Ryoji Ikegami rose from the bench and jogged onto the court.
Yes—the same Ikegami who, in Takehiko Inoue's own sketches, was ranked the strongest muscular player in Slam Dunk.
When people thought of muscle-bound stars, most recalled Shinichi Maki or Masashi Kawata. But among them stood Ikegami—the dense, compact powerhouse of Ryonan.
Ikegami: 183 cm, 83kg.
Maki: 184 cm, 79kg.
Nearly identical height and frame, but Ikegami carried almost 4kg more pure compressed muscle mass. A defensive bruiser in every sense.
Fun fact: Ikegami and Rukawa even shared the same voice actor in the anime.
With his arrival, Ryonan changed its lineup.
Center: Toyo Inoue (replacing Victor Uozumi)
Power Forward: Ryoji Ikegami
Small Forward: Oribe Sasaki
Shooting Guard: Yusaku Ozawa
Point Guard: Asahi Matsushita
Ikegami was famed not only for his defense but also for a respectable mid-range jumper—making him a prototypical 3-and-D player.
And sure enough—Swish! His very first possession, he nailed a corner jumper off Ozawa's feed.
Shohoku returned the ball. Cory advanced and found himself face-to-face with Ikegami.
Cory didn't underestimate him. He knew from "future" knowledge—Ikegami would become Kanagawa's premier defensive specialist, alongside Hasegawa (Shoyo) and Satoshi Ichinokura (Sannoh). Of the three, Ikegami marked opponents the best, even holding down Mitch Harris when others crumbled.
But for now, he was still a sophomore—still raw.
One slick crossover step—and Cory glided by him with ease, Inoue's help defense fooled by a smart fake pass. Easy layup.
Next possession, however, Charles Ackerman rushed Inoue inside with brute strength. But Inoue's veteran cunning shone—nudging, tugging, quietly irritating Charles with dirty but clever moves.
Frustrated, Charles lost patience. One spin, one elbow—BANG! Inoue flew back clutching his chest.
"Foul! Red #10!"
The call was immediate.
Charles gritted his teeth, cursing under his breath.
"Stay calm, Charles!" Cory urged as they fell back on defense.
But the damage was done. Within minutes, Charles collected three fouls. His confidence and rhythm collapsed. Ryonan exploited it mercilessly, expanding their lead.
Cory tried to shoulder more offense, but Ryonan tightened its defense on him. His efficiency dropped. The rest of Shohoku's lineup gave little scoring help—the load falling squarely on him and Ackerman.
By halftime, the scoreboard read:
Ryonan 45 – Shohoku 35.
Ten-point deficit.
Of Shohoku's 35 points, Charles and Cory had scored nearly all. The other three starters combined for fewer than ten.
Worse, Shohoku's players staggered to the bench panting heavily. Across the court, Ryonan sat composed, breathing steady. Their training intensity showed. Only elite programs like Harbor High (Kainan) or Sannoh could compare to Ryonan's conditioning.
By contrast, Shohoku had "coasted" most of the year under Anderson's lax watch—a gap painfully obvious now.
Cory sat down, chest heaving. He still had fuel, but his solo drives had sapped more stamina than he'd expected. If this kept up, come the second half, exhaustion would cripple him the same way it would Rukawa years later.
"Everyone!"
A sudden voice jolted them.
Coach Anderson stood, uncharacteristically firm.
"We need a new plan for the second half!"
Shohoku players froze in shock.
Anderson, the "mascot" coach who rarely gave tactics, was stepping forward?
Instantly, every player straightened, serious.
Anderson's eyes flicked briefly toward Cory Grant—then he leaned in and began sketching out adjustments for the second half.
Cory narrowed his eyes. Why me?