Although Mitsui hadn't touched a basketball for two years, defense was always the easiest part to recover. As the number of games increased, his physical condition improved, his timing sharpened, and his game sense returned in full.
Combined with his veteran experience and basketball IQ, Mitsui gradually discovered the perfect defensive distance against Ichinokura—close enough to threaten, far enough to recover.
With that, breaking through became difficult, passing became risky, and Ichinokura's entire rhythm fell apart.
Not demanding the ball.
Elite shooting.
Smart, gritty defense.
In modern terms—Mitsui was a perfect 3-and-D player.
Ichinokura was the same archetype… and that was exactly why the matchup was crushing him.
Breakthrough? He didn't trust his handle against Mitsui's size and wingspan.
Pass? Mitsui's height sealed the angles.
Shoot? Mitsui's pressure threw off his rhythm.
Seeing Ichinokura's slight hesitation, Fukatsu instantly reacted—pushing Nango aside with a strong forearm and cutting in for a hand-off.
"What?!" Mitsui lunged, but the ball slid past his fingertips.
A beautifully timed gap pass.
"That's Fukatsu!"
"A perfect read—only he can make that!"
His ability to notice and exploit micro-gaps made the older Sannoh supporters nod in admiration.
Even Nango raised his eyebrows. This guy really is on another level…
Kawata received the ball once more at mid-range.
And once more—Akagi didn't chase him.
Just stood at the rim. Waiting.
The same insult as before.
What is the meaning of this? Didn't you see the last two shots go in?!
A rational Kawata would have simply taken the mid-range jumper again.
But staring at Akagi's stern, unmoving expression…
Rationality evaporated.
He dribbled forward—I'll force you to respect me.
He lowered his shoulder for a post-up.
What—?! This guy… he's too strong!
Kawata's eyes trembled. He expected resistance, but not this much. After two failed bumps, frustration spiked.
Fine. You can't overpower him? Outwit him!
After one more push, Kawata suddenly turned and forced a shot.
"Hmph!"
Akagi reacted instantly, exploding upward and swiping at the ball.
Kawata's pupils shrank. He rushed his release—
Smack!
The block missed, but Akagi's contest ruined the shot's accuracy.
The rebound bounced off the rim.
And underneath—
Sakuragi and Nobe Hiroshi were wrestling like wild animals.
But no matter how Nobe struggled, Sakuragi's lower body was immovable—heavy, stable, and trained to perfection.
The moment the ball dropped—
Sakuragi sprang up like a coiled spring.
Clean rebound.
Nobe's heart sank.
Ridiculous… This kid's fundamentals are too good. How does a freshman rebound like this?
Rebounding was Nobe's specialty—the reason he earned a spot on Sannoh's powerhouse roster. Aside from Kawata, he rarely met opponents who could challenge him.
But today—
He met a monster.
Between Meihou's battle with Morishige and the new fitness equipment the principal purchased, both Akagi and Sakuragi had leveled up significantly.
Against Kawata and Nobe, they didn't feel pressured—they felt… comfortable.
Coach Domoto's fingers tightened around his notebook.
The full-court press failed. The inside battle is losing. Are we… actually in danger of losing?
Before he could gather his thoughts—
Nango crossed halfcourt with the ball.
"Will he shoot another three?" Sendo watched intently.
Uozumi frowned. "Statistically, he shouldn't. And Fukatsu's pressing up this time."
"But he's not pressing too tightly," Ikegami countered. "If Nango wants to shoot, he still can."
They didn't even finish the sentence.
Nango rose for another three.
Fukatsu's heart jolted—No way! That one was too sudden—he had no time to set his feet! It can't—
But Nango didn't even look back.
He had felt it the second the ball rolled off his middle finger.
Perfect release.
Perfect rotation.
Perfect arc.
Swish!
"Beep!"
Coach Domoto immediately called timeout—not only to adjust but to break Shohoku's overwhelming momentum.
"Four straight threes!" Hyuga laughed. "Shohoku's kids are on fire!"
"The height difference on the perimeter is too much," Endo murmured. "What will Sannoh do now?"
Kogure handed out towels, beaming.
"Everyone is playing beautifully! If this continues, victory will be ours!"
Sakuragi clenched his towel and declared, "Of course! With me, Genius Sakuragi, victory is already guaranteed!"
Considering his predictions so far had all come true, nobody even corrected him.
Akagi wiped sweat while eyeing Nango.
Yesterday's conversation resurfaced vividly—
Flashback — The Day Before
"Captain, Kawata will try to lure you out first," Nango said calmly. "Don't move. Stay under the rim."
"Just watch him shoot?" Akagi widened his eyes. "He'll dominate us!"
"Yes," Nango said firmly. "Just watch."
He continued:
"First, Kawata scoring from mid-range doesn't break our formation. The other Sannoh players won't get touches, and that benefits us long-term."
"Second, Kawata won't keep shooting. He'll get impatient and attack inside.
That's when you stop him."
Akagi still felt uneasy. "Coach Anzai… is this okay?"
Coach Anzai adjusted his glasses.
"Tomorrow, Rukawa returns to the starting lineup. That gives us height across the perimeter. Nango, Mitsui, Rukawa—you three seal their passing lanes. Make Kawata work to receive the ball."
All three answered sharply—
"Understood."
"And your offensive plan?" Coach Anzai asked gently.
Nango smiled.
"With our height advantage outside, we attack from the perimeter.
I have the greatest mismatch… so the offense should start from me."
Miyagi leaned in curiously. "Then? What are you going to do?"
Nango grinned.
"Let them witness our three-pointers."
And now—
After four straight threes, the entire arena finally understood.
This wasn't luck.
This wasn't impulse.
This wasn't showboating.
It was premeditated.
A plan Shohoku had built entirely around Nango Koichiro.