BANG—
The ball hit the rim, bounced high, and dropped straight through the net.
Swish!
79–78.
Shohoku takes the lead.
The crowd erupted. It wasn't technically the final whistle—but it felt like the death strike. Only three seconds remained.
Cory Grant clenched his fist, both relieved and amused. That was luck. I'm no Mitch Harris from three. My stat's just in the 70s—fortune favored me on that one.
The bench jumped to its feet cheering. They'd pulled ahead in the dying moments.
At the line, Cory tapped the ball twice, staring at the hoop.
His second free throw—clang! He fired hard off the front rim. The rebound rocketed out toward the arc.
But this was intentional. Cory wasn't about to risk giving Ryonan the ball with time for a desperation three. Missing fast meant the clock would bleed out.
Asahi Matsushita bolted toward the rebound—
BEEP!
The whistle blew. Time expired.
Shohoku had won.
79–78.
The Shohoku bench stormed the court in jubilation. Players hugged, shouting in disbelief.
"We did it!"
"We actually beat Ryonan! The quarterfinalists!"
Even as a friendly match, the significance was massive. The "perennial first-round exits" of Shohoku had taken down a respected powerhouse.
By contrast, the Ryonan players stood stunned. Clutching towels, staring blankly. Losing to tiny Shohoku? It was humiliation—but they couldn't deny it. Shohoku was far stronger than rumor suggested. They would have to be taken seriously.
After the game, Coach Tian walked straight to Anderson.
"Coach Anderson," he said gravely, "today's match benefitted me greatly. If nothing unforeseen happens, Shohoku could become the dark horse of Kanagawa. You have a real chance at the quarterfinals this year."
Anderson laughed, waving it off. "Ho ho ho… Coach Tian, you flatter us."
But Tian pressed on, curiosity burning. "Your tactical set today impressed me. Forgive me, but… what exactly was that system?"
Anderson, still smiling, turned his gaze at Cory. "This wasn't my idea. It's called the One-Star, Four Shooters. Cory Grant brought it up—an advanced NBA system. I merely put it on the board."
Tian's eyes widened, stunned. His regret cut sharp. How did I not notice this kid before? Such vision, hidden until now. What a mistake.
Resentment stung his chest again, but admiration won out. He vowed silently: From here on, no Shohoku player escapes my notice.
On the court, Ryonan's stoic captain approached Cory.
"Grant," said Yusaku Ozawa. His eyes held steel, yet respect. "Your strength nearly matches mine already. Next time, let's settle this again."
Cory smiled faintly. "Compared to you, I'm still lacking. But soon… I'll catch up."
Both knew it wasn't empty talk.
Checking his panel, Cory saw:
[Turnaround Jump Shot Progress: 20%]
His eyes narrowed. Ozawa's elegance had struck him deeply.
"Captain Ozawa," Cory spoke openly, "please teach me your turnaround jumper."
Ozawa blinked, then smirked. "On one condition—you show me your pull-up jumper. Deal?"
Cory grinned and extended a hand. "Deal."
Half an hour later, the two stood alone on the court.
"Watch closely," Ozawa said. Ball in hand, he posted up, then began the elegant sequence. Fake one way, pivot hard, hips low, balance steady—the ball rose from his release into a perfect arc.
Swish.
Cory's system fired:
[Turnaround Jump Shot Progress: 34%]
Ozawa explained patiently, breaking each detail down.
"When posting, control your pivot foot. Don't lock it too early—you want flexibility. Fake left, spin right into the turn. Or vice versa. Your pivot needs to punch the floor so your twist has power."
He demonstrated again. Cory's mind drank every detail like fire coursing through his veins.
Progress: 53%.
"Your lower body—use your hips. Lean with your legs and backside, not your spine. If you lean with your back alone, defenders back up and you lose balance. One quick, powerful rotation is hardest to block."
Cory tried it, clumsy at first. Ozawa corrected. Again and again, until his footwork stabilized. His body turned sharper, his release smoother.
Finally—
[Congratulations! New Skill Acquired – Turnaround Jump Shot]
The prompt glowed before Cory's eyes.
He exhaled, sweat sliding down, lips curling into a tired grin. Another weapon.
This was only the beginning.