Yōsen's so-called "absolute defense" had been broken by Kirisaki Daiichi in just three seconds.
To most spectators, this was almost unthinkable.
After all, Yōsen had shut out countless teams on their way here.
Their defense had become legendary.
But in Tendou's eyes, it was that streak—zeroing opponents—that was the real fantasy.
Even if you couldn't score inside against Yōsen, couldn't you just toss up a few threes? With some luck, something should go in, right?
But no—nothing.
And the reason? Murasakibara's massive defensive coverage.
His presence alone allowed Yōsen to push their defensive line all the way to the three-point arc.
Murasakibara locked down the paint by himself, while the other four defenders pressed up to the perimeter, effectively sealing off nearly every offensive route.
From any angle, Yōsen's defense was airtight.
Flawless.
Which made it all the more shocking that Kirisaki Daiichi had torn through it so effortlessly.
"In the face of those eyes, there really is no such thing as perfection…" Many people couldn't help but swallow hard.
Tendou's abilities were no longer a secret.
And yet—even knowing that—no one could stop him.
He could see the future of the court and, paired with his monstrous stats, left others completely helpless.
...
On the court.
Fukui Kensuke dribbled past half-court.
He knew the quick opening strike was probably a set play by Kirisaki Daiichi—a warning shot.
But even so, he couldn't afford to let his guard down.
Because today's opponent included a name—Tendou Kageyoshi—and those four words carried enormous weight.
Fukui glanced toward the paint.
Three towering players, each over two meters tall, were standing by—an intimidating force that seemed destined to dominate the inside.
As long as they could get the ball into the paint, Yōsen was practically guaranteed a score.
Their advantage was overwhelming.
But how to get the ball into the paint?
That was the question.
And the problem… was him.
Just Tendou standing there put unbearable pressure on Fukui.
"If he can see everyone's future on the court… how the hell are we supposed to play against that?"
Fukui didn't dare act recklessly. He tried to stay far from Tendou, hoping to maintain ball security.
As intended, Tendou followed him.
Fukui saw a potential opening and took advantage of the timing—he faked one way and swung a sharp pass to the opposite side.
It was aimed at Okamura Kenichi. The pass was clean, sharp, and had the crowd cheering.
But then—
Smack!
"Hah! How clever… you really thought a cross-court pass like that would escape me?"
Hanamiya Makoto grinned as he intercepted the ball.
Yōsen's tactics—and even Fukui Kensuke's habits—were all stored in his mind.
On paper, Fukui had plenty of passing options.
But since he'd dragged Tendou away to secure the pass, Yōsen's remaining choices were reduced to just one.
"After all, those three big guys from Yōsen aren't exactly flexible!"
...
"Amazing stuff from Kirisaki Daiichi."
"Totally. Hanamiya Makoto was once Uncrowned Kings level. His spiderweb-style defense can cut off most passing lanes."
"And with Tendou drawing most of the attention, Hanamiya can practically predict where Yōsen will pass next."
Even Seirin's players couldn't help but marvel.
Kirisaki Daiichi's chemistry was getting stronger and stronger.
Despite a small lineup, they played beautifully.
That's the difference vision makes.
People used to think the 2017 Warriors won because of their offense—their threes, their firepower, Durant, Curry, Klay…
But if you look at the numbers, the real reason was their defense.
Their small lineup was also incredibly agile.
That let them switch everything defensively and disrupt every single offensive possession.
It was called switch-all defense.
Of course, Kirisaki Daiichi didn't play that exact system.
They had something else—Hanamiya Makoto, a man with a mind as dark as a black hole.
As long as he made a few sacrifices, Tendou could set him up for perfect moments—over and over.
...
While the crowd buzzed, Kirisaki Daiichi had already pressed high up the court.
Yōsen had clearly prepared for this. Their reaction was fast.
But three big men—aside from the freak-of-nature Murasakibara—just couldn't keep up with Kirisaki Daiichi's quickness.
And so, Kirisaki Daiichi easily found themselves in a 5-on-3 situation on offense.
"You're not getting past me!" Himuro Tatsuya was the first to step up, trying to drag Kirisaki into a half-court battle—Yōsen's strength.
"Hmph." Tendou snorted and burst forward with the ball.
He slapped the ball with his right hand, driving it to the left.
Himuro immediately shifted in that direction.
But the moment his foot landed, Tendou's left hand whipped out like lightning.
He blew past Himuro before the latter could even process what was happening.
"Damn it!"
His dribble and change of direction were simply too fast.
Himuro couldn't do anything except watch him pass by.
But Himuro still thought he had succeeded—he saw Murasakibara waiting under the basket, already in position to block the path.
...
"We've always played together, haven't we? Our first real game… first practice match… first scrimmage?"
Murasakibara's eyes flickered, clearly reflecting on memories.
"You're still spacing out? Now's not the time."
Thump!
The ball bounced off the court and slammed into Tendou's palm—only to be passed instantly, almost as if pre-programmed, to a teammate cutting in from the weak side for an easy finish.
The entire sequence happened in the blink of an eye. Murasakibara couldn't even react in time to defend.
"Ten-chan!" Murasakibara grumbled, his brows furrowed tightly.
"Don't look at me like I betrayed you." Tendou strolled past casually. "This isn't like before. It's time you grew up, Atsushi."
And he was right.
Back at Teikō, Murasakibara could play carefree basketball.
All he had to do was protect the boards and finish the passes his teammates fed him.
Tendou and the others would handle everything else.
But things were different now.
"You're the core of this team. Stop acting like a child."
"I'm not throwing a tantrum. And I'm not a kid."
Really? Because you sure seem flustered right now…
Yōsen's players exchanged glances silently.
But there was no time to worry about this.
"So this is what it's like to actually face him…"
Okamura Kenichi, the burly big man, sighed as he hunched down.
Usually, they were the ones choking out their opponents with smothering defense.
But now?
They had to be cautious just to complete a normal pass.
"How can someone like that even exist?!" Araki Masako stared daggers at Hanamiya.
The way he moved, the way he played—it made her physically uncomfortable.
Compared to him, even the rebellious Murasakibara seemed endearing.
"Huh?" Hanamiya seemed to sense her hatred and turned toward her.
"A female coach? Don't tell me Akita Prefecture's basketball scene is so weak they need a woman to run the show?"
"Just take my advice—find yourself a man, settle down, and raise a couple of kids. Hey, is it your time of the month today? No wonder you're so irritable."
YOU SON OF A—!
Araki Masako instantly grabbed for her bamboo sword, ready to cleave him in two.
"Coach, calm down!"
Yōsen's players rushed to restrain her.
If their coach got ejected at the start of the game, what hope did they have left?
...
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