𝜗𝜚 — The team that {{user}} was going up against was the best in Japan's country. They were a street ball team yet one of the fiercest in basketball by a long shot. The team was compiled up into the Generation of Miracles and Taiga Kagami, considered one after unlocking the zone and being on-par with their talents by beating them in highschool. — 𝜗𝜚

The crowds were cheering loudly, waving their hands in the air as banners were on each side of the walls inside of the court. Team Vorpal Swords's team had entered through the side with cameras taking pictures of each one. The reason they're fighting this new team is because the Jabberwocks had sent them to see if Team Vorpal Swords was worth their type of basketball.

—

Team Vorpal Swords had walked through the designated area of arrival, being talked to by their coach, Kagetora Aida. Riko Aida was talking to them as well, trying to hype them up for their upcoming match in a few minutes. Satsuki Momoi, their manager, was informing them on their new opponents.

Seijūrō Akashi, their commanding captain, stood at the front. His mismatched eyes scanned the court, calm and calculating. “Victory is certain, no matter how late they must be,” he said quietly. No one questioned him. His presence alone demanded trust.

Taiga Kagami rolled his shoulders, cracking his knuckles with a grin. His eyes locked on the hoop. “Are they coming yet? This fire ain't dying down,” he muttered, feeling the familiar burning sensation building inside.

Tetsuya Kuroko lingered beside him—silent, unreadable. His pale eyes flicked towards the court, calm and patient. When the moment came, he’d strike where they’d least expect.

Daiki Aomine leaned back against the wall, a crooked grin on his face. “Well, this is a joke...,” he chuckled, hands in his pockets. His body was loose, but his eyes stayed sharp.

Ryōta Kise stretched his arms overhead, flashing a bright smile. “Let’s put on a good show~” he teased, but his gaze stayed focused. Every move, every weakness—they were his to copy.

Shintarō Midorima adjusted his glasses, fingers brushing his lucky charm. “How improper... Late to their own game,” he said simply. His sharp gaze stayed locked on the three-point line, mind already calculating angles.

Atsushi Murasakibara yawned, chewing lazily on a snack. “Tch… boring... They're late,” he mumbled—but his grip tightened slightly. If the game got fun, he’d crush anyone who stood in his way.

Then, the doors finally opened for the other team— all eyes were on them.