The first quarter ended with a staggering score of 50:0.
Ogiwara Shigehiro's teammates could only gulp, completely speechless.
Ogiwara definitely had charisma — he was the Kiyoshi Teppei type of player.
But still... losing 50 to 0 in a single quarter? What kind of motivational speech could possibly save them now?
Kuroko clearly hadn't anticipated just how terrifying the Generation of Miracles had become.
Scoring 50 points in a quarter meant an average of 5 points per minute. At this pace, they might really end up crushing his best friend by 200 points.
"If you want to back out, now's your last chance." Tendou looked at him, giving one final out.
Kuroko turned his head — Ogiwara was still encouraging his team passionately, telling them not to give up. Gritting his teeth, Kuroko shook his head.
"I believe in Ogiwara-kun."
Tendou glanced at him with a subtle smile and said no more.
Right now, Kuroko looked more like someone trying to prove something to the Generation of Miracles.
He wanted Ogiwara Shigehiro to hold out until the very end.
...
Second quarter. Coach Fujimura subbed in Kuroko and Kise to lead the team.
Kuroko was in a complicated position. On the one hand, he was afraid their overwhelming lead would mentally destroy Ogiwara — just as Tendou had warned.
But on the other hand, he refused to go easy.
As soon as he stepped on court, he used his lack of presence to steal the ball twice, assisting Kise on a mid-range jumper and a three-pointer.
Kise was full of energy. Seeing that the team had crushed the opposition 50–0 in the first quarter, he didn't want to be left behind.
Teikō scored 32 points in the second quarter — still an insane number by national standards.
But compared to the first quarter's 50, it was a drop. Plus, they allowed the other team to score 4 points.
At halftime, the total score was 82. Still ridiculous, but at least it wasn't trending toward 200... Kuroko felt a bit of relief.
At least things wouldn't turn out exactly as Tendou predicted — or so he hoped.
...
Halftime locker room.
Kuroko took a moment alone to encourage himself — for Ogiwara's sake.
Then came the second half.
Teikō's starters returned to the court.
The score gap was enormous — way beyond a comeback. Still, Ogiwara rallied his teammates with a new goal:
"To score at least 10 points!"
They only needed 6 more.
He clapped his hands and got everyone into defensive formation...
Only to find that Teikō wasn't even crossing half-court.
The entire team stood around midcourt.
The next moment, Midorima caught the ball, leaped up, and shot a three-pointer from half-court.
"Wait, from there?!"
"Is he serious?! A three-pointer from that distance?"
"Is he insane?!"
Ogiwara's teammates were dumbfounded, watching the ball sail.
It reached its apex and then — like a meteor — swished cleanly through the hoop and slammed against the hardwood.
"Whaaa?!"
The entire stadium exploded.
Meanwhile, Teikō's geniuses stood around midcourt, casually chatting:
"This is Kise's fault. He didn't score enough in the second quarter — now we're behind schedule."
"Guess it's up to us. We'll have to handle the rest, Shintarō."
"I never agreed to this dumb '200-point game' of yours."
"It's not a game — I just want to see what our limit is."
200 points?!
They're aiming for 200? On us?!
Ogiwara was stunned.
Akashi noticed the change in his expression — and smiled in satisfaction.
That's more like it.
This is how their opponents should react when facing Teikō — fear and awe.
In the next possession, Akashi personally defended Ogiwara, using his Emperor Eye to read the future and steal the ball.
Midorima was already waiting near half-court.
"I won't play along with your childish games," he said.
"But if I'm on the court, I'll give everything I've got!"
Swish!
Another logo three from midcourt.
"This has nothing to do with Kuroko or anyone else. This is me, doing my best!"
Midorima's barrage continued, and soon the rhythm was back — even more intense than the first quarter.
In the first quarter, they averaged 5 points per minute.
In the third quarter, with the increase in three-point shots, they managed an astronomical 60 points — 6 points per minute.
One minute was equivalent to Ogiwara's entire scoring goal.
50 + 32 + 60 = 142 points by the end of three quarters.
They were just 58 points away from 200.
"Did we just break another record?"
"Actually," Momo flipped through the data, "the 50-point first quarter already broke the record for most points in a single quarter."
"Now we have the first and second highest single-quarter scores in the history of the nationals."
"At this rate, we're also going to break the record for most points in a full game."
200 points... they were really going to do it.
Kuroko suddenly felt a chill and asked:
"Why are we doing this?!"
His teammates were stunned by the question.
One of the first-years spoke up, "Isn't this what you asked for, Kuroko-senpai?"
"Yeah, Kuroko-senpai — you told the captain to go all out, so he's just been breaking records like crazy."
I asked for this...?
Kuroko blinked, eyes losing focus — like he had just now realized the truth.
He turned toward the opposing bench — where Ogiwara, who had been so energetic in the first half, now sat silently, utterly defeated.
Kuroko's whole body went limp. He looked like the strength had been drained from him.
Meanwhile, Tendou calmly flipped through the livestream comments, watching the fans argue furiously without even blinking.
"Sorry, Kuroko," he muttered to himself. "But right now, you're more popular than me."
No matter the anime, no matter the genre — no work can satisfy everyone.
Even mainstream legends like Naruto and One Piece have plenty of haters.
Tendou didn't know where the ceiling for this series was — but as long as they hadn't hit saturation, he was going to keep pushing it.
...
The game ended.
In the fourth quarter, Teikō's main lineup remained on court, dropping another 62 points.
Final score: 204–7.
They won by 197 points.
They didn't just set a new national record for highest points in a single game — they also broke the record for largest margin of victory.
A record that may stand for a hundred years.
In the future, when people talked about this stat, it would be like Chamberlain's 100-point game — a legend.
And it added even more mystique to the name Generation of Miracles.
As the final buzzer sounded, Ogiwara collapsed to his knees in despair.
While the victors — the Generation of Miracles — stood tall, calmly watching the golden rain fall.
"We barely made it, but we did it."
"Thanks to Shintarō's three-point shooting, we could keep the score climbing."
"Obviously. I'll say it as many times as needed — three-point shots are basketball's most powerful weapon!"
"There's no way you could've hit so many if it weren't for our defense."
"Exactly. This was the result of our teamwork — this was our limit. The limit of who we are now."
Ogiwara listened to their conversation, drowning in guilt.
It was all his fault.
He was the one who'd asked Kuroko to make this request — and it led to his team bearing the brunt of the wrath of Teikō.