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Nango Mother gently tugged at her husband sleeve and whispered,
"Isn't that… that child's father?"
Chiyuo patted her hand to reassure her, nodding slightly.
But inwardly, he snorted.
It's just one basket. What's there to show off about? My son already hit three threes—do you see me standing up and yelling?
A silent rivalry between fathers had quietly begun.
The players on the court, however, were completely unaware.
Sawakita basked in the deafening cheers as he jogged back on defense, his expression relaxed, confident—almost smug.
Nango accepted the ball from Sakuragi and dribbled calmly, his mind already racing.
Sawakita is a pure solo scorer. If we isolate him from the team, he won't destroy us outright.
The real danger… is those two.
His gaze flicked toward Sakuragi and Rukawa.
Both were visibly irritated.
Nango knew them well—too well.
They would absolutely try to challenge Sawakita.
Defensively, that was acceptable. Sawakita mostly scored two-pointers. Shohoku could live with that.
But offensively?
If Sakuragi and Rukawa forced shots just to "answer" Sawakita, Shohoku would waste possessions—and that would give Sannoh the opening they needed.
Nango sighed softly.
"…Looks like I'll just keep bullying Fukatsu for now."
As Nango crossed half-court, Sawakita immediately stepped up, eyes burning with interest.
"I've already dealt with those two," he said confidently.
"Now it's just you left."
"Is that so?" Nango replied calmly. "I don't think so."
He blew past Sawakita effortlessly and zipped the ball to Rukawa Kaede.
Rukawa needed this basket.
He backed Fukatsu down with cold efficiency, turned smoothly, and released a clean jumper.
Swish.
Now it was Fukatsu's turn to grit his teeth.
What frustrated him even more was that Nango still wouldn't leave him alone—tight man-to-man defense, cutting off every passing lane.
But Fukatsu wasn't panicking.
Our ace has stepped up.
Even if Sawakita doesn't pass, his efficiency is far higher than Matsumoto's.
As long as he keeps the score close… our chance will come.
He had already calculated the rotation timing.
Sannoh didn't need the lead yet.
They just couldn't let Shohoku run away.
And for that—
Sawakita Eiji was enough.
Sawakita received the ball again, standing at the three-point line across from Rukawa.
His smile deepened.
"Your post-ups are good," he said lightly.
"But what about face-ups? Want to compare?"
"Tch…"
Rukawa ignored him, eyes locked firmly on the ball this time.
"Hmph."
Sawakita lifted the ball over his head—a clear shooting motion.
Rukawa didn't bite.
He won't shoot that easily…
But Sawakita jumped anyway.
Released.
"What—?!"
Rukawa snapped his head around.
Swish!
The ball drilled through the net.
15–19. Sannoh trails by four.
Commentator Fujiwara's voice rose sharply.
"As expected of the ace! Sawakita Eiji scores five straight points! Sannoh stays right on Shohoku's heels! What will Shohoku do next?!"
What would they do?
Nango answered with action—once again placing the ball in Rukawa's hands.
And Rukawa delivered.
Another bucket over Fukatsu.
As he jogged back, Nango watched closely.
If Sawakita hits a three this possession… I'll switch tactics immediately.
Two-pointers won't kill us.
But threes are different.
Sawakita loved this.
The rhythm.
The duel.
The stage.
The only regret was that Rukawa wasn't guarding him on offense.
But there was no helping it.
If he took Rukawa on defense, Nango would become a threat again.
I'll wait until he rests.
Rukawa was thinking the exact same thing.
Scoring on Fukatsu meant nothing to him.
It wasn't him.
They both wanted the same thing—
A direct confrontation.
Until then, they would duel another way.
"Sawakita drives! Pull-up jumper—good!"
"Rukawa answers! Post-up! Fake! Layup—beautiful!"
"Sawakita again! Another pull-up—he can't miss!"
"Rukawa with a step-back—IT'S IN!"
The pace was blistering.
Fujiwara barely had time to breathe.
"Unbelievable! First-year Rukawa Kaede and ace Sawakita Eiji are trading blows! Neither backing down!"
"The rest of the players have cleared the stage—this is their duel!"
The crowd exploded into arguments.
"That Shohoku kid is incredible! Just like Sawakita last year!"
"Don't joke! He's nowhere near Sawakita!"
"Sawakita was last year's MVP!"
"But if Shohoku wins—he could be MVP!"
"Impossible!"
"Why impossible?!"
Even some of Sawakita's female fans were visibly shaken.
It couldn't be helped.
Rukawa played beautifully.
And he was handsome.
And—most unforgivably—he didn't have a monk haircut.
Sawakita looked at the panting Rukawa and smiled.
"You're good," he said sincerely.
"But… can you keep up?"
Fukatsu couldn't stop Rukawa.
But he was draining him.
And Rukawa was also spending enormous energy defending Sawakita.
The cost was adding up.
Damn it… not again…
Rukawa felt it.
The heaviness.
The burn.
He needed rest.
But resting meant losing.
Even if he knew—deep down—that there was still a gap between him and Sawakita…
He refused to admit defeat.
Sawakita admired him.
In Rukawa, he saw himself.
His past.
His hunger.
His arrogance.
And because of that—
Rukawa had value.
The value of being crushed.
Because—
The number one in Japan
could only be called Sawakita Eiji.
Even if he went to America.
No one was allowed to take that title.