winning that much easier.

Kazuya Hara handed Tendou a bag of snacks.

"Want some of these, boss?"

"No need."

Hara gave a small "oh" in response, thinking to himself:

So it's true—Aomine puts more pressure on him than Murasakibara.

So far, Tendou had only eaten junk food during halftime once—against Aomine—just to keep his energy levels up.

But facing Murasakibara?

He didn't bother.

The difference in pressure between the two was obvious.

...

The second half began.

Neither Tendou nor Murasakibara returned to the court—they remained on the bench to rest.

In the first half alone, Murasakibara had covered an astonishing 1,700 meters.

For reference, professional players typically average around 5,000 meters across an entire game.

Which meant Murasakibara was an incredible runner with amazing physical potential.

But it also meant his energy expenditure was higher than Tendou's.

After all, he was a 208 cm, 99 kg center.

With Murasakibara off the court, Himuro Tatsuya took on the role of Yōsen's main offensive weapon.

Using realistic fakes and his Mirage Shot, he continuously tore through Kirisaki Daiichi's defense to score.

But Kirisaki Daiichi… wasn't in a rush.

Having battled for pace in the first half, they now deliberately slowed the tempo in the second.

That composure—they got it from Tendou.

As long as Tendou rested enough, even if the lead dropped into single digits, Kirisaki Daiichi would still win.

Of course, they didn't just give up on defense.

They double-teamed Himuro.

Hanamiya Makoto locked down Fukui Kensuke, while Seto Kentarō helped form a spiderweb-style defense.

It wasn't as airtight as Tendou's, but it was enough.

Whenever they saw an opportunity, Kirisaki Daiichi would immediately launch fast breaks.

They were growing more comfortable switching between speeds—accelerating and decelerating with fluid ease.

Still, Yōsen closed the gap by 8 points in a single quarter.

It was clear—Himuro was a true Uncrowned King-level player.

That's why Tendou had said: if Haizaki could play right now, Yōsen wouldn't have even a sliver of a chance.

But Araki Masako didn't smile.

Because she saw Kirisaki Daiichi's #14, the terrifying player, removing his jacket and stepping back onto the court.

"Masako!"

"I know. You're going in. And call me 'Coach.'"

She responded with the same focus and seriousness she'd shown when Murasakibara first entered the Zone—then made the substitution.

The final stage of the battle was here.

Both teams brought back their starting five.

The score difference: 14 points. Kirisaki Daiichi still firmly held the advantage.

...

First possession.

Tendou pulled up in Murasakibara's face—and hit a three.

The terrifying thing about the Mirage Shot was how much freedom it offered.

Tendou could adjust his shot based on the opponent's reaction. If they pressed too close, he could turn it into a pass or drive. If they backed off, he'd just shoot.

Swish!

The gap went back up to 17 points. Yōsen had no answer.

This wasn't about their defense anymore—it came down to sheer, overwhelming individual ability.

Superstar-level skill.

On the return play, Murasakibara responded with a thunderous dunk, muscling Tendou out of the way under the rim.

His strength had increased. He had fully mastered the low-post skills taught to him by Kenichi Okamura and the others.

And now, he'd smartened up—controlling the ball himself instead of relying on guards.

But the joy didn't last long.

Tendou walked the ball past half-court and, under stunned stares from every corner of the arena—

Pulled up for another three-pointer.

Swish!

The lead widened again—nearly back to 20 points.

"That bastard!" Araki Masako shouted, instantly adjusting the lineup.

It was obvious what Tendou was doing—he was forcing Yōsen to have Murasakibara guard him full-court.

Because no one else had the level to challenge him.

Murasakibara did exactly that. For the rest of the game, he trailed Tendou everywhere, working desperately to prevent another open shot.

"But doing that… will drain Murasakibara even faster," Riko Aida murmured, her data eyes analyzing every detail.

She had already spotted signs of wear and tear near his ankles.

If he kept chasing Tendou full-court, cramps would be the best-case scenario.

"But Yōsen has no other option… unless…"

"Double-team him!"

Even before Kiyoshi Teppei finished his sentence, Araki Masako made her call.

She deployed Yōsen's twin stars—Murasakibara and Himuro—to double Tendou.

It was their final gamble.

And the results were immediate. Tendou's shooting opportunities became nearly nonexistent.

But Tendou didn't back down.

Instead, he grew even more excited.

"Even the two of you together won't stop me!"

He waved off his teammates who tried to come help.

He was going to face Murasakibara and Himuro—two-on-one.

He'd never specifically trained for this.

And Araki Masako had never expected she'd one day have to send out a center and a shooting guard just to defend a single player.

Tendou was the first to receive that kind of treatment.

And perhaps…

He'd be the only one ever to earn it.

...

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