"Let me show you the real gap… between me and players like you!"
Nash covered half his face with one hand, acting full-on edgy as he spoke to Kota.
Kota scratched his head and reminded him,
"The score is 2–0 right now. And by the way… I'm the one with 2. Why do you look so happy when you're the one losing?"
Hearing that, Nash froze mid-dramatic pose. But he quickly recovered and replied in an overly confident tone, "Hmph! A mere mortal like you could never understand… my true power!"
Kota: "…"
"Yeah yeah yeah, whatever makes you sleep at night. Hurry up and start your offense."
Kota shook his head, tossed the ball to Nash, and took his defensive stance.
A tic mark popped on Nash's forehead as he forced himself not to snap.
"Are you looking down on me?!"
Kota glanced at him without replying, simply observing Nash's offensive posture.
On the sideline, Akashi watched the two intently. He was genuinely curious—how would Kota deal with Nash's offense?
Nash maintained his confidence as he said, "Watch closely. I'm going to get past you as easily as crossing the street!"
With that, Nash quietly activated Belial Eye. After reading Kota's defensive stance, a clear scoring route appeared before him.
"As long as I drive in that direction… this point is guaranteed."
Nash steadied himself and prepared to break through. But right at the moment he thought the point was secured, Kota's left foot shifted—just slightly—but perfectly onto the path Nash saw in his vision.
The sudden change caused Nash's movement to halt. He frowned, staring at Kota.
"Coincidence? Is this guy stupidly lucky or what?"
As Nash prepared to reposition and choose a new route, Kota — who had been standing obediently until now — suddenly struck forward, his right hand snapping out for a steal.
A dull thud echoed in the gym. Kota's steal attempt connected, but the angle was slightly off, and Nash quickly recovered the ball.
Nash clutched it with lingering fear. Kota had gotten a clean hit on the ball. If that angle had been just a bit better…
"What's with this guy…?"
A cold sweat formed on Nash's temple. He recognized this feeling.
A foul stench.
The kind of rotten, bone-deep aura that only old-school, decades-seasoned defensive pests carried.
The kind of smell no offensive player ever wanted to breathe in.
Back when Nash was still developing his game, he had only ever sensed this stench once—from an elderly veteran player in USA.
"Don't tell me… this kid's defensive skills are on the level of that old man? No way… he's barely eighteen!"
To test his suspicion, Nash threw a small feint—but Kota's center of gravity didn't budge. Nash checked his scoring route again. The moment the Belial Eye laid out the path, Kota's right foot slid over it. Precisely.
This time, Nash was sure.
He hugged the ball again, shock rippling through his eyes. Without a doubt, Kota's defense was the strongest he had ever faced. He had improved significantly since facing that old veteran—yet Kota had the same defensive mastery plus the physical capability of an eighteen-year-old athlete.
In short: Kota was even worse news than the old man.
"What's wrong? For a guy who said crossing the street was easy, you sure look like you're stuck at a red light."
Seeing Nash playing cautiously and unable to find an opening, Kota teased him, unwilling to just stand still doing nothing.
But to his surprise, Nash didn't snap back. Instead, he said seriously, "I admit I underestimated you earlier. From here on… I'll treat you as someone on my level—and then defeat you!"
Kota blinked, baffled. From his perspective, he was just playing normal defense. The adjustments he made were only to make his stance more comfortable.
The "Professional Player Experience Pack" had been upgrading him bit by bit—and he still hadn't realized how monstrous his defense had become.
As Kota wondered why Nash suddenly shifted attitude, Nash launched his attack. Unlike his earlier face-up probing, this time he stepped back after a dribble to create space.
Kota frowned.
"Nash… didn't he not have long-range threes?"
Despite all his trash talk, Kota wasn't dumb enough to underestimate Nash. Remembering from the "source material" that Nash didn't possess a deep three, Kota stayed within the arc instead of rushing forward.
Seeing Kota not closing in, Nash sighed in relief as memories of training with that old veteran resurfaced.
...
Old man: "Nash, remember this. If you ever meet someone with defensive skills comparable to mine, avoid engaging him directly!"
"Anyone who trains defense to this level will see through even the best offensive moves. But even they can't hide their flaws from simple, direct force."
Nash: "What if in a real crisis—a one-on-one that decides the match—I have to face someone like that?"
Old man: "Someone like that in a simple one-on-one? Hah! You'd sooner bump into a ghost! Chill, kid."
Nash: "Stop laughing and just tell me what to do if it actually happens!"
Old man: "Fine, fine. If you're unlucky enough to meet such a freak, then—"
…
"Your offense must be fast and decisive. Don't give him time to react."
Nash muttered the advice under his breath, eyes burning with determination.
"Old man… looks like you're about to see a ghost after all. I actually ran into one in a stupid one-on-one…"
"Tell me your name."
Nash dribbled with one hand, eyes locked on Kota.
Kota slapped his thigh and replied, "Kota."
"Ko…ta?"
"I remember."
Nash's eyes sharpened, hawk-like.
"No matter how skilled a defender is… static attributes are fixed. Against a defense-focused player with lacking physical gifts, overwhelming power and simple execution is the most effective method."
"Old man, if I lose this, I'm coming back home to pick a fight with you!"
With a roar, Nash lowered his body and charged at Kota. At the very last moment, he held the ball midair with his right hand, his torso leaning left—only to burst right a split second later.
A simple, zero-flair misdirection. Something even a casual weekend player could pull off.
But that was exactly why Kota's eyes widened.
There was no trick, no finesse—just raw explosion.
Kota shifted instantly to cut him off, but the moment he stepped in, Nash's shoulder slammed into him.
"Guh—!"
Kota staggered but kept up. Nash's move was still simple: using the separation from the body check, he raised the ball high overhead and tossed it straight in.
The movement was stiff—clearly not a technique Nash used often. But his world-class feel for the ball carried him.
Swish.
2–1.
Nash scored.
Akashi clapped on the sideline. But a hint of confusion crossed his eyes.
"Why does it feel like Nash isn't having an easy time? Am I imagining it?"
Without being on the court, he couldn't sense the intense back-and-forth between them. All he saw was Nash using his physicality to force a point.
"Didn't expect you to use something that simple," Kota admitted. "But hey—good shot."
"Thanks. You played really well too, Kota."
Nash grinned and stepped forward to shake hands. Scoring that basket clearly lifted his spirits.
Kota looked at Nash's extended hand but didn't take it.
"Isn't it a little early for a handshake? Our game isn't over yet."
"…Oh."
Nash froze. Just as he was about to speak, Kota tossed the ball back at him. That's when Nash remembered—
This was a first-to-three match.
"Meaning… I have to face this stinky defensive monster at least two more times?!"
Nash's expression twisted. Sure, scoring felt great. But that defensive stench… He would rather never smell it again.
"That damned old man… When I get back to the USA, I swear I'm going to beg him to teach me how to beat this kind of defender!"
"…He's still alive, right? Probably?"