Whether Sakuragi wanted to admit it or not, Tsuchiya Atsushi was the strongest and most well-rounded opponent he had ever faced at the power forward position.
His technique was refined, his vision broad, and his passing sharp—making him far more formidable than Fukuda, who only focused on offense and lacked playmaking ability.
But the stronger his opponent, the more fired up Sakuragi became. It fueled his potential—though only if his energy was directed the right way.
Nango rubbed Sakuragi's head and snapped,
"Idiot! What are you thinking? Why are you trying to outdo him in face-up offense? Just back him down!"
Sakuragi pushed his hand away, fuming.
"No! I want to prove that I can beat him face-to-face too!"
Nango scoffed.
"Even so, why didn't you use a jab step? Why charge straight in like a fool?"
Sakuragi froze for a moment, then clapped his hands.
"You're right! I should've used a jab step!"
Nango sighed and provoked him further.
"If you don't score on the next possession, I'll pass the ball to Rukawa."
That got Sakuragi fired up instantly.
"Nango! I'll score this time, I swear! Don't you dare pass it to that fox!"
Rukawa, who clearly heard everything, didn't even react. His composure had grown over time; he simply pretended not to hear.
When Shohoku regained possession, Nango brought the ball up and quickly passed it to Sakuragi, who once again faced Tsuchiya one-on-one.
This time, though, Sakuragi's stance looked more composed.
He held the ball at his waist, left foot pivoted, right foot shifting rhythmically, his hands continuously raising and lowering the ball—imitating a proper triple-threat position.
Seeing that, Tsuchiya, who had been somewhat relaxed earlier, bent lower and defended more seriously.
Their heights were similar, so he wasn't afraid of Sakuragi pulling up for a jumper. He was confident he could contest it just like before.
Sakuragi, noticing Tsuchiya's calm, began to feel impatient.
Shooting here wasn't impossible—but the chance of success was low.
And if he missed again, Nango might really pass to Rukawa next time.
So he decided to attack.
He raised the ball again—but at that exact moment, Tsuchiya's hand darted out and cleanly stole it!
"What?!"
Both Sakuragi and Nango were stunned.
They had underestimated Tsuchiya's defense—this guy was one of the rare power forwards who excelled on both ends of the court.
Tsuchiya didn't rush forward for a fast break. Instead, he slowed the tempo, dribbling steadily across half-court.
Daiei's strategy was clear: control the pace.
They wanted to wear Shohoku down gradually—never letting them seize momentum.
He crossed midcourt, turned his back to Sakuragi, and began backing him down while scanning for openings.
Handa Go once again set a screen for Hotta Ka on the perimeter.
Sakuragi spotted Tsuchiya's right hand rise slightly—he thought he saw a chance to steal the ball back.
But in the next instant, Tsuchiya dropped his right hand, spun swiftly, and drove to the basket.
Sakuragi turned and chased, but Tsuchiya had already slipped past him.
Akagi's help defense was a step late—he'd been pulled away by Handa Go.
All he could do was watch as Tsuchiya finished the play with a clean layup.
After landing, Tsuchiya clenched his fist, encouraging himself.
They had thought this match would be a struggle—but everything was going smoothly.
All they had to do was stay consistent—no rushing, no arrogance.
Like the tortoise against the hare, they would cross the finish line step by step and move on to the next round.
"9–0… unbelievable."
Nango rubbed his forehead helplessly.
Sakuragi jogged over, guilt written on his face.
"Nango, I was just—"
"Save it," Nango cut him off. "From now on, Rukawa runs the offense. You focus on defense. Tsuchiya's strong, so stay sharp."
Without waiting for a reply, Nango took the inbound pass and brought the ball up again.
The ball swung to Rukawa Kaede on the wing. For a brief moment, Rukawa froze—he couldn't remember the last time he'd been trusted with a critical possession. But this was his cue to draw his sword.
Rukawa studied Akio Kaneda, searching for the slightest gap in his defense.
Daiei's players all had textbook defensive form, but that wasn't enough to stop Rukawa Kaede.
He began with a jab step to find his rhythm.
Unlike Sakuragi, when Kaneda didn't react, Rukawa immediately rose for a jumper.
No matter who stood before him—if you gave him space, he'd make you pay.
"Swish!"
After what felt like ages, Shohoku was finally on the board.
The crowd erupted.
"Rukawa Kaede! We love you!"
His fan club unfurled pink banners high into the air—the National Tournament had found its star again.
Sakuragi gritted his teeth, clearly irritated, but the game had shifted.
It was Rukawa's stage now.
Daiei launched their next attack. Tsuchiya passed to Handa Go, then moved outside to post up again.
Sakuragi pushed him hard, forcing him farther from the basket.
Tsuchiya didn't mind. As long as he got the ball, he could make something happen.
He held the ball high, feinted a pass, then quickly dribbled toward the baseline, pulling up for a jumper.
This time, Sakuragi was ready. He read the move, contested the shot, and grabbed the rebound himself.
Switching ends, Nango passed ahead to Rukawa once more.
Rukawa caught it, gave a quick shot fake—Kaneda bit.
Rukawa pulled the ball back, blew past him, and drove inside.
Tsuchiya and Handa both converged to help—Tsuchiya for defense, Handa for the rebound.
But Rukawa didn't flinch. His poker face didn't even twitch as he rose for a pull-up jumper.
Tsuchiya leaped to block. His fingers grazed Rukawa's palm—almost a high-five—but the shot was already gone.
He turned to rebound, confident it would miss.
"Swish!"
The net sang again.
The gap was now 9–4.
Tsuchiya froze.
"He made that too…?"
As he stared at Rukawa retreating coolly on defense, a chill ran down his spine.
Could this guy… be Shohoku's real ace?
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