The timeout ended.
Both coaches had given their teams new instructions, but Daiei Academy's defensive changes wouldn't be seen right away — they needed to score first.
Handa Go inbounded to Tsuchiya Atsushi, who backed into Sakuragi before half-turning toward the basket for a move.
The moment he turned, Tsuchiya faked left toward the baseline.
Sakuragi's weight shifted instantly — and Tsuchiya seized the chance.
He dribbled one step to the middle, gathered the ball, and rose for a jumper.
"No way!"
Sakuragi landed and immediately lunged again, leaping high to block.
Oh no—!
In midair, Sakuragi realized he'd been duped.
Tsuchiya hadn't jumped at all.
Smoothly retracting his shooting motion, Tsuchiya stepped forward with his right foot, rose up just past Sakuragi, and released the shot.
The ball banked off the glass and dropped in.
"Beautiful, Tsuchiya!"
"Tsuchiya, you're amazing!"
Daiei's players shouted in excitement. They trusted Tsuchiya completely — just like Ryonan trusted Sendoh.
As long as Tsuchiya was in rhythm, Daiei could keep up with Shohoku.
But if their captain faltered, their entire team would collapse.
That was the difference between Shohoku and Daiei.
For Daiei to win, Tsuchiya had to carry them. For Shohoku, their power came from balance — from Nango, Akagi, and now even Rukawa.
Still, at this stage, facing Tsuchiya head-on was a tall order for Sakuragi.
Tsuchiya's offensive arsenal was deep, his game experience vast, and physically, he wasn't outmatched by Sakuragi either.
Whenever Sakuragi thought Tsuchiya would attack, he passed.
When he thought Tsuchiya would pass, he'd suddenly drive.
It was infuriatingly unpredictable.
Tsuchiya Atsushi was, without question, a national-level player.
Most defenders would have been frustrated into submission.
But this was Sakuragi Hanamichi — the man who never backed down, who treated every failure as fuel.
For him, this was a perfect opportunity to sharpen his skills against a real powerhouse.
Meanwhile, on Shohoku's next possession, Nango studied Daiei's new defensive setup.
They had switched from a 3–2 zone to a Box-and-One — another type of zone defense.
This formation protected the area inside the three-point line while assigning one strong defender to shadow the opponent's key perimeter scorer.
Since Rukawa's attacks had mostly come from within the arc, Daiei aimed to stifle him with this setup.
In the original story, Shoyo had used this same strategy — assigning Hasegawa to tightly guard Mitsui.
Now, Daiei had Tsuchiya Atsushi himself guarding Nango, hoping to contain both his passing and long-range shooting.
Coach Anzai's earlier prediction had been spot-on.
Daiei's defensive change was clearly meant to suppress Rukawa Kaede.
And while Anzai certainly had ideas on how to counter it, whether they'd work effectively was another matter.
Since the coach had specifically told him to involve Mitsui, Nango didn't mind switching gears to rack up assists.
He glanced at Mitsui, confirming the senior had noticed him, then lowered his stance and prepared to drive.
Tsuchiya immediately adjusted his footing, lowering his center of gravity.
He was the lynchpin of the formation. If he let Nango through too easily, Daiei's entire defensive structure would collapse.
He could not afford a mistake.
Nango dribbled leisurely at first — his rhythm slow, his dribble a little farther from his body, almost inviting a steal.
It looked like an obvious bait, but Tsuchiya didn't bite.
He knew it was a trap. His job was simple: keep Nango outside the three-point line. There was no reason to gamble.
Seeing Tsuchiya hold his ground, Nango drew the ball closer and suddenly switched it to his right hand.
Then, with explosive acceleration, he drove hard to Tsuchiya's left side.
Tsuchiya reacted immediately, sliding laterally to cut him off.
But Nango didn't stop. He switched the ball to his left hand, turned his body smoothly, and feinted in the opposite direction.
Tsuchiya moved again — one step, then another — but Nango reversed direction once more, switching hands a second time.
Two perfect crossovers in a row — and Tsuchiya finally lost balance.
Nango blew past him.
Hotta Ka, positioned near the left elbow, stepped in to help, but his reaction was too slow — he couldn't get there in time.
With the defense collapsing, Handa Go and Mizui Koji both slid over from under the basket to contest.
That movement tore Daiei's entire formation apart.
A small grin formed on Nango's face.
He stopped, pivoted, and floated a pass backward to Mitsui, who had relocated to the top of the arc — completely unguarded.
Mitsui rose smoothly and released a three-pointer.
"Swish!"
The net snapped cleanly. The deficit was now down to two points.
"Pop!"
Daiei's coach slapped his own forehead in frustration.
They had just switched defenses — and immediately conceded a wide-open three.
What a headache… should I call another timeout?
No, not yet.
He shook his head and shouted from the sideline, "Hey!"
When his players turned, he gestured with both hands, motioning for them to spread wider.
It was a gamble — one based on the assumption that Akagi's shooting touch wouldn't return this game.
If Shohoku started hitting both inside and outside, no defensive scheme could stop them.
Tsuchiya took the ball on the next possession, his expression sharper than before.
He knew how crucial this shot was. If they failed to respond, momentum would swing heavily toward Shohoku.
Across from him, Sakuragi crouched low, focused.
He might be an idiot at times, but when it came to reading the flow of the game, his instincts were uncanny.
Maybe it was luck, maybe raw intuition — or perhaps it was just his natural talent.
And right now, his instinct screamed:
Only two points behind. This guy won't pass. He's attacking this time.
Eyes locked on Tsuchiya, Sakuragi watched every twitch of his movement.
Tch… hasn't he learned? Tsuchiya thought.
He decided to use the same trick — fake a drive, get Sakuragi to jump.
Tsuchiya faked toward the baseline.
But this time, Sakuragi didn't budge — just slid back half a step.
Seeing no reaction, Tsuchiya tried again. Once. Twice.
Still nothing. Sakuragi stood firm.
On the third fake, Tsuchiya dropped low and actually drove, forcing the issue.
Sakuragi reacted instantly, sticking to him like glue, chest-to-chest, blocking every angle.
This guy's harder to shake off than before…
Tsuchiya switched hands through the legs, retreating slightly to reset.
Sakuragi smirked. Exactly what I thought you'd do.
Seeing that confident grin, Tsuchiya frowned.
He cut left, powered past Sakuragi's side, then stopped abruptly and looked up at the rim.
Sakuragi's reflexes kicked in — he jumped to contest.
Too soon.
Tsuchiya ducked under, scooped low, and laid the ball in gently off the glass.
He landed, turned, and looked back.
Sakuragi wasn't smiling anymore.
He slammed the ball against the floor in frustration.
Damn it! My read was right! But I still couldn't stop him! Damn it!
As Tsuchiya jogged back on defense, a faint smile crossed his lips — but just as he turned away, Sakuragi's grin returned.
While inbounding the ball, Sakuragi muttered under his breath, eyes burning with determination.
"Enjoy it while it lasts, Tsuchiya… You scored that one, but now I know how you attack. Next time—"
His lips curled upward.
"—I'll definitely stop you."
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