Maki's string of offensive attempts had been denied, leaving him no choice but to take matters into his own hands.
With a sharp change of direction, he blew past Miyagi and powered straight to the rim.
Nango didn't dare to risk a block and instead allowed him to score with a clean layup.
Maki glanced back at him. What's this? Is this kid really that cautious of my drives? Is he just going to let me score so easily?
"Hey."
Nango paused when he heard the call. Rukawa Kaede stood nearby, his face unreadable as always, his tone flat.
"What are you afraid of? This isn't like you. Did he scare you?"
Without waiting for a response, Rukawa turned and walked away.
Nango was speechless. He couldn't exactly say: Sorry, I already know Maki is about to hit me with a 2+1.
Still, something about Rukawa's words struck him. He's right… maybe I've been overthinking, too worried about fouling, and in the process, I've handed him free points.
He drew in a breath, then called after him quietly, "Thanks for the reminder."
From then on, he resolved to trust his instincts. He'd allow himself up to two fouls—no more. Beyond that, he'd rein himself in.
On the other end, Kiyota squared up to Rukawa, eyes burning with determination.
"Rukawa Kaede, you're not getting past me. I won't let you score anymore."
Nango chuckled to himself. Do all players wearing number 10 talk this much?
Rukawa gave no reply. He only glanced to his left, baiting Kiyota to shift in that direction—then instantly exploded the opposite way.
Kiyota was caught off guard but chased him down with surprising speed.
Rukawa pulled up three steps before Takasago, but just as he released, Kiyota clipped his shooting hand.
"Beep! White number ten, foul on the shooter!"
"Tch, almost had it…" Kiyota clicked his tongue in frustration.
Maki ruffled his hair, signaling praise despite the foul.
At the line, Rukawa coolly drained both free throws.
Moments later, Maki again bulldozed past Miyagi, a tank in motion, but this time Nango stayed right with him.
"Finally going to defend me properly? Good."
But Nango wasn't reckless. He waited until the ball left Maki's hand before swiping. He missed the block, the ball dropping through, but Maki noted the difference.
This kid's cautious… almost too cautious. If I could just draw him in closer, that foul would come.
Nango trotted to the corner, dragging Maki with him. "Maki-senpai, what do you think? Bet Rukawa goes for a pull-up jumper again."
Maki didn't bother answering, irritation flickering across his face.
Nango grinned. "Come on, don't tell me you're not enjoying this. We've got the best seats in the house, watching the show for free."
"You brat…" Maki muttered.
On the wing, Rukawa studied Kiyota, then shifted his stance, back to the basket. Slowly, methodically, he began to post him up.
From the bench, Sakuragi gawked. "The damn fox stole my move!"
Coach Anzai's belly laugh rumbled. "Ho ho… very good."
Rukawa spun off Kiyota's exhausted push, rose, and dropped another jumper clean through the net.
The fan club screamed. Haruko's heart skipped. And Rukawa—shockingly—smirked.
Nango slapped his shoulder. "Nice one, Rukawa. Using what you just learned already?"
"Hmph. Idiot," Rukawa brushed him off, but the faint curl of his lips betrayed his mood.
On the next play, Kiyota snapped. He left his spot, set a screen, and demanded the ball.
"Rukawa Kaede, the rookie king won't be you or Nango—it'll be me, Kiyota Nobunaga! Remember that!"
For once, Rukawa spoke back. "Try it if you can."
The court opened up, clearing the stage for a duel.
Kiyota kept low, head nearly at Rukawa's waist, exploding past with his first step. Rukawa swiped from behind but whiffed. In a flash, Kiyota drove inside and finished with a layup.
"Good job, Kiyota!" Maki cheered, slapping his back.
Breathing hard but brimming with confidence, Kiyota clenched his fist. "Maki, let's start our counterattack!"
Maki's eyes widened. His lips curled into a smile. He's grown…
"Stinky kid, of course. Let's go—it's our turn now!"
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