Akagi and Kawata stood across from each other at mid-court, bodies coiled like springs as they prepared for the jump ball.
In the stands, Sugiyama Shota adjusted his glasses and calmly remarked, "Although Akagi and Kawata may not possess Morishige Hiroshi's raw, monstrous talent, both are outstanding centers. They contribute on both ends of the floor."
Coach Tangze nodded. "That's exactly why I'm looking forward to what Akagi Takenori can show today. I want to see how he fares against the seasoned Kawata."
Akagi didn't know what was running through Kawata's mind, but his own emotions were boiling.
He had trained too long and worked too hard to let this opportunity slip away.
Finally—finally—he could stand toe-to-toe with the legendary Sannoh Industrial on the biggest stage.
He had to seize this moment.
Whether his opponent was Kawata or Sugiyama Shota, it didn't matter.
He had to crush the one standing in front of him.
Physically and mentally, this was Akagi's best condition since arriving in Hiroshima.
In other words—it was Sannoh's unlucky day.
To ensure a flawless viewing experience, this game was officiated by three referees.
The head referee stood on the center line with the ball in hand. Once the two assistant referees signaled their readiness from the sidelines, he raised his arm—indicating the toss was coming.
Akagi and Kawata crouched low, eyes locked on the rising ball.
As it rose—
"Ha!"
Both exploded upward. Their palms struck the ball at the same time, sending it higher instead of toward either side.
Though Akagi stood three centimeters taller, Kawata's vertical leap was superior. Their first jump was evenly matched.
But on the second—Akagi fell behind.
Kawata secured the ball.
Sannoh claimed the first offensive possession.
The moment Fukatsu received the ball, Nango spread his "wingspan" and smothered him.
At only 180 centimeters, Fukatsu looked almost petite compared to the towering Nango, yet no one believed Nango could completely shut down Sannoh's captain.
Because his name was Fukatsu Kazunari.
Sannoh Industrial—the undisputed kings of high school basketball.
A team that made Nationals every year.
A team that sent wave after wave of talent into university leagues.
And this year's roster wasn't just strong—it was being hailed as the best in a decade, maybe the best in Sannoh's entire history.
The core of all that strength?
Fukatsu Kazunari.
Since he joined, Sannoh had never lost a single official match.
He was their anchor.
As long as he was on the floor, Sannoh always found a way to win.
What Nango wanted to do—
was break that anchor.
But Fukatsu refused to engage him head-on.
With a calmness born from countless big games, he immediately swung the ball to Ichinokura.
Just as in the original story, Coach Domoto had replaced the usual starter, Matsumoto, with Ichinokura.
One reason: Ichinokura could push Mitsui to his physical limit.
The other: he could share ball-handling duties with Fukatsu.
Kiyota shouted, astonished, "Two point guards?! Is Sannoh actually nervous about Nango's one-man defensive pressure?!"
Maki frowned. "Even if that's their plan… will this lineup actually work?"
His doubt was logical.
Nango Koichiro — 194 cm
Fukatsu Kazunari — 180 cm
Mitsui Hisashi — 184 cm
Ichinokura — 171 cm
Rukawa Kaede — 187 cm
Sawakita Eiji — 188 cm
Sannoh's perimeter was at a clear height disadvantage.
Yet Coach Domoto still deployed this lineup.
Whether it was confidence or overconfidence remained to be seen.
Ichinokura and Fukatsu couldn't attack effectively with such a mismatch, and Sawakita was being tightly shadowed by Rukawa.
Sawakita grinned. "Don't be so tense. The game only just started. We've got plenty of time."
Rukawa sneered, ignoring him.
That's right—plenty of time. You just wait.
With no openings on the perimeter, Ichinokura used his footwork to open a sliver of space and delivered a bounce pass to Kawata.
"Kawata receives the ball! Shohoku's defense is unusually loose… Mid-range shot! It's good! Sannoh strikes first!"
Fujiwara blinked in confusion. "Akagi Takenori didn't even contest that. He didn't take a step forward—didn't even raise a hand. What was that defense?"
But Akagi knew exactly what he was doing.
Just like Nango said—he wants to lure me out of the paint!
Kawata had stopped inside the arc but far from the restricted area, with no intention of posting up.
This shot was just a probe—to see if Sannoh's predicted strategy was correct.
Now Shohoku understood:
The game was unfolding exactly according to their expectations.
Next—was their offense.
Akagi went to inbound but found Nobe Hiroshi blocking his left passing lane, forcing the ball right—toward Nango.
"A full-court press right from the opening?!" A Mak exclaimed.
Coach Takato chuckled. "Trying to rattle Shohoku immediately?"
Coach Domoto stood with arms crossed, eyes sharp. "Nango Koichiro—strength, height, speed, skill. If we let him roam free, he'll overturn the entire game. We won't allow that."
Coach Kawasaki stroked his chin. "Domoto's kid has a good plan. Shohoku lacks big-game experience. Pressure them early, and Sannoh controls the rhythm."
Endo exhaled. "Then Shohoku has to be the one to break it."
Hyuga Yuichi grinned, staring at Nango. "Kid! Show them what you've got!"
Nango didn't expect a full-court press this early, but it didn't matter.
What mattered was how to dismantle it.
Akagi inbounded to Nango—exactly where Sannoh wanted it.
Fukatsu and Ichinokura pounced instantly.
Nango smirked and raised the ball with one hand—Statue of Liberty style.
Steal it? Try reaching it first.
Fukatsu and Ichinokura's expressions soured.
They clearly hadn't expected such a brazen move.
"Height really is cheating! HAHAHA!" Hyuga roared with laughter.
Endo shook his head. "Not yet. Once he dribbles, those two can operate."
But Nango had no intention of letting them.
He used his left arm to keep Fukatsu off, then lowered the ball with his right hand and burst forward.
Two steps—
and he split the double team cleanly.
Shohoku had four players ahead.
Sannoh had only two defenders—Sawakita and Kawata.
A perfect 4-on-2 fast-break opportunity.
One pass—two passes—
and Shohoku could get an easy shot.
But instead of passing, Nango slowed down.
Crossed half-court.
Stopped at the three-point line.
And raised the ball.
"A… three-pointer?"
A chorus of academy-style coaches frowned.
But—
Swish.
Net.
Shohoku took the lead.
3:2.