"Ding... ding... ding... ding..."
The dismissal bell rang.
After enduring an entire day of teasing from classmates and the curious stares of strangers, Nango bolted out of the classroom the moment the bell echoed, making his way straight to the locker room.
He threw his bag aside and muttered with a sigh, "Ugh, when will these days finally end…?"
"Next up is Fukuda. That should be an easy win. Maybe I'll just hold back a little, let my teammates shine, and keep the media off my back…"
With that half-serious decision in mind, he changed into his practice gear. As he headed toward the gymnasium, he suddenly stopped—faint sounds echoed from inside.
"Swish… slam!"
Someone's already practicing?
Pushing open the door, Nango was surprised to see Miyagi, shirtless, tirelessly putting up mid-range shots. His jersey lay tossed on the floor, drenched in sweat, and even his carefully styled hair had wilted from the effort.
"Senior, you're here really early," Nango called out.
Miyagi glanced back once and replied curtly, "Not bad," before resuming his shooting routine.
So cold… Clearly, yesterday's matchup with Maki had struck a nerve.
Seeing this, Nango couldn't help but be reminded of his own struggles from the past. He decided to step in.
He jogged under the basket, picking up rebounds. After a few shots, he finally spoke up:
"Senior, you're jumping too high."
"Really?" Miyagi frowned but didn't stop shooting.
"Yes," Nango explained patiently. "Your first shot came up short, so on the second, you subconsciously jumped higher. But if your jumping height isn't consistent, how can your shooting be stable?"
The answer was obvious.
Miyagi paused, then tried jumping in place, gauging his usual rhythm.
Nango continued, "To truly master your shot, you need a steady rhythm—one you can repeat no matter the situation. That's what makes your shooting reliable."
Miyagi's eyes sharpened. "I see. Then what should I do?"
At that moment, Sakuragi and the others wandered into the gym.
Nango pointed toward them with a smile. "Start from scratch with Sakuragi. Do 200 shots a day. Build up your foundation, and find your own rhythm."
"…Got it."
This time, Miyagi's tone carried excitement. He even smiled, stepping forward to bump his fist against Nango's as a sign of thanks.
Meanwhile, at Kainan's practice gym…
"Idiot! Is this the time to be daydreaming?" Maki smacked Kiyota lightly on the head. "Focus! We need two wins this weekend, no excuses."
"Oww… I get it already!" Kiyota rubbed his head with a whine.
Before practice had even started, Kiyota had cornered Maki with endless chatter—'You'll always be the strongest in my heart,' 'That Nango kid's nothing compared to you,' 'Ryonan's no big deal'… On and on until Maki's patience ran thin.
Now, Maki just wanted to sharpen his team's focus. Newspaper headlines? Hype? He didn't care. The title of Kanagawa's No.1 wasn't something he declared himself—it was something he had earned, game after game.
Nango? Rukawa? Sakuragi? They were still years away from reaching his level.
Fired up, Maki's voice thundered across the gym:
"Jin! Quicker! Don't get stuffed like that again!"
"Kiyota! Stop drifting off! Run your routes properly!"
"Takasago! Hands higher!"
"Muto! Be more aggressive!"
"Kosuge! Don't back down from contact!"
Under Maki's command, Kainan's practice turned into pure hell.
Coach Takato, watching from the sideline, didn't even need to intervene—Maki's leadership carried the team. Instead, he excused himself to meet with someone else.
"Coach Takato, you don't need to go out of your way for me," said the chairman, strolling in a sharp black suit.
"Chairman, I apologize for yesterday's game…"
But the chairman waved him off. "It's not your fault. You've done well. Who could've guessed Shohoku, a public school, would be this strong? Their talent is truly surprising."
Takato blinked in surprise.
The chairman smiled faintly. "It must be tough, constantly striving for championships. If the opportunity arises, why not try recruiting some of those talented public-school players? We can offer full scholarships."
Ah… so that's his true aim.
The chairman no longer saw regional titles as enough. Sixteen straight Kanagawa championships weren't enough to satisfy him—what he wanted now was national glory.
For now, Takato's position was secure. But if Kainan kept failing to make a splash at Nationals, he might have to start job hunting.
At Ryonan's gym…
Coach Taoka faced his players with grave seriousness.
"Right now, both we and Shohoku have one win. Shohoku will face Fukuda next—an easy victory for them. That'll put them at two wins.
If we defeat Kainan, we'll advance alongside Shohoku. But if we lose… then to qualify, we'll have to fight Shohoku to the death."
He paused, letting his words sink in.
"The strength of Shohoku and Kainan, you all know well. Against Kainan, we cannot afford to lose. Not this year."
The players roared in unison: "Yes, Coach!"
What Taoka didn't voice aloud was his own pride. This year's Kainan was the weakest in years, riding entirely on Maki's shoulders. Ryonan, however, was at its strongest: Uozumi dominating the paint, Sendoh orchestrating the team, and Fukuda as their relentless scorer.
On paper, they had the clear advantage.
If I can't win with this lineup, Taoka thought grimly, I might as well retire and go back to farming.
Thus, the three powerhouses of Kanagawa—Shohoku, Kainan, and Ryonan—were all preparing for decisive battles in the second round. Each had their reasons to win, each carrying immense pressure.
This week would be the longest, toughest of the year.
As for Fukuda?
…Nobody cared.
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