Daiei Academy had carefully studied Shohoku's entire match against Toyotama.
If they were to vote on who the true core players of Shohoku were, the results would be obvious — Nango Koichiro and Akagi Takenori.
One commanded the court from the perimeter; the other dominated the paint, connecting Shohoku's inside and outside play seamlessly.
Of course, the performances of Shohoku's other starters were also excellent, but "excellent" was relative — they were good as starters, not as the team's central pillars.
However, after just two shots, Daiei's captain Tsuchiya Atsushi began to reconsider.
He suddenly felt that Rukawa Kaede, who had been relatively quiet in the previous game, might actually be Shohoku's true ace.
When Rukawa had the ball, his aggressiveness far surpassed Nango's, and his scoring always came at the most crucial moments — precisely when Shohoku needed points the most.
That thought made Tsuchiya uneasy. He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should call a timeout to readjust the team's tactics.
But after a quick glance at the scoreboard, he decided against it.
It was too early for that.
Let's play two more possessions and see how it goes.
Taking control of the offense, Tsuchiya dribbled up the court. Handa Go set a screen near the free-throw line for Akio Kaneda, who used the pick to cut sharply into the paint. Reading the movement, Tsuchiya lobbed the ball perfectly toward the rim.
Kaneda caught it mid-stride and went straight for the layup.
"Ha!" Akagi roared, his massive palm swinging down.
"Swat!"
Even if his offensive rhythm was off, Akagi's defensive instincts never faded.
He pivoted, took one huge stride, and blocked Kaneda's layup cleanly from behind before securing the rebound himself.
Akagi quickly passed to Nango, ready to trigger Shohoku's signature fast break.
But this time, it didn't work.
Rukawa and Sakuragi sprinted forward as usual, yet Daiei reacted just as fast.
The moment they saw Shohoku's transition forming, all five players fell back instantly.
Even Kaneda, who had just been blocked, ran full speed to defend.
"Daiei's determined to make this a half-court battle…" Nango thought, reading the situation.
Still, Shohoku wasn't afraid of playing slow.
The ball found its way back to Rukawa Kaede.
As soon as he caught it, every Daiei player's attention locked onto him, clearly prepared to double-team at the first sign of movement.
Rukawa noticed. Without hesitation, he swung the ball back to Nango.
Standing at the top of the arc, Nango froze.
Wait—Rukawa passed?
But before he could even question it, Rukawa sprinted outside the restricted area, turned, and posted up, demanding the ball again.
Still a bit confused, Nango instinctively passed it over.
As he did, he thought to himself, The old Rukawa wouldn't care about spacing or position. As long as he had the ball, he'd force his way through. What's gotten into him today? Is this what he gained from summer training?
He wasn't wrong.
During the summer camp, Coach Anzai hadn't given any player special one-on-one instruction — not even Sakuragi or Rukawa.
Instead, he made the entire team watch footage of their practice games together.
Each player took away something different from those sessions.
Their improvement depended entirely on how well they could understand themselves.
After watching, Mitsui thought, If I can't get the ball here, maybe I need to change my positioning.
So in the next scrimmage, he focused on his off-ball movement and shot selection.
Meanwhile, Rukawa Kaede had two thoughts:
If I'd gotten the ball earlier, that shot would've gone in.
Why didn't that shot go in?
He couldn't control the first — that depended on his teammates.
But the second? That was something he could change.
From then on, Rukawa started adjusting his offensive positioning based on defensive reactions.
Like right now — if his opponent planned to help defend him, he'd move deeper inside, catch them off guard, and attack from there.
It wasn't a bad idea. But it still wasn't what Coach Anzai truly wanted.
Rukawa hadn't yet reached that level of understanding.
Anzai believed Rukawa needed to find his own answers, not be handed them.
As for Sakuragi, well... if no one explained it to him, he'd probably never figure it out.
In fact, when Sakuragi watched the practice footage, his reaction was completely different:
"Who's this guy? That's not me! You're lying! You hired an actor, didn't you?!"
For such a player, Anzai could only sigh and explain everything slowly, step by step.
Still, every Shohoku player walked away from the training camp having learned something — though how much they learned varied greatly.
Back on the court, Rukawa received the ball and pressed his shoulder into Akio Kaneda's chest, backing him down one step at a time.
Daiei's zone defense suddenly looked uneasy.
If they sent a second defender, Rukawa could easily pass to the open man.
But if they stayed home, Kaneda alone couldn't stop him.
They hesitated — and that was all Rukawa needed.
He spun sharply, created separation, and rose into his smooth mid-range jumper.
"Swish!"
Three straight makes.
Anyone could see that Kaneda was completely outmatched.
"Beep!"
Daiei Academy calls a timeout!
This time, Tsuchiya didn't even have to think. The coach beat him to it — they had to regroup fast, or Shohoku would take control of the game.
Up in the stands, Kishimoto yawned.
"Every time I watch them play, I get sleepy. Daiei loves calling timeouts. No doubt, they're gonna change their defensive setup again."
Half of his words were honest, the other half pure mockery.
As one of Coach Kitano's disciples, Kishimoto — and his teammate Minami — had always disliked Daiei's slow, defense-heavy style.
The two teams knew each other well.
One was Osaka's spear, the other its shield.
And more often than not, the shield held firm.
Minami didn't respond to Kishimoto's jab. His eyes were fixed on Rukawa Kaede.
In yesterday's game, Rukawa's performance had been average, but Minami still saw him as one of Shohoku's key threats.
That was why he'd targeted him early on.
But as the match went on, Nango's brilliance overshadowed everyone, so Minami had decided to shift his focus.
Now that Rukawa had erupted, he couldn't help feeling regret.
Their team had lost — and still hadn't drawn out Shohoku's full strength.
And the ones forcing Shohoku to reveal their cards weren't them, but Daiei.
That thought alone stung.
On Shohoku's bench, Coach Anzai finally broke his calm demeanor.
"They'll definitely tighten up on Rukawa," he said. "Nango — get Mitsui going."
The players blinked in surprise.
Coach Anzai almost never gave mid-game instructions.
Sakuragi grinned. "Old man! You're finally acting like a real coach!"
"I understand, Coach," Nango replied with a confident smile. He turned to Mitsui.
"Senpai, I'm counting on you."
Mitsui clenched his fist. "Leave it to me."
Meanwhile, Rukawa stayed silent, though his inner thoughts were loud:
Sigh… it's not my turn again…
Across the court, Daiei's players gathered around Tsuchiya.
"It's all up to you, Captain!"
Tsuchiya nodded firmly.
The weight on his shoulders just got heavier.
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