"Rukawa Kaede, I love you! Rukawa Kaede, I love you!…"
The fan club's cheers grew louder and louder, their voices practically shaking the roof of the gymnasium.
"Rukawa Kaede…" Haruko didn't shout along with them, but her eyes were fixed on Rukawa, completely mesmerized by his performance.
Kano noticed Haruko's expression, covering her mouth as she chuckled softly.
Noma glanced around, wide-eyed. "Rukawa Kaede really is something. He's stolen all the spotlight in an instant."
Takamiya nodded. "Of course. His popularity is on a whole different level compared to Sakuragi's."
Okusu smirked. "Yeah, Sakuragi's specialty is clowning around. Hehehe."
Yohei crossed his arms with a smile. "Shoyo looks completely done for. Shohoku should have this game in the bag."
Even the Sakuragi Gang could see how things stood. Naturally, the Shoyo players themselves understood as well.
Their offense in the second half had collapsed, allowing Shohoku to relentlessly chip away. If they had even one reliable scorer, they wouldn't be stuck in such a passive situation.
Right now, they needed to score just once—to stabilize their momentum.
Hanagata stepped out of the paint to set a firm screen for Fujima, locking Nango behind him. Fujima burst forward, but this time he couldn't penetrate into the restricted area.
Can't shake him off at all! A strange panic welled up in Fujima's chest.
Playing a full game with steady pacing and playing a full game with explosive sprints were two entirely different beasts. All match long, both sides had been grinding in half-court sets, clashing with every possession. By this point, everyone was exhausted—Fujima included.
But Shohoku had the advantage: fresh rotations, and an endlessly energetic Sakuragi Hanamichi. With one side surging and the other fading, Fujima couldn't shake Sakuragi's defense.
"Fujima, over here!" Hanagata called, boxing Nango out hard. The shot clock ticked dangerously low. Fujima, cornered, nearly turned it over, but Hanagata stretched and managed to secure the pass.
Only 10 seconds remained. Hanagata stood at the three-point line—an unfamiliar territory for him.
No choice! He put the ball on the floor, driving forward. But after only two dribbles, Nango shut him down, forcing him to pick up his dribble and protect the ball.
Five more seconds drained away.
"Hanagata!" Fujima darted off a screen, escaping briefly and calling for the pass. The moment he caught it, he lifted his arms high.
"Don't even think about it!" Sakuragi launched into the air, determined not to let Fujima have another clean look.
But Fujima only faked. He dropped the ball to the floor, rose again, and fired. "Go in!"
"Damn it! Then I'll just jump again!" Sakuragi landed, then immediately sprang up a second time.
Slap!
Whether Fujima rushed or Sakuragi timed it perfectly—or both—the three-pointer clanged out. Akagi hauled in the rebound.
Nango calmly advanced the ball. Shohoku held all the cards now, especially on defense. Shoyo had no answers. All Shohoku needed to do was control the tempo—scoring steadily, one basket at a time—until their opponents collapsed.
And who better to sharpen the knife than Rukawa Kaede?
Receiving the pass, Rukawa easily tricked the lumbering Nagano, rose for a mid-range jumper, and sank it. Smooth as stone.
On the other end, Fujima ran a pick-and-roll with Hasegawa, finally slipping free for a jumper that stopped the bleeding.
But immediately, Nango used Sakuragi's screen to penetrate the paint, drawing Hasegawa's desperate help defense. With Mitsui left wide open, Nango flicked the ball behind him.
Mitsui rose and drained the three-pointer.
Shoyo's proud tall lineup was riddled with holes.
Shohoku locked down again, forcing another stop and quickly transitioning. Nango led the break, Rukawa sprinting ahead, calling for the ball.
But instead of passing, Nango halted, raising the ball high. Hasegawa and Nagano scrambled to cut him off, and Fujima lunged to steal.
Too late. Nango whipped the ball downwards between the defenders, skipping it across to Sakuragi.
Two powerful steps, a mighty leap, and—BAM!
The rim shook as Sakuragi thundered home a dunk.
"Great job, Shohoku!"
"Redhead! You've actually got some skills!"
From the stands, Haruko waved both hands eagerly. "Sakuragi!"
Beaming, Sakuragi thrust his fist toward her in triumph.
Haruko just kept waving innocently, oblivious to his gesture.
Beside her, Kano smirked knowingly at Matsui, who returned the look with a small nod.
"Damn it! Even Sakuragi gets to hog the spotlight now?!"
On the bench, Miyagi slumped in frustration. No chance to shine at all! How am I supposed to impress Ayako like this?!
Shohoku's rhythm only grew smoother. Mitsui and Rukawa fired from the wings, while Akagi and Sakuragi terrorized the paint. Shoyo was completely unraveled.
Fujima struggled to rally his team, but he was outnumbered and overrun. The gap widened beyond recovery.
The final whistle sounded. On one side, Shoyo's cheer squad wept in silence. On the other, Shohoku's fans roared in celebration.
For Haruko, it meant she could stop worrying about Akagi's future—at least for now. For Kano, it meant more chances to watch Nango shine. For Akagi, it meant his dream of dominating the nation was still alive. For Shohoku, it meant their summer had only just begun.
Final score: 97–72.
Four Shohoku starters besides Sakuragi scored over 20 points each. Nango dished out 15 assists, orchestrating the offense and sealing Shoyo's fate.
As both teams lined up, Fujima's face was twisted with grief, but he forced himself to bow and say, "Thank you for the game."
Nango clasped his hand and pulled him into a firm embrace. It was all he could offer.
From the sidelines, Sendoh looked on with quiet sorrow. Fujima… I knew this day would come, but I never thought our rivalry would end like this…
Uozumi, another third-year, lacked Sendoh's sentimentality. He simply declared, "Fujima's era is over."
Coach Taoka, however, spoke firmly. "Shoyo's defeat was no fluke. Shohoku is stronger now. Train harder, prepare yourselves."
"Yes, Coach!" the Ryonan players answered.
Though in their hearts, they all grumbled the same thing: As if we don't already practice enough! Coach, give us a break!
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