Aida Yayoi propped her chin with one hand, her pen racing across her notebook. A faint smile appeared on her red lips as she murmured,
"Morishige Hiroshi isn't the only one with extraordinary talent."
Nakamura, standing beside her, nodded so hard his glasses nearly fell off. Even so, his hands never stopped—he kept the camera steady, finger tapping the shutter nonstop.
Around them, the reporters who had loudly backed Meihou Industrial earlier were now groaning in misery.
"The tide has completely turned! Meihou Industrial is done for!"
"They don't have enough time. It's impossible to catch up."
"Who would have thought? Morishige Hiroshi can't even touch the ball!"
These were the same people who predicted Meihou Industrial would easily win this "dark horse showdown." Now, the moment reality slapped them, their stance changed instantly.
"But Shohoku is really strong! I didn't realize it before."
"Same here! They were good before, but this is different. Even Meihou Industrial got crushed!"
"They're the real dark horse!"
"That Nango Koichiro kid… amazing! His future is limitless!"
"That Sakuragi Hanamichi is pretty good too… and that hair is so eye-catching!"
Aida Yayoi stared at them, her expression saying clearly: I don't know these people.
With a 21-point deficit and Morishige still starved of passes, Meihou Industrial had mentally checked out.
"It seems… this is the end…"
Coach Murai clenched his fists, took a long breath, and finally walked to the scorer's table to request a timeout. He began subbing out his players one by one, expression hollow.
Morishige Hiroshi sat frozen on the bench, chest heaving. Watching Nango and the rest walk toward the bench ignited a hollow ache inside him.
Akagi, who had recovered from being mentally crushed by Morishige earlier, suddenly felt sympathy. In Morishige, he saw a painful reflection of his own helpless past.
But Akagi forgot something important—
even if Morishige was devastated now, he had carried his team to the semifinals as a freshman. For his first National Tournament, that was already remarkable.
Sugiyama Shota observed the broken Meihou lineup, then focused on Morishige.
"For this kid… falling here isn't necessarily bad."
Though the media compared him to Morishige, Sugiyama didn't dislike the boy. He simply believed that the earlier Meihou fell, the stronger Morishige's motivation for the future.
Coach Tangze followed Sugiyama's gaze, then turned to Shohoku.
"But what about those three? If they beat Sannoh tomorrow… will their goals still reach any higher?"
Shan Shan stayed silent. In his entire high school career, he had only reached the national quarterfinals; this was a question he couldn't answer.
Beep!
The game ended.
Shohoku's bench erupted in celebration, but the players on the court only exhaled in relief. They had survived Morishige Hiroshi. Even though the victory margin was huge, the emotional toll made the joy bittersweet—especially with Sannoh Industrial waiting for them the next morning.
Coach Domoto rose from his seat, neatened his pants, and instructed calmly,
"Let's go. Lunch first. After a short rest, we'll prepare for the afternoon match."
"Yes!"
Sannoh's players stood in two perfect lines, moving out with military precision.
Just watching their formation was enough to see the difference—
This was professionalism.
Against Hakata Shodai, Sannoh wasn't worried. They knew each other too well. Even if Sannoh played terribly, they still wouldn't lose.
Morishige continued sitting on the bench, eyes blank. Coach Murai sighed deeply, wrapped an arm around his exhausted center, and said gently,
"Morishige… we'll come back for the Winter Tournament. Come on—let's line up first."
After several seconds, Morishige finally pushed himself up using both hands. His movements were sluggish, his shoulders heavy. Everything about him screamed defeat.
Akagi stepped forward, extending a firm hand.
"I look forward to facing you again."
Morishige stared at him quietly, then managed a strained, awkward smile before turning to glance at all of Shohoku.
He would remember them.
"Thank you for the game!"
Once the formalities ended, both teams headed to the locker rooms—but Shohoku didn't get far.
Reporters swarmed them.
"Nango! Please tell us your thoughts about today's game!"
"Yes, yes! Were you surprised by this result?"
"You're facing Sannoh Industrial tomorrow—are you confident?"
Flash after flash went off. Nango and Sakuragi were the main targets.
"Today was tough. I'm glad we managed to win. I just hope we'll have the same luck tomorrow."
It wasn't his first interview, but his first time with this many cameras pointed at him. The novelty made him talk a bit, but he wasn't going to reveal too much.
"Then what about—"
"GET LOST!"
The loud voice from the back made every reporter freeze.
Sakuragi Hanamichi, flaming red hair shining even under dim hallway lights, stomped past them with a stormy expression. The crowd instinctively tore open a pathway for him.
After he disappeared…
"Tsk, what's with that guy?"
"He's acting all high and mighty. They only beat Meihou—can he beat Sannoh tomorrow?!"
"Seriously, what a weird temper!"
They had clearly stepped on Sakuragi's nerves. Already frustrated, being surrounded and questioned only pushed him further into irritation.
The reporters turned back—
only to find Nango had already escaped.
"Where'd he go?!"
"DAMN IT! DAMN IT! DAMN IT!!!"
BANG!
A fist slammed into a locker. The cheap metal caved inward with a dent the shape of Sakuragi's knuckles.
"Sakuragi…"
Kogure took half a step forward, wanting to comfort him.
But Sakuragi suddenly bolted out of the locker room.
Kogure turned to Akagi with helpless eyes.
"What should we do?"
Akagi sighed deeply.
"Let him cool off. Anything we say now won't reach him."
Rukawa tied his shoelaces, expression unfazed.
"That big idiot…"
Nango pressed two fingers to his temples. The headache forming was no joke.
Coach Anzai stared at the doorway Sakuragi had rushed through, eyes deep with thought.