Teiko won.
Barely.
Final score: Teiko 67 – Rakuzan 65.
But no one celebrated.
The court was quiet as the buzzer echoed. The Miracles didn't high-five, didn't smile. Not even Gojo cracked a joke.
They walked off the court in silence—five stars burning in different directions, with Kuroko and Gojo trailing just behind.
In the locker room, the silence became something heavier.
Aomine threw his towel against the wall. "I'm not doing this. I'm not playing like this."
"Then go," Midorima said sharply, sitting with arms crossed. "You stopped playing two quarters ago anyway."
"Better than playing for him," Aomine spat, jerking his thumb toward Gojo. "This whole circus is because of you."
Gojo just leaned back on the bench, arms resting behind his head. "I didn't ask any of you to follow me."
"You didn't have to," Kise muttered, looking up. "You just walked in like you owned everything. And now… maybe you do."
Akashi stood, calm as ever, but there was a tremor in his stillness.
"Enough," he said. "We won. That's what matters."
Kuroko's voice cut through the room. "No, it doesn't."
Everyone turned to him.
"We used to be a team. Now we're individuals wearing the same jersey. Winning like this isn't victory—it's survival."
Gojo glanced at him, surprised—not by the words, but by the strength behind them.
"You said you cared about winning," Gojo said quietly. "But not alone."
"I meant it," Kuroko said. "But if this is what we're becoming… I won't be part of it."
A moment passed.
Then Kuroko walked out.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Silence again.
Akashi didn't follow. No one did.
Later that night, Gojo sat alone in the gym, tossing a basketball from hand to hand. The echoes of earlier laughter and teamwork felt like ghosts now.
Maybe I was wrong, he thought.
He had power. Influence. Skill.
But this world didn't need another unbreakable force.
It needed a team.
And right now, that team was falling apart.