The timeout ended, and both teams returned to the court.
Though the score was tied, Shohoku's players looked calm and relaxed, while Daiei's faces were heavy and grim.
After a dream start, Daiei now found themselves caught—and it was painfully clear that Shohoku hadn't even gone all out yet. That realization drained the fight out of them.
Even as their coach shouted words of encouragement, the players weren't fools. They'd been to the National Tournament several times and knew exactly what the gap in strength meant.
This wasn't a race between a tortoise and a rabbit anymore—because this rabbit had no intention of taking a nap.
Even Tsuchiya Atsushi, Daiei's ace, felt his confidence slipping. He was calm and analytical by nature, but Sakuragi's defense was tightening with every possession, and his own offensive rhythm was collapsing. If they wanted to fight back, his teammates would have to step up.
Daiei attacked. The ball moved quickly around the perimeter before landing in Handa Go's hands. Tsuchiya Atsushi slipped out to the wing.
Sakuragi noticed the setup—it was a pick-and-roll. He hesitated for a split second, unsure whether to stay with Tsuchiya or switch to Handa.
Mitsui got screened cleanly by Tsuchiya, and Handa seized the chance to drive inside the arc. With no time to think, Sakuragi stepped in to cut him off.
Tsuchiya rolled out after setting the screen. Handa bounced the ball back, and Tsuchiya caught it in rhythm, rising for a clean jumper.
The shot swished through, finally ending Daiei's scoring drought.
But their real problem was defense.
Daiei switched back to a 2–3 zone—not to pressure Shohoku's shooters this time, but to ease Tsuchiya's workload. His man-to-man defense against Nango hadn't been effective, so they pulled him closer to the paint to save energy for offense.
Having seen Sakuragi and Rukawa steadily improve, Nango decided it was time to get serious too. His grin disappeared; his eyes sharpened. It was time to end this game.
He lowered his stance, dribbling between his legs, then burst forward. Mizui Koji shuffled desperately to stay in front, but Nango's strides were huge—his long legs easily outpaced Mizui's shorter steps.
Once Nango blew past him, the entire Daiei defense reacted. Handa Go and Tsuchiya Atsushi collapsed in from both sides, arms wide like a closing gate.
Nango smiled faintly. Raising the ball with both hands, he baited Handa into jumping—then casually pulled the ball back with one hand and slipped it through Handa's legs.
Bang!
Akagi caught the pass, leaped, and hammered down a one-handed dunk. Shohoku's offense flowed like water.
For the next few possessions, Tsuchiya focused on teamwork. He kept setting solid screens, rolling to open spots, and kicking the ball out when double-teamed instead of forcing plays against Sakuragi.
It helped conserve energy and prevented Sakuragi from reading his moves too easily.
With three minutes left in the first half, Shohoku led 32–25—and it was their possession.
Since Mizui couldn't handle Nango, Daiei switched Handa Go onto him. But even that didn't help.
Nango blew past Handa again, drawing a double team before firing a pass to Mitsui on the perimeter.
Mitsui rose smoothly—splash! Another three-pointer. His third of the game. Shohoku's lead stretched to double digits.
"Guys, we have to score this possession!" Handa shouted. "We can't go into halftime down by ten!"
As vice-captain, Handa took charge of rallying the team while Tsuchiya, quiet as always, nodded in agreement.
Daiei ran their offense. Tsuchiya set a pick for Akio Kaneda, then received a bounce pass in return. He rose for a mid-range jumper—but Sakuragi was already in front of him, unshaken.
Tsuchiya frowned. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kaneda looping back to the wing. He whipped a quick pass.
"Slap!"
Sakuragi lunged like a tiger, intercepting it cleanly.
He steadied himself, then sprinted downcourt.
Tsuchiya's eyes widened—he couldn't believe it. Sakuragi had completely read his intention. He gave chase, but fatigue dragged at his legs. The red-haired whirlwind only pulled farther ahead.
Sakuragi charged into the paint, took off from just inside the free-throw line, and slammed it in with one hand.
"Sakuragi! What a beautiful dunk!" Haruko shouted, waving both arms excitedly.
Her heart pounded—he just kept getting better.
"Good job! Slam Dunk!"
"Sakuragi! You're amazing!"
The Sakuragi Gang hollered from the stands, but Sakuragi only heard one voice.
"Haruko!" he grinned proudly.
"Tch." Takamiya muttered, "Still the same—only cares about Haruko's reaction."
"Hmm?"
Haruko, usually slow to catch emotional hints, actually blushed this time. Sakuragi… is he really paying attention to me?
Tch, that steal… was it luck?
Tsuchiya narrowed his eyes. He wasn't sure if the redhead had really read his pass—or just guessed right.
No, impossible. It had to be luck.
To confirm it, on the next play he used the same pick-and-roll setup but stopped at the free-throw line instead, ready to test Sakuragi's reactions.
From here, he could pass anywhere. But one thing was certain—he wouldn't pass inside. None of their big men had scored a single point on Akagi all game.
Sakuragi, meanwhile, watched intently. He won't pass to the point guard… which means only two options left…
He glanced left and right. Handa Go is the likelier one—last time he went to Kaneda.
Seeing Sakuragi shift, Tsuchiya thought it was his chance. He drove hard into the paint—but Akagi instantly stepped up, while Sakuragi stayed tight on his side.
Tsuchiya realized he couldn't force it and whipped the ball outside—to Handa Go.
I knew it!
Sakuragi leapt the instant the ball left Tsuchiya's fingers and snatched it cleanly out of the air.
What?! How did he know I'd pass to Handa?!
Tsuchiya's jaw dropped. The red-haired fool had read him again—perfectly.
This time, Sakuragi didn't push for a solo fast break. He immediately passed ahead to Nango, who caught it in stride and scored an easy layup.
Tsuchiya Atsushi was a cautious, rational player. He always made the safest decision available. But sometimes, to win… you had to take a little risk.
Now, that hesitation was eating him alive.
Over the next few possessions, his confidence wavered. Each time he faced Sakuragi, he second-guessed himself. His offense slowed. His rhythm broke.
And Shohoku, seizing the moment, widened the gap even further—ending the first half with a commanding 20-point lead.
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