Kuroko no Basket: Honored One

"We meet again, Tendou."

Akashi had regained his poise and elegance.

Once more, he became the impeccable, refined young master—the kind that made others instinctively step back in awe.

The shift was jarring, and almost surreal.

Just seconds earlier, he had been a different person entirely. Same face, different soul.

If this had been a horror film, it probably would've sold out theaters.

Tendou wasn't interested in reminiscing. He curled his finger toward Akashi.

"Come on, Seijūrō."

...

Meanwhile, in the real world, the barrage of bullet comments had long since flooded the screen with lines like:

『Welcome back, Red King!』

FanGeGe had been waiting in front of the screen for this exact moment.

By this point, there was no way a glasses-wearing superfan like him could wait for the full match to end—he watched the new episodes the moment they dropped every week.

Now, having just finished Akashi's backstory, he was feeling sentimental.

Like many viewers, he shouted in sync with the comments, > "Welcome back, Akashi!"

Then, with a fond little "auntie smile," he said,

"The production team is really brilliant. They gave the most domineering character the most fragile and emotional storyline."

"On the surface, he keeps talking about how victory is everything, but deep down… all he's ever really cared about are his teammates."

"This kind of character… how am I supposed to resist, guys? When he said, 'We meet again, Tendou,' I almost cried."

As he spoke, FanGeGe even sniffled his big nose to prove he wasn't lying.

"With this, the emotional arcs of all the Generation of Miracles are finally complete. Honestly, I'm satisfied. I almost don't even care who wins anymore."

And many in the chat agreed.

They'd watched these kids grow from the prequel to now.

They'd seen their innocence, their madness—and now, their return to themselves.

It really did feel like watching their own children grow up.

...

But Tendou wasn't getting all teary-eyed like the viewers.

He still had a match to win.

His stat boosts were pushed to their limit.

But Akashi was no longer the same.

Since the timeout, everything had changed.

Most notably: Akashi himself.

His presence was no longer overwhelming, but instead calm, composed, and infinitely more dangerous.

He didn't care about one-on-one victory over Tendou anymore.

Instead, he called for a screen—and used the timing gap created by it to deliver a perfect pass to Reo Mibuchi.

Speed. Angle. Power.

With one pass, Akashi reminded everyone what true perfection looked like.

Mibuchi caught the ball and instinctively rose into a jump—everything unfolding in a seamless rhythm.

Yamazaki Hiroshi lunged to contest—but was still a beat too slow.

Swish!

Nothing but net.

"What?! Momoi's data got broken?!"

Hyūga Junpei's eyes widened. That was a perfect defensive read, and it still failed?

He had no idea what was going on.

But the Generation of Miracles?

They understood perfectly.

"That pass…"

"It's the one we used to receive all the time."

"Which means…"

Murasakibara even stopped eating his snacks, eyes glued to the screen.

"That's the old Akashi-kun."

Momoi's eyes were actually tearing up with joy.

That familiar feeling—it had returned at last.

...

"Nice shot, Reo! Beautiful finish."

Akashi jogged past, smiling.

He even praised his teammate.

Unthinkable before.

The old Akashi would've simply expected perfection, offering no recognition unless it was absolutely necessary.

Which was why this felt even more moving now.

Reo's blood boiled with excitement. Without thinking, he sprinted after Akashi.

Akashi called for another screen.

He wanted to ensure his pass couldn't be intercepted.

This time, his target—Hayama Kotarō!

Hanamiya sneered and moved to intercept—only for Hayama to blow past him in a blur and score with a clean layup.

Hanamiya's smile disappeared.

"Oi, what the hell is going on, superstar?"

He could feel something had changed in Akashi.

The passes were different.

That was the highest praise one could give a point guard.

Akashi was now leading his team through his passing.

"Don't overthink it. Just keep playing the way we practiced."

"You planned for this, didn't you? That whole setup?"

Hanamiya had originally thought what Tendou prepared was Kirisaki Daiichi's trump card.

Now it looked more like a weapon forged specifically to counter Akashi.

He could feel it clearly—Rakuzan's offensive rhythm was dangerously fluid now.

If this kept up, Akashi might soon lead the team to break the 80% threshold as well.

"Scared?"

"Hell no!"

Hanamiya grumbled and tossed the ball back to Tendou before jogging back on offense.

He just hated that they might not get to crush Rakuzan the way he'd hoped.

"So in the end, it's another all-out slugfest with Rakuzan. God, this is such a pain."

But the rest of Kirisaki Daiichi was already getting into position.

Tendou dribbled up—no screen.

He used his body alone to shake off the defender.

Hayama, feeling amped after his last basket, left Hanamiya behind and charged in.

He felt like he and Akashi might be able to stop Tendou now.

But that was only a feeling.

Before he even got close, Tendou dished the ball into the paint.

There—Hanamiya had already cut inside.

The ball bounced once.

Hanamiya caught it at the perfect moment, didn't even need to adjust, and immediately converted the layup.

"Wait…"

"That pass—it's just as perfect as Akashi's."

Kise couldn't hold back his shock.

Everyone could sense it—

Something dangerous was about to happen.

With Akashi's true self returned, Tendou had started passing.

And the other players on both teams?

Their performance was visibly improving.

The momentum shift was so intense, no one could predict where the game might go next.

Suddenly, the tempo from both teams exploded—the points started to pile up rapidly.

Everyone felt it.

Something big was coming.

And then—

Zzzt!

Zzzt!

Zzzt!

Ten streaks of lightning burst forth with no warning.

The scene was stunning—and more than a little eerie.

Players from Tōō, Shūtoku, Seirin, Kaijō, and Yōsen all watched in silent awe.

They felt a chill to their bones.

What did they see?

Every player from both Rakuzan and Kirisaki Daiichi had stepped into the realm of Zone.

"Impossible!"

"I thought only Generation of Miracles–level talents could access the Zone!"

Most people couldn't believe their eyes.

"It's not real Zone!"

"Yeah… it's more like when they break the 80% threshold. Maximum 90% potential."

"They've been pulled in—triggered into that state by Akashi and Tendou's passes!" said Riko, biting her thumb. "Even if it's not full Zone…"

"It's still insanely powerful."

That 80% line was the limit for most players.

Usually, athletes only ever broke past it subconsciously, and only rarely.

Just crossing that line was enough to produce highlight plays—and even change the outcome of a game.

It wasn't something you could force.

Most players might never reach that state even once in an entire national tournament.

But Akashi and Tendou?

They could do it at will—and even bring their entire team with them through sheer playmaking ability.

They were walking, talking team buffs.

"What… the hell are these monsters?"