Chapter 55: Ambush

The stadium was completely packed. Everyone wanted to see the showdown between Teikō Middle School and Meisei—whether Teikō would continue their winning streak or be stopped by Meisei. That was what everyone was waiting for.

Players from both schools entered the court one after another.

When Meisei’s players came out, there was almost no reaction from the stands. The arena stayed eerily quiet until Makoto Hanamiya appeared, when a few scattered cheers from female fans finally rang out.

Teikō’s entrance, however, was a completely different story. The moment they stepped onto the court, the crowd erupted in unison.

“Teikō!!! Let’s go!!!”
“Miyamoto is number one!”
“Teikō champions!!!”

The contrast between the two teams was striking.

“Tch, I really don’t see what there is to cheer about,”
Meisei’s small forward scoffed, his face filled with jealousy.

Makoto Hanamiya stared coldly in Miyamoto Tokima’s direction.
‘Come on… let’s see who the real hunter is.’

After entering the court, Teikō began warming up. Shintaro Midorima sat on a bench, placed his water bottle beside it, bent down, and started tying his shoelaces.

Midorima had a habit—he always tied his right shoe first.

At that moment, Meisei’s small forward, still consumed by jealousy, suddenly kicked the basketball at his feet straight toward Midorima.

No one noticed.

Everyone was focused on warming up, and no one caught Meisei’s dirty little move.

Midorima felt something was wrong. He turned his head just in time to see a basketball flying straight at him.

He quickly stood up to dodge, but the ball slammed into the water bottle, sending it flying toward him.

Midorima instinctively raised his hand to block it, but the impact still struck his hand.

Worse still, when the bottle hit the ground and shattered, fragments bounced up and cut his left index finger. Blood immediately began to flow.

Everyone’s attention snapped to Midorima.

“Shintaro, what happened?!”
Miyamoto Tokima rushed over and asked urgently.

When he saw Midorima’s grim expression and the blood dripping from his left index finger, Miyamoto shouted at once,
“Medical staff!”

Midorima’s face darkened. His fingers were extremely important to him—they were his weapon. With his weapon injured, it meant he wouldn’t be able to play this match at all.

What worried him even more than the cut was the impact itself. From the collision, he could already feel that his left hand wasn’t responding properly.

‘Damn it… how could this happen?!’

He clenched his teeth. An injury to his left hand was absolutely fatal for him.

“Shintaro!”
The others hurried over to check on him.

Seijuro Akashi watched Midorima clutching his left hand and seemed to notice something.
“Shintaro… your left hand…”

Midorima nodded with difficulty.
“I… I can’t put any strength into my left hand right now. It might…”

Daiki Aomine froze.
“How could this…”

Then he suddenly turned, his eyes locking onto Meisei’s small forward, burning with rage.

The Meisei player shrugged and pretended to be innocent.
“I don’t know either. The ball just flew over by accident. If you want to blame someone, blame your teammate for bringing a bottle. If there wasn’t a bottle, he wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

“You bastard!!!”
Aomine roared and immediately moved to charge at him.

Miyamoto Tokima grabbed him at once.
“Daiki, calm down! Don’t act on impulse!”

Aomine twisted his head and shouted furiously,
“How am I supposed to calm down?!”

Miyamoto pulled him closer and lowered his voice.
“Don’t fall for it. His goal is to provoke you. If you hit him, you’ll lose your right to play—and he gets exactly what he wants.”

Aomine was still seething.
“But I can’t swallow this!”

Miyamoto nodded.
“Neither can I.”

Aomine snapped,
“Then why are you—”

Miyamoto’s voice softened.
“Because I won’t make a move right now.”

Aomine froze.
“What do you mean?”

Miyamoto’s tone turned cold, his entire presence shifting as an icy aura spread from him.
“We play basketball on the court… but off the court, that’s another matter.”

A chill ran down Aomine’s spine.
“You mean…”

Miyamoto nodded, released him, and called out,
“Haizaki, we’ve got something to take care of later.”

Shogo Haizaki paused, glanced at Meisei’s small forward, then looked at Miyamoto’s chilling expression. He instantly understood, licking his lips with a sinister grin.
“Got it, Tokima.”

Aomine also understood Miyamoto’s meaning and forcibly suppressed his anger.
“Tokima, I’m with you.”

Miyamoto smiled faintly.
“Alright, everyone, back to the team.”

Seijuro Akashi had been watching them closely. He knew exactly what they were thinking, but he didn’t expose it.

Kōzō Shirogane understood as well. Instead of saying anything, he pretended not to notice and turned to Shuzo Nijimura beside him.
“Nijimura.”

Nijimura turned his head.
“Yes, Coach?”

“After the match, don’t go home,”
Shirogane said calmly.
“Stick with Miyamoto Tokima and the others. If anything happens, step in. Don’t let them get hurt.”

“Hurt?”
Nijimura looked confused—getting hurt after the game? But he quickly understood.

‘These juniors… interesting.’

“I understand, Coach. I guarantee Tokima and the others won’t get hurt.”

Shirogane nodded.
“Good. If anyone gets injured, your training load doubles.”

Nijimura blurted out,
“Huh?! Coach, what if I get hurt?”

“You get hurt?”
Shirogane replied flatly.
“Then you should reflect on yourself—whether you’ve been training hard enough…”

“Stop, stop! Coach, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Shirogane’s lips curled slightly.
“Good. Now go warm up properly.”

“Yes.”

After the medical staff escorted Shintaro Midorima back to the locker room for treatment, the Teikō players resumed warming up, each of them holding back a burning anger.

Before the game had even started, one of their main players had already been maliciously injured and carried off the court. Anyone would be furious.

Miyamoto Tokima glanced toward the referee’s position, stepped forward, and spoke:

“............”