Chapter 13 Taking Down Ryonan
The game entered its final five minutes.
Sweat hung in the air. Every breath burned. The entire arena trembled with the pounding of shoes on hardwood.
Then—
A stir at the entrance.
A tall figure strode in, shoulders squared, left eye wrapped in thick white bandages. His presence alone seemed to lower the temperature of the court.
Takenori Akagi.
"Captain!!"
"Akagi's back!!"
The Shohoku bench erupted. For a moment, even the noise of the crowd was drowned out by the shock of their own joy. His return wasn't merely adding a center back into play — it restored Shohoku's backbone.
Coach Anzai pushed his glasses up calmly and raised his hand to the referee.
Substitution.
But—
"Rukawa, come off."
Rukawa was bent forward, hands on his knees, breath ragged. Sweat dripped from his chin, splashing onto the floor. He lifted his head sharply, eyes flashing with refusal — but his legs trembled. He knew. His body had reached its limit after trading relentless attacks with Sendoh.
He clicked his tongue, then walked off, shoulders stiff with frustration.
Akagi stepped onto the court.
His eyes met Sakuragi's.
No words. Just understanding.
Anzai's voice was gentle, but absolute.
"On offense… Sakuragi brings the ball up."
A ripple of surprise passed through Shohoku.
"And on defense — Sakuragi, you guard Sendoh."
Even Sakuragi blinked.
But then—
"Ha! Leave it to the tensai!"
He slapped his chest proudly.
Anzai didn't smile — but his eyes softened slightly.
Shohoku now had its pillars back in place.
Play resumed.
Sakuragi received the inbound and began dribbling upcourt himself. His dribble was still raw, slightly stiff — but powerful and fearless. As he crossed half-court, Sendoh stepped forward immediately.
No grin this time. No laziness. Only sharp, hunting eyes.
"So you're the one running the offense now, huh?" Sendoh murmured.
Sakuragi lowered his stance. His dribbling wasn't elegant, but it was fast, heavy, and unpredictable — like a boulder rolling downhill.
Sendoh slid perfectly with him, arms wide, reading each movement.
Tch… he's good, Sakuragi thought.
Then—
Sakuragi suddenly stomped backward — a crude but explosive step-back. Half a meter of space opened.
He raised the ball.
Sendoh leapt instantly to contest.
"Airball!" the Sakuragi Army screamed, as always.
But in midair, Sakuragi's eyes flicked toward the paint.
Akagi had already moved.
Like clockwork — sealing Uozumi behind him, carving open the lane with sheer strength.
Sakuragi twisted his wrists midair and slung the ball forward.
A sharp, fast two-handed chest pass.
The ball slipped past Sendoh's fingertips.
Akagi caught it at the peak of his jump.
"DAAAAA!!"
Both hands smashed the rim.
The basket roared.
Tie game.
Shohoku exploded.
Sakuragi landed, fists raised, laughing wildly.
"Did you see that, gorilla?! Perfect pass by the tensai!"
Akagi simply nodded once.
"Nice timing."
That was enough.
On the bench, Rukawa sat with a towel over his head, breathing steadily.
Coach Anzai spoke quietly.
"Watch carefully, Rukawa-kun."
Rukawa pulled the towel down. His eyes locked onto Sakuragi's back.
No words. Just burning focus.
From there, the rhythm shifted.
With Akagi anchoring the paint again, Shohoku's defense solidified. Sakuragi clung to Sendoh like stubborn glue — not technically perfect, but relentless, athletic, and irritatingly persistent.
Sendoh drove.
Sakuragi slid.
Sendoh pulled up.
Sakuragi leapt with reckless timing.
Not always clean.
But always disruptive.
And whenever the ball hit the rim—
Sakuragi ruled the sky.
Rebound after rebound.
Kick-out passes to Kogure.
Dump-ins to Akagi.
Chaos-born offense.
Classic Sakuragi basketball.
Ryonan fought back. Sendoh broke through with impossible shots, gliding past defenders with genius-level instincts.
But every time Ryonan gained momentum—
Sakuragi appeared.
A rebound.
A deflection.
A crazy save into the crowd.
An assist no one saw coming.
The red-haired problem child refused to let the game slip away.
Final buzzer.
Silence for half a heartbeat.
Then—
Shohoku 3-point victory.
The gym erupted.
"We won!!"
Sakuragi leaped onto Akagi's back.
"We did it, gorilla!!"
Kogure laughed, Ayako wiped tears, the bench swarmed the court.
In the stands, Haruko clapped so hard her hands turned red.
The Sakuragi Army screamed themselves hoarse.
Ryonan's side fell quiet.
Uozumi breathed heavily, fists clenched.
Coach Taoka stared at Sakuragi — hair blazing red, chest heaving, smiling like a fool among giants.
His scoring wasn't monstrous.
His dribbling wasn't polished.
His shooting still unreliable.
But—
Rebounds.
Defense.
Timing.
Instinct.
Explosive willpower.
A natural-born disruptor.
Taoka exhaled slowly.
"…What a terrifying rookie."
Then his mind drifted further.
Akagi.
Sakuragi.
Rukawa.
And soon—Miyagi returning.
Shohoku's frame was forming.
A storm.
A real one.
Taoka smiled bitterly.
"…Kanagawa's era is about to change."