The game came to an end, and Kirisaki Daiichi advanced to the Final Four without even breaking a sweat.
With that, the national semifinals lineup was officially confirmed.
From the upper bracket: Tōō Academy and Rakuzan High.
From the lower bracket: Kirisaki Daiichi and Yōsen High.
All four teams featured members of the Generation of Miracles—just as fans had predicted before the tournament even began.
This year's national championship would undoubtedly be won by one of the teams with a Miracle player.
Tokyo-area fans were especially thrilled.
Two of the Final Four came from Tokyo—making the region indisputably the strongest in the country this year.
But Tendou didn't care whether Tokyo was the strongest region.
What he cared about was simple—being the one to win in the end.
"Let's go. The day after tomorrow won't be an easy game."
Tendou led his "bad boys" out of the arena.
He already had a rough plan in mind for how to play against Yōsen.
A team running a three-tower lineup like theirs had both clear strengths and weaknesses.
Their strength had been fully displayed in the previous game.
As for their weakness? That lay in their overall pace.
This was a flaw shared by all teams that prioritized interior dominance—no matter how dominant the big men were, speed would always be a limiting factor.
It was easy to predict Yōsen's strategy in the upcoming game: grind the game into a half-court battle, focus on efficiency, slow down the tempo, reduce possessions, rely on defense, and win by minimizing shooting errors.
If the game's pace picked up, it would be a huge strain on their three big men.
If they wanted a slow game, then Kirisaki Daiichi needed to speed things up.
Basketball at its core is just a constant chess match of maximizing your strengths and exploiting your opponent's weaknesses.
...
The next day, at Kirisaki Daiichi's basketball gym.
Under Tendou's watchful eye, the players trained on fast breaks and transition offense.
Their team already played at one of the fastest paces in the nation—but against a heavyweight squad like Yōsen, that speed needed to be even higher.
Everyone took it seriously.
Not a single player dared to slack off.
This was proof of just how completely Tendou had gained control over the team—his words carried absolute authority.
Even Hanamiya Makoto was carefully studying Yōsen's playing style.
The championship was within reach.
At this point, even a notorious troublemaker had to take things seriously.
Not that he wanted to—deep down, even the villainous ones suffered.
The Generation of Miracles had been too dominant.
They'd made it impossible for other players in this era to even dream of a championship.
"Any thoughts?" Tendou walked over.
"What's there to say? They're playing the same way they did last year," Hanamiya muttered, chewing on his lip. "Yōsen loves dragging opponents into the mud with their half-court grind."
Their strategy was simple—use their height to bully teams.
Most of the big men at nationals were barely 195cm.
Yōsen had three players at 2 meters or taller. That kind of advantage was no joke.
At least Kirisaki Daiichi had no hope of matching up inside.
Even fronting the post wouldn't work—once the ball got into the paint, it was practically a guaranteed score.
"To put it bluntly, if they manage to get the ball inside, we're screwed."
"Then don't let them get it inside. Can you manage that?"
"I can. Shutting down that spiky-haired guy—Fukui Kensuke—isn't too hard. But the real problem is this guy."
Hanamiya pointed at the screen—at Himuro Tatsuya.
"This guy's fakes are too clean. I can't get a solid read on him."
He wasn't saying it was impossible—just that it wouldn't be easy.
Hanamiya was a dark-minded guy.
People like him always had one trait—they were especially good at reading opponents' habits.
But even then, the talent gap made things tough. That's why he didn't sound confident.
"Just go with your plan. I'll support you," Tendou said as he stood up.
Hanamiya's thoughts aligned with his own.
Kirisaki Daiichi's interior lineup couldn't match Yōsen's at all.
Cutting off the connection between their guards and big men was the smarter play.
"That reminds me… how's the game between Tōō and Rakuzan going?"
Even though everyone was training, their minds were wandering toward the day's big headline matchup.
"Tendou, aren't we going to watch it?"
"Nope. Watching too much might get me flamed for inflating the word count."
"Fair. Let's just keep practicing then."
So Kirisaki Daiichi's players obediently returned to their drills.
Tendou, however, secretly opened the livestream—only to find there was no match footage being shown.
Through conversations with Kuroko and the others, Tendou realized that Aomine and Akashi had not faced each other in this match.
That surprised him.
He'd thought that if anything, Aomine would insist on playing Akashi no matter what.
"To actually convince that stubborn lump of charcoal… well played, Akashi."
Tendou closed the stream and went back to training with his team.
...
And then…
The match between Kirisaki Daiichi and Yōsen began.
At first, the audience was a little anxious.
Would Tendou, like Aomine, sit out this game?
Fortunately, both Murasakibara and Tendou were listed in the starting lineup.
The moment that was confirmed, the crowd erupted in cheers.
Fans had grown accustomed to high drama—they wanted to see the Generation of Miracles face off against each other.
Ordinary players? They just didn't cut it anymore.
A side note: the anime adaptation had now reached Season 2.
Makes sense—they'd played enough games by now to fill 24 episodes.
Currently, the first half of the season was airing.
Judging by the production schedule, the second half would likely cover the national tournament.
...
Seirin's members were once again in the stands, watching the game.
Kagami Taiga felt complicated emotions.
On one side was the opponent he most wanted to defeat.
On the other… was his mentor.
He was torn between hoping for Himuro's success and rooting for Tendou's downfall.
If Himuro won, what would that mean for their promise?
"Do you think Tatsuya can beat Tendou?" Kagami asked.
"Probably not," said Alex Garcia. "Tatsuya's already surpassed you in every way. If it was the old him, I'd say he had a chance. But after seeing what the Generation of Miracles are capable of…"
In other words—she didn't think her student could win.
To Alex Garcia, Tendou was already a generational-level talent.
If he spent a year in the U.S., he'd undoubtedly be a five-star recruit.
And what did that mean?
Barring surprises, he was destined for the NBA.
Historically, only one five-star high school recruit had ever failed to make it to the NBA: Michael Foster.
In his senior year, Foster averaged 32 points, 18 rebounds, and 4 assists—earning a 96 rating from ESPN and the coveted five-star label.
But the guy was a bit of a wild card.
Instead of joining a top NCAA program after high school, he skipped college and went straight to the G-League.
Lacking the polish that college ball provides, he eventually fell out of the draft entirely.
As for Himuro Tatsuya… could he become a five-star recruit?
Alex honestly didn't know.
In fact, by the end of the movie version, she had even considered using her personal connections to help both of her disciples play basketball in the U.S.
But in the end, it seemed only Kagami Taiga was chosen.
Not Himuro.
...
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